Lord Byron Quotes

Were things but only call’d by their right name,
Cæsar himself would be asham’d of Fame.

What Exile from himself can flee?
To Zones, though more and more remote,
Still, still pursues, where e’er I be,
The blight of life — the demon Thought.

what’s travel,
Unless it teaches one to quote and cavil?

What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled?
’Tis but as a dead-flower with May-dew besprinkled.
Then away with all such from the head that is hoary!
What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory?

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.

Gaze
Upon the shades of those distinguished men,
Who were or are the puppet-shows of praise,
The praise of persecution. Gaze again
On the most favoured; and amidst the blaze
Of sunset halos o’er the laurel-browed,
What can ye recognize? — A gilded cloud.

The World, which at the worst’s a glorious blunder — If it be Chance; or if it be according
To the old Text, still better: — lest it should
Turn out so, we’ll say nothing ’gainst the wording,
As several people think such hazards rude.
They’re right; our days are too brief for affording
Space to dispute what no one ever could
Decide, and every body one day will
Know very clearly — or at least lie still.

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