It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us. A year impairs, a luster obliterates. There is little distinct left without an effort of memory, then indeed the lights are rekindled for a moment but who can be sure that the Imagination is not the torch-bearer
I thought it would appear That there had been a lady in the case.
Let none think to fly the danger for soon or late love is his own avenger.
Opinions are made to be changed - or how is truth to be got at?
To feel for none is the true social art of the world's stoics - men without a heart
No ear can hear nor tongue can tell the tortures of the inward hell
Every day confirms my opinion on the superiority of a vicious life - and if Virtue is not its own reward I don't know any other stipend annexed to it.
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.
America is a model of force and freedom and moderation - with all the coarseness and rudeness of its people.
Oh Time the beautifier of the dead, adorer of the ruin, comforter and only healer when the heart hath bled... Time, the avenger
It has been said that the immortality of the soul is a ''grand peut-''tre'' --but still it is a grand one. Everybody clings to it --the stupidest, and dullest, and wickedest of human bipeds is still persuaded that he is immortal.
Man is born passionate of body, but with an innate though secret tendency to the love of Good in his main-spring of Mind. But God help us all! It is at present a sad jar of atoms.
The land of self-interest groans from shore to shore, For fear that plenty should attain the poor.
I have always believed that all things depended upon Fortune, and nothing upon ourselves.
Nothing so fretful, so despicable as a Scribbler, see what I am, and what a parcel of Scoundrels I have brought about my ears, and what language I have been obliged to treat them with to deal with them in their own way -- all this comes of Authorship.
My hope, my comforter, my all!
It is not one man nor a million, but the spirit of liberty that must be preserved. The waves which dash upon the shore are, one by one, broken, but the ocean conquers nevertheless. It overwhelms the Armada, it wears out the rock. In like manner, whatever the struggle of individuals, the great cause will gather strength.
I know that two and two make four - and should be glad to prove it too if I could - though I must say if by any sort of process I could convert 2 and 2 into five it would give me much greater pleasure.
In short, he was a perfect cavalier, And to his very valet seemed a hero.
My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief,
Are mine alone!
For pleasures past I do not grieve, nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave nothing that claims a tear.
'Tis very certain the desire of life prolongs it.
He who surpasses or subdues mankind, must look down on the hate of those below.
I dreamt last night our love return'd,
And, sooth to say, that very dream
Was sweeter in its phantasy,
Than if for other hearts I burn'd,
For eyes that ne'er like thine could beam
In Rapture's wild reality.
We have progressively improved into a less spiritual species of tenderness -- but the seal is not yet fixed though the wax is preparing for the impression.
Imagination droops her pinion.
To have joy one must share it. Happiness was born a twin.
This place is the Devil, or at least his principal residence, they call it the University, but any other appellation would have suited it much better, for study is the last pursuit of the society the Master eats, drinks, and sleeps, the Fellows drink, dispute and pun, the employments of the undergraduates you will probably conjecture without my description.
Nor be, what man should ever be, The friend of Beauty in distress.
Smiles form the channels of a future tear.
Folly loves the martyrdom of fame.
'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print. A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.
The busy have no time for tears.
Romances paint at full length people's wooings, but only give a bust of marriages but no one cares for matrimonial cooings
Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; the best of life is but intoxication.
Men think highly of those who rise rapidly in the world; whereas nothing rises quicker than dust, straw, and feathers.
Tis melancholy, and a fearful sign Of human frailty, folly, also crime, That love and marriage rarely can combine, Although they both are born in the same clime Marriage from love, like vinegar from wine - A sad, sour, sober beverage - by time Is s
A light broke in upon my brain, - It was the carol of a bird It ceased, and then it came again, The sweetest song ear ever heard.
Why I came here, I know not; where I shall go it is useless to inquire - in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom?
If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad.
If this be true, indeed, Some Christians have a comfortable creed.
The 'good old times' - all times when old are good.
Constancy... that small change of love, which people exact so rigidly, receive in such counterfeit coin, and repay in baser metal.
As falls the dew on quenchless sands, blood only serves to wash ambition's hands.
If this thou dost accord, albeit
A heavy doom 'tis thine to me,
That doom shall half absolve thy sin,
And mercy's gate may receive within;
But pause one moment more, and take
The curse of Him thou didst forsake;
And look once more to heaven, and see
Its love for ever shut from thee.
But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.
My attachment has neither the blindness of the beginning, nor the microscopic accuracy of the close of such liaisons.
There is, in fact, no law or government at all in Italy and it is wonderful how well things go on without them.
Posterity will never survey a nobler grave than this here lie the bones of Castlereagh stop, traveler, and piss.
Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.
More Lord Byron Quotations (Based on Topics)
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