Lord Byron Quotes

Better to sink beneath the shock
Than moulder piecemeal on the rock.

But first on earth as vampire sent
Thy corpse shall from its tomb be rent
Then gastly haunt thy native place
And suck the blood of all thy race

What are the hopes of man? Old Egypt's King
Cheops erected the first pyramid
And largest, thinking it was just the thing
To keep his memory whole, and mummy hid;
But somebody or other rummaging,
Burglariously broke his coffin's lid:
Let not a monument give you or me hopes,
Since not a pinch of dust remains of Cheops.

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.

Hark! to the hurried question of despair: "Where is my child?"—an echo answers, "Where?"

But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.

Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most
Must mourn the deepest o’er the fatal truth,
The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.

Roll on, vain days! full reckless may ye flow,
Since Time hath reft whate’er my soul enjoy’d,
And with the ills of Eld mine earlier years alloy’d.

For freedom's battle, once begun,
Bequeath'd by bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled oft, is ever won.

Cuál es el final de la fama? No es sino llenar
una cierta porción de un papel incierto:
algunos la comparan a trepar a una colina,
cuya cumbre, como la de todas las colinas, está oculta en niebla
...
contar
con un nombre, un despreciable retrato

Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; the best of life is but intoxication.

Some women use their tongues — she look'd a lecture,
Each eye a sermon, and her brow a homily,
An all-in-all sufficient self-director,

Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway,
Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day!

Here we are and there we go: — -but where?

And thus they plod in sluggish misery,
Rotting from sire to son, and age to age,
Proud of their trampled nature, and so die,
Bequeathing their hereditary rage
To the new race of inborn slaves, who wage
War for their chains, and rather than be free,
Bleed gladiator-like, and still engage
Within the same arena where they see
Their fellows fall before, like leaves of the same tree.