Lord Byron Quotes
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A man must serve his time to every tradeSave censure - critics are ready-made.
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Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains; They crown'd him long ago On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow.
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The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed. I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.
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Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!
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There was a laughing devil in his sneer.
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My hair is grey, but not with years,Nor grew it whiteIn a single night,As men's have grown from sudden fears.
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While Franklin's quiet memory climbs to heaven,Calming the lightning which he thence hath riven,Or drawing from the no less kindled earthFreedom and peace to that which boasts his birth;While Washington's a watchword, such as ne'erShall sink while there's an echo left to air.
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Since Eve ate the apple, much depends on dinner.
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Such is the aspect of this shore;'T is Greece, but living Greece no more!So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,We start, for soul is wanting there.
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A light broke in upon my brain, -It was the carol of a bird;It ceased, and then it came again,The sweetest song ear ever heard.
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I should be very willing to redress men wrongs, and rather check than punish crimes, had not Cervantes, in that all too true tale of Quixote, shown how all such efforts fail.
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Well, well, the world must turn upon its axis, And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails, And live and die, make love and pay our taxes, And as the veering winds shift, shift our sails.
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For pleasures past I do not grieve, nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave nothing that claims a tear.
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Your thief looks Exactly like the rest, or rather better; 'Tis only at the bar, and in the dungeon, That wise men know your felon by his features.
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I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law.
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'Bring forth the horse!' - the horse was brought;In truth, he was a noble steed,A Tartar of the Ukraine breed,Who look'd as though the speed of thoughtWere in his limbs.
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Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till-'t is gone, and all is gray.
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I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse - borne away with every breath! Misplaced upon the throne - misplaced in life. I know not what I could have been, but feel I am not what I should be - let it end.
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Muse of the many twinkling feet, whose charms are now extending up from legs to arms.
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Bread has been made (indifferent) from potatoes; And galvanism has set some corpses grinning, But has not answer'd like the apparatus Of the Humane Society's beginning, By which men are unsuffocated gratis: What wondrous new machines have late been spinning.
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Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art, For there thy habitation is the heart –The heart which love of thee alone can bind; And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd – To fetters and damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom.
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What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page, And be alone on earth, as I am now.
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It is not for minds like ours to give or to receive flatter; yet the praises of sincerity have ever been permitted to the voice of friendship.
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Then farewell, Horace; whom I hated so, Not for thy faults, but mine.