Lord Byron Quotes

‎Our life is twofold; Sleep hath its own world, a boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence. Sleep hath its own world, and a wide realm of wild reality; and dreams in their development have breath, and tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy. They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, they take a weight off our waking toils. They do divide our being; they become a portion of ourselves as of our time, and look like heralds of eternity. They pass like spirits of the past — they speak like sibyls of the future; they have power — the tyranny of pleasure and of pain. They make us what we were not — what they will, and shake us with the vision that’s gone by, the dread of vanished shadows — Are they so? Is not the past all shadow? — What are they? Creations of the mind? — The mind can make substances, and people planets of their own, with beings brighter than have been, and give a breath to forms which can outlive all flesh. I would recall a vision which I dreamed, perchance in sleep — for in itself a thought, a slumbering thought, is capable of years, and curdles a long life into one hour.

When people say, 'I've told you fifty times',
They mean to scold, and very often do;
When poets say, 'I've written fifty rhymes',
They make you dread that they'll recite them too

Oh, Amos Cottle! Phœbus! what a name!

Tis strange - but true; for Truth is always strange,
Stranger than Fiction

Friendship is Love without wings.

Радіючи з дарів земного раю,
на небесах нового не шукаю.

My days of love are over; me no more
The charms of maid, wife, and still less of widow,
Can make the fool of which they made before, — In short, I must not lead the life I did do;
The credulous hope of mutual minds is o'er,
The copious use of claret is forbid too,
So for a good old-gentlemanly vice,
I think I must take up with avarice.

Patience! Hence—that word was made
For brutes of burthen, not for birds of prey;
Preach it to mortals of a dust like thine,—
I am not of thine order.

Farewell! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal avail'd on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky.

Woman! experience might have told me,
That all must love thee who behold thee:
Surely experience might have taught
Thy firmest promises are nought:
But, placed in all thy charms before me,
All I forget, but to adore thee.

My mother Earth!
And thou fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Mountains,
Why are ye beautiful? I cannot love ye.
And thou, the bright eye of the universe,
That openest over all, and unto all
Art a delight—thou shin'st not on my heart.

I am at length joined to Bologna, where I am settled like a sausage.

Oh! Many a time and oft had Harold loved, or dream'd he'd loved since Rapture is a dream.

Above or Love, Hope, Hate or Fear,
It lives all passionless and pure:
An age shall fleet like earthly year;
Its years in moments shall endure.
Away, away, without a wing,
O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly;
A nameless and eternal thing,
Forgetting what it was to die.

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast,
Is that portentous phrase, 'I told you so,'
Utter'd by friends, those prophets of the past,
Who, 'stead of saying what you now should do,
Own they foresaw that you would fall at last,
And solace your slight lapse 'gainst 'bonos mores,'
With a long memorandum of old stories.