Lord Byron Quotes
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'Tis pleasure, sure, to see one's name in print;A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.
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He makes a solitude, and calls it - peace!
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And to his eyeThere was but one beloved face on earth, And that was shining on him.
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I can't but say it is an awkward sight To see one's native land receding through The growing waters; it unmans one quite, Especially when life is rather new.
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Besides, they always smell of bread and butter.
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Maid of Athens, ere we part, Give, oh give me back my heart!
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There was a laughing devil in his sneer.
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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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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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So for a good old-gentlemanly vice, I think I must take up with avarice.
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The art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest and the stupidest of pretended sports.
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But beef is rare within these oxless isles; Goat's flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton; And, when a holiday upon them smiles, A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on.
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You don't love a woman because she is beautiful, but she is beautiful because you love her. Never underestimate the power of love. The way to love anything is to realize it may be lost. The heart has its reasons that reason does not know at all. Music is love in search of a word. There is pleasure in the pathless woods; there is a rapture on the lonely shore; There is society, where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar.
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He seemsTo have seen better days, as who has notWho has seen yesterday?
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A man must serve his time to every tradeSave censure - critics are ready-made.
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I was accused of every monstrous vice by public rumour and private rancour; my name, which had been a knightly or noble one, was tainted. I felt that, if what was whispered, and muttered, and murmured, was true, I was unfit for England; if false, England was unfit for me.
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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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The Cardinal is at his wit's end - it is true that he had not far to go.
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He left a corsair's name to other times,Linked with one virtue, and a thousand crimes.
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Physicians mend or end us, Secundum artem; but although we sneer - In health - when ill we call them to attend us, Without the least propensity to jeer.
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Shrine of the mighty! can it beThat this is all remains of thee?
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Sighing that Nature formed but one such man,And broke the die, in molding Sheridan.
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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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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.