13 Quotes Tagged: byron

Odlazim u inostranstvo; ako bude mogućno krenuću u proleće, ali pre polaska skupljam slike svojih najboljih školskih drugova; imam ih već nekoliko i treba mi još tvoja, inače će moja zbirka biti nepotpuna. Uzeo sam jednog od prvih slikara minijaturista našeg vremena da ih uradi, naravno o mom trošku pošto nikad ne dopuštam da moji poznanici budu izloženi ma i najmanjem izdatku radi zadovoljavanja nekih mojih ćudi. Može ti se učiniti nedelikatno što sam ovo pomenuo, ali kad ti kažem da je jedan naš zajednički prijatelj najpre odbio da pozira za portret verujući da će morati da plati iz svog džepa, uvidećeš da je nužno reći to odmah kako bi se izbegle druge slične greške. Videćemo se blagovremeno i ja ću te odvesti slikaru. Tvoje strpljenje će biti stavljeno na probu nedelju dana, ali molim te oprosti jer je mogućno da će ta slika biti jedino što će mi ostati od našeg negdašnjeg poznanstva i prijateljstva. Sad u ovom trenutku, to može izgledati neozbiljno, ali za nekoliko godina, kad neki od nas već budu mrtvi, a drugi rastavljeni neumitnim okolnostima, za nas će predstavljati izvesno zadovoljstvo to što ćemo u tim slikama živih sačuvati neku predstavu o sebi samima i što ćemo u slikama umrilh videti sve što je ostalo od rasuđivanja, osećanja i svakojakih strasti.

Bajron - pismo Vilijemu Harnesu, marta 1809.

A woman should never be seen eating or drinking, unless it be lobster salad and Champagne, the only true feminine and becoming viands.

For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust
In one fond breast, to which his own would melt,
And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt.

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 secret pride
To do what few or none would do beside;
And this same impulse would, in tempting time,
Mislead his spirit equally in crime;
So much he soared beyond, or sunk beneath,
The men with whom he felt condemned to breathe,
And longed by good or ill to separate
Himself from all who shared his mortal state.

If I had never lived, that which I love / Had still been living; had I never loved, / That which I love would still be beautiful — / Happy and giving happiness. What is she? / What is she now? — a sufferer for my sins — / A thing I dare not think upon — or nothing.

It's that wounded-poet crap, that soul-pain shit, that too-much-of-a-tortured-genius-to-wash bollocks. Brush your teeth, you little bastard. You're not fucking Byron.

If I had never lived, that which I love had still been living; had I never loved, that which I love would still be beautiful — happy and giving happiness. What is she? What is she now? — a sufferer for my sins — a thing I dare not think upon — or nothing.

And yet methinks the older that one grows
Inclines us more to laugh than scold, though laughter
Leaves us so doubly serious shortly after.

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 knocked on the head for his labours.

To do good to Mankind is the chivalrous plan,
And is always as nobly requited;
Then battle fro Freedom wherever you can,
And, if not shot or hanged, you'll get knighted.

...methinks the older that one grows,
Inclines us more to laugh the scold, though laughter
Leaves us so doubly serious shortly after.

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.

The Dream
Lord Byron

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 from off 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 its 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. — — — — — Il sogno
Lord Byron

Duplice è la nostra vita: il Sonno ha il suo proprio mondo,
un confine tra le cose chiamate impropriamente
morte e esistenza: il Sonno ha il proprio mondo,
e un vasto reame di sfrenata realtà;
e nel loro svolgersi i sogni hanno respiro,
e lacrime e tormenti e sfiorano la gioia;
lasciano un peso sui nostri pensieri da svegli,
tolgono un peso dalle nostre fatiche da svegli,
dividono il nostro essere; diventano
parte di noi stessi e del nostro tempo,
e sembrano gli araldi dell'eternità;
passano come fantasmi del passato, parlano
come Sibille dell'avvenire; hanno potere -
la tirannia del piacere e del dolore;
ci rendono ciò che non fummo, secondo il loro volere,
e ci scuotono con dissolte visioni,
col terrore di svanite ombre. Ma sono veramente così?
Non è forse tutto un'ombra il passato? Cosa sono?
Creazioni della mente? L

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!