Lord Byron Quotes

'Twas strange that one so young should thus concern His brain about the action of the sky; If you think 'twas philosophy that this did, I can't help thinking puberty assisted.

Our life is two fold 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.

Roll on, deep and dark blue ocean, roll. Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. Man marks the earth with ruin, but his control stops with the shore.

Thy decay's still impregnate with divinity.

You gave me the key to your heart, my love, then why did you make me knock?

Critics are already made.

We are all selfish and I no more trust myself than others with a good motive.

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.

I loved my country, and I hated him.

I see before me the gladiator lie.

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

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes.

I deny nothing, but doubt everything.

Think'st thou existence doth depend on time? It doth; but actions are our epochs.

Smiles form the channels of a future tear.

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.

As falls the dew on quenchless sands, blood only serves to wash ambition's hands.

Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were.

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?

My native land, good night!

Be warm, be pure, be amorous, but be chaste.

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.

Then farewell, Horace; whom I hated so, Not for thy faults, but mine.

A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded.

Oh, nature's noblest gift, my grey goose quill, Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will, Torn from the parent bird to form a pen, That mighty instrument of little men.

This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And leaving nothing, yet hath all.

And then he danced,-all foreigners excel the serious Angels in the eloquence of pantomime;-he danced, I say, right well, with emphasis, and a'so with good sense-a thing in footing indispensable: he danced without theatrical pretence, not like a ballet-master in the van of his drill'd nymphs, but like a gentleman.

Who tracks the steps of glory to the grave?

Heaven gives its favourites-early death.

By headless Charles see heartless Henry lies.

Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains; They crown'd him long ago On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow.

I am no Platonist, I am nothing at all; but I would sooner be a Paulician, Manichean, Spinozist, Gentile, Pyrrhonian, Zoroastrian, than one of the seventy-two villainous sects who are tearing each other to pieces for the love of the Lord and hatred of each other.

Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till-'t is gone, and all is gray.

A legal broom's a moral chimney-sweeper, And that's the reason he himself's so dirty

Good but rarely came from good advice.

Where there is mystery, it is generally suspected there must also be evil.

Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue By female lips and eyes--that is, I mean, When both the teacher and the taught are young, As was the case, at least, where I have been; They smile so when one's right; and when one's wrong They smile still more.

Friendship is Love without his wings!

This is to be along; this, this is solitude!

The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space.

In solitude, where we are least alone.

If from society we learn to live, solitude should teach us how to die.

For pleasures past I do not grieve, nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave nothing that claims a tear.

I cannot describe to you the despairing sensation of trying to do something for a man who seems incapable or unwilling to do anything further for himself.

It is when we think we lead that we are most led.

Sorrow preys upon Its solitude, and nothing more diverts it From its sad visions of the other world Than calling it at moments back to this. The busy have no time for tears.

The reason that adulation is not displeasing is that, though untrue, it shows one to be of consequence enough, in one way or other, to induce people to lie.

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.