Lord Byron Quotes (306 Quotes)


    To withdraw myself from myself has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all.

    Agree to a short armistice with truth.

    What a strange thing is the propagation of life A bubble of seed which may be spilt in a whore's lap, or in the orgasm of a voluptuous dream, might (for aught we know) have formed a Caesar or a Bonaparte -- there is nothing remarkable recorded of their sires, that I know of.

    Friendship is Love without his wings!

    The English winter - ending in July, To recommence in August.


    For, though thy long dark lashes low depending,
    The soul of melancholy Gentleness
    Gleams like a Seraph from the sky descending,
    Above all pain, yet pitying all distress;
    At once such majesty with sweetness blending,
    I worship more, but cannot love thee less.

    The dead have been awakened -- shall I sleep The world's at war with tyrants -- shall I crouch the harvest's ripe -- and shall I pause to reap I slumber not the thorn is in my couch Each day a trumpet soundeth in mine ear, its echo in my heart.

    The spirit burning but unbent, May writhe, rebel - the weak alone repent


    Explaining metaphysics to the nation - I wish he would explain his explanation.

    My turn of mind is so given to taking things in the absurd point of view, that it breaks out in spite of me every now and then.

    I love not man the less, but Nature more.

    Proud of his learning (just enough to quote), He revell'd in his Ciceronian glory With memory excellent to get by rote, With wit to hatch a pun or tell a story, Graced with some merit, and with more effrontery, 'His country's pride,' he came down to

    If not for the love of me be given
    Thus much, then, for the love of Heaven, -
    Again I say - that turban tear
    From off thy faithless brow, and swear
    Thine injured country's sons to spare,
    Or thou art lost; and never shalt see -
    Not earth - that's past - but heaven or me.

    I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all.

    All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin.

    Oh too convincing -- dangerously dear -- In woman's eye the unanswerable tear

    One hates an author that's all author.

    A bargain is in its very essence a hostile transaction do not all men try to abate the price of all they buy I contend that a bargain even between brethren is a declaration of war.

    What a strange thing man is; and what a stranger thing woman.

    Can the lips sing of Love in the desert alone,
    Of kisses and smiles which they now must resign?

    Dear Doctor, I have read your play, Which is a good one in its way, - Purges the eyes and moves the bowels, And drenches handkerchiefs like towels.

    If I could always read, I should never feel the want of company.

    It is very certain that the desire of life prolongs it.

    Such hath it been - shall be - beneath the sun the many still must labor for the one


    A mistress never is nor can be a friend. While you agree, you are lovers; and when it is over, anything but friends.

    There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion.

    There be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like thee.

    Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.

    I had a dream, which was not all a dream.


    Thy decay's still impregnate with divinity.

    The beginning of atonement is the sense of its necessity.

    I always looked to about thirty as the barrier of any real or fierce delight in the passions, and determined to work them out in the younger ore and better veins of the mine --and I flatter myself (perhaps) that I have pretty well done so --and now the dross is coming.

    The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.

    What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page, And be alone on earth, as I am now.

    Who falls from all he knows of bliss, Cares little into what abyss.

    Every sense hath been o'erstrung, and each frail fibre of the brain sent forth her thoughts all wild and wide

    A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent

    My days, though few, have passed below
    In much of joy, but more of woe;
    Yet still in hours of love or strife,
    I've 'scaped the weariness of life:
    Now leagued with friends, now girt by foes,
    I loathed the languor of repose.

    As long as I retain my feeling and my passion for Nature, I can partly soften or subdue my other passions and resist or endure those of others.

    The love where Death has set his seal,
    Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,
    Nor falsehood disavow:
    And, what were worse, thou canst not see
    Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.


    Passion is the element in which we live without it, we hardly vegetate.

    Life's enchanted cup sparkles near the brim.

    A tigress robb'd of young, a lioness, Or any interesting beast of prey, Are similes at hand for the distress Of ladies who cannot have their own way

    They never fail who die in a great cause.

    For in itself a thought, a slumbering thought, is capable of years, and curdles a long life into one hour.

    My time has been passed viciously and agreeably at thirty-one so few years, months, days, hours, or minutes remain that Carpe Diem 'is not enough. I have been obliged to crop even the seconds-for who can trust to tomorrow'


    Related Authors


    Maya Angelou - Emily Dickinson - Aeschylus - W. H. Auden - Samuel Taylor Coleridge - Ogden Nash - Geoffrey Chaucer - Aristophanes - Andrew Lang - A. E. Housman


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