A man of eighty has outlived probably three new schools of painting, two of architecture and poetry and a hundred in dress.
Lord ByronBut every fool describes, in these bright days, His wondrous journey to some foreign court, And spawns his quarto, and demands your praise,-- Death to his publisher, to him 'tis sport.
Lord ByronThe devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.
Lord Byron