Lord Byron Quotes

She is so good a person, that - that - in short, I wish I was a better.

Always laugh when you can, it is cheap medicine.

Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind!
Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art,
For there thy habitation is the heart —

Where there is mystery, it is generally supposed there must be evil.

Where yet my boys are, and that fatal She,
Their mother, the cold partner who hath brought
Destruction for a dowry — this to see
And feel, and know without repair, hath taught
A bitter lesson; but it leaves me free:
I have not vilely found, nor basely sought,
They made an Exile — not a Slave of me.

They never fail who die in a great cause.

Too high for common selfishness , he could
At times resign his own for others' good,
But not in pity - not because he ought,
But in some strange perversity of thought,
That swayed him onward with a secred pride
To do what few or none could do beside;
And this same impulse would, in tempting time,
Mislead his spirit equally to crime;
So much he soared beyond, or sank beneath,
The men with whom he felt condemned to breathe
And longed by good or ill to seperate
Himself from all who shared his mortal fate.

But pomp and power alone are woman's care,
And where these are light Eros finds a feere;
Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,
And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might despair.

If I am a fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom.

For me, I know nought; nothing I deny,
Admit, reject, contemn; and what know you,
Except perhaps that you were born to die?
And both may after all turn out untrue.
An age may come, Font of Eternity,
When nothing shall be either old or new.
Death, so call’d, is a thing which makes men weep,
And yet a third of life is pass’d in sleep.

Look on me! there is an order
Of mortals on the earth, who do become
Old in their youth, and die ere middle age,
Without the violence of warlike death;
Some perishing of pleasure — some of study — Some worn with toil — some of mere weariness — Some of disease — and some insanity — And some of withered, or of broken hearts

I loved - but those I loved are gone;
Had friends - my early friends are fled:
How cheerless feels the heart alone
When all its former hopes are dead!
Though gay companions o'er the bowl
Dispel awhile the sense of ill;
Though pleasure stirs the maddening soul,
The heart - the heart - is lonely still.

Man. I tell thee, man! I have lived many years,
Many long years, but they are nothing now
To those which I must number: ages — ages — Space and eternity — and consciousness,
With the fierce thirst of death — and still unslaked! C. Hun. Why on thy brow the seal of middle age
Hath scarce been set; I am thine elder far. 50 Man. Think’st thou existence doth depend on time?
It doth; but actions are our epochs: mine
Have made my days and nights imperishable,
Endless, and all alike, as sands on the shore,
Innumerable atoms; and one desert,
Barren and cold, on which the wild waves break,
But nothing rests, save carcasses and wrecks,
Rocks, and the salt-surf weeds of bitterness.

Tis to create, and in creating live a being more intense, that we endow with form our fancy, gaining as we give the life we image, even as I do now.

Yet truth will sometimes lend her noblest fires,
And decorate the verse herself inspires:
This fact, in virtue's name, let Crabbe attest,—
Though Nature's sternest painter, yet the best.