Lord Byron Quotes
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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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There was a laughing devil in his sneer.
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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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Sighing that Nature formed but one such man,And broke the die, in molding Sheridan.
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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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I suppose we shall soon travel by air-vessels; make air instead of sea voyages; and at length find our way to the moon, in spite of the want of atmosphere.
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Armenian is a rich language, however, and would amply repay any one the trouble of learning it.
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The Niobe of nations! there she stands.
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The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.
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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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His heart was one of those which most enamour us,Wax to receive, and marble to retain:He was a lover of the good old school,Who still become more constant as they cool.
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Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, there is no sterner moralist than pleasure.
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I see before me the gladiator lie.
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Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down Over the waste of waters; like a veil, Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail.
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Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
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The careful pilot of my proper woe.
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Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes, Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies.
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Yes! Ready money is Aladdin's lamp.
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Hope withering fled, and Mercy sighed farewell!
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This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And leaving nothing, yet hath all.
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For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
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Are we aware of our obligations to a mob? It is the mob that labor in your fields and serve in your houses - that man your navy, and recruit your army - that have enabled you to defy the world, and can also defy you when neglect and calamity have driven them to despair. You may call the people a mob; but do not forget that a mob too often speaks the sentiments of the people.
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I'll publish right or wrong:Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
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The mellow autumn came, and with it came The promised party, to enjoy its sweets. The corn is cut, the manor full of game; The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beats In russet jacket;--lynx-like is his aim; Full grows his bag, and wonderful his feats. An, nutbrown partridges! An, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.