Lord Byron Quotes
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Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
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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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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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Sighing that Nature formed but one such man,And broke the die, in molding Sheridan.
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Hope withering fled, and Mercy sighed farewell!
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There was a laughing devil in his sneer.
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I'll publish right or wrong:Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
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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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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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I see before me the gladiator lie.
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Sublime tobacco! which from east to west, Cheers the tar's labour or the Turkman's rest; Which on the Moslem's ottoman divides His hours, and rivals opium and his brides; Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand, Though not less loved, in Wapping or the Strand: Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe, When tipp'd with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe; Like other charmers wooing the caress, More dazzlingly when daring in full dress; Yet thy true lovers more admire by far Thy naked beauties Give me a cigar!
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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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I feel my immortality over sweep all pains, all tears, all time, all fears, - and peal, like the eternal thunders of the deep, into my ears, this truth, - thou livest forever!
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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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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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And Doubt and Discord step 'twixt thine and thee.
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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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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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The careful pilot of my proper woe.
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The castled crag of Drachenfels, Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, Whose breast of waters broadly swells Between the banks which bear the vine, And hills all rich with blossom'd trees, And fields which promise corn and wine, And scatter'd cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them shine.
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And lovelier things have mercy shownTo every failing but their own,And every woe a tear can claimExcept an erring sister's shame.
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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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Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes, Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies.