Lord Byron Quotes

Jack was embarrassed — never hero more,
And as he knew not what to say, he swore.

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!

Sublime tobacco! which from east to west
Cheers the tar's labor or the Turkman's rest.

He seems
To have seen better days, as who has not
Who has seen yesterday?

Who killed John Keats?
"I," says the Quarterly,
So savage and Tartarly;
"'Twas one of my feats."

That which I am, I am; I did not seek
For life, nor did I make myself.

I live,
But live to die: and, living, see no thing
To make death hateful, save an innate clinging,
A loathsome and yet all invincible
Instinct of life, which I abhor, as I
Despise myself, yet cannot overcome—
And so I live. Would I had never lived!

Because
He is all-powerful, must all-good, too, follow?
I judge but by the fruits—and they are bitter—
Which I must feed on for a fault not mine.

Send me no more reviews of any kind. — I will read no more of evil or good in that line. — Walter Scott has not read a review of himself for thirteen years.

The world is a bundle of hay,
Mankind are the asses that pull,
Each tugs in a different way—
And the greatest of all is John Bull!

Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story;
The days of our youth are the days of our glory;
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty
Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.

When a man hath no freedom to fight for at home, Let him combat for that of his neighbours;
Let him think of the glories of Greece and of Rome And get knock'd on the head for his labours.
To do good to mankind is the chivalrous plan, And is always as nobly requited;
Then battle for freedom wherever you can. And, if not shot or hang'd, you'll get knighted.

And if we do but watch the hour, There never yet was human power
Which could evade, if unforgiven, The patient search and vigil long
Of him who treasures up a wrong.

"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 thought
Were in his limbs.

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.