Lord Byron Quotes
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Were't the last drop in the well,As I gasp'd upon the brink,Ere my fainting spirit fell'T is to thee that I would drink.
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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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I see before me the gladiator lie.
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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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Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!
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Then farewell, Horace; whom I hated so, Not for thy faults, but mine.
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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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'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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Muse of the many twinkling feet, whose charms are now extending up from legs to arms.
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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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My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes.
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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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A man must serve his time to every tradeSave censure - critics are ready-made.
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When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past-For years fleet away with the wings of the dove- The dearest remembrance will still be the last,Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.
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This is to be mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.
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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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A sort of hostile transaction, very necessary to keep the world going, but by no means a sinecure to the parties concerned.
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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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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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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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And thou wert lovely to the last,Extinguish'd, not decay'd;As stars that shoot along the skyShine brightest as they fall from high.
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Switzerland is a curst, selfish, swinish country of brutes, placed in the most romantic region of the world.
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What's drinking?A mere pause from thinking!
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Hatred is the madness of the heart.