George Gordon Byron Quotes (185 Quotes)

None are so desolate but something dear, Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd A thought, and claims the homage of a tear.

Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare, And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.

Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes But not too humbly, or she will despise Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes Disguise even tenderness, if thou art wise.

But hush hark a deep sound strikes like a rising knell Did ye not hear it No 't was but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street. On with the dance let joy be unconfined No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.

Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer.

And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.

So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, View'd his own feather on the fatal dart, And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart.

Egeria sweet creation of some heart Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast.

Hereditary bondsmen know ye not, Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow.

The mighty master of unmeaning rhyme. Darwin.

Oh for one hour of blind old Dandolo, The octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe.

The madmen who have made men mad By their contagion Conquerors and Kings, Founders of sects and systems.

O Fame if I ever took delight in thy praises, 'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover The thought that I was not unworthy to love her.

To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind.

A being more intense, that we endow With form our fancy, gaining as we give The life we image.

Farewell if ever fondest prayer For other's weal avail'd on high, Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky.

The mind can make Substance, and people planets of its own With beings brighter than have been, and give A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh.

The French courage proceeds from vanity the German from phlegm the Turkish from fanaticism opium the Spanish from pride the English from coolness the Dutch from obstinacy the Russian from insensibility but the Italian from anger.

The hell of waters where they howl and hiss, And boil in endless torture.

The cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew, The mourn'd, the loved, the lost,too many, yet how few.

O Rome my country city of the soul.

Theres not a joy the world can give like that it takes away.

All is concentr'd in a life intense, Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, But hath a part of being.

The starry Galileo with his woes.

The lapse of ages changes all things time, language, the earth, the bounds of the sea, the stars of the sky, and every thing 'about, around, and underneath' man, except man himself.

Land of lost gods and godlike men.

There is a rapture on the lonely shore ... By the deep sea, and music in its roar.

The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.

I was accused of every monstrous vice by public rumour and private rancour my name, which had been a knightly or noble one, was tainted. I felt that, if what was whispered, and muttered, and murmured, was true, I was unfit for England if false, England was unfit for me.

Suspicion is a heavy armor, And with its own weight impedes more than protects.

I have imbibed such a love for money that I keep some sequins in a drawer to count, and cry over them once a week.

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

What say you to such a supper with such a woman.

Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were.

Alas our young affections run to waste, Or water but the desert.

Of Wordsworth Who, both by precept and example, shows That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose.

This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction.

Twas blow for blow, disputing inch by inch, For one would not retreat, nor t'other flinch.

The poetry of speech.

Ready money is Aladdin's lamp.

All who would win joy, must share it happiness was born a twin.

History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page.

All comedies are ended by a marriage.

Seek roses in December, ice in June Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff Believe a woman or an epitaph, Or any other thing that 's false, before You trust in critics.

The tenor's voice is spoilt by affectation, And for the bass, the beast can only bellow In fact, he had no singing education, An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow.

When we think we lead we are most led.

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe, Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast, Is that portentous phrase, 'I told you so.'

What men call gallantry, and gods adultery, Is much more common where the climate's sultry.

Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda water the day after.

The petrifactions of a plodding brain.