Lord Byron Quotes

Many are poets, but without the name;For what is Poesy but to createFrom overfeeling Good or Ill; and aimAt an external life beyond our fate,And be the new Prometheus of new men,Bestowing fire from Heaven, and then, too late,Finding the pleasure given repaid with pain

What should I have known or written had I been a quiet, mercantile politician or a lord in waiting? A man must travel, and turmoil, or there is no existence.

I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.

Time strips our illusions of their hue, And one by one in turn, some grand mistake Casts off its bright skin yearly like the snake.

Think not I am what I appear.

I am never long, even in the society of her I love, without yearning for the company of my lamp and my library.

I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse -- borne away with every breath!

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

Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.

A pretty woman is a welcome guest.

But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.

Pure friendship's well-feigned blush.

Perhaps the early grave Which men weep over may be meant to save.

And life 's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.

Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away; A single laugh demolish'd the right arm Of his own country.

A woman being never at a loss... the devil always sticks by them.

I have a passion for the name of "Mary," For once it was a magic sound to me, And still it half calls up the realms of fairy, Where I beheld what never was to be.

There is something to me very softening in the presence of a woman, some strange influence, even if one is not in love with them, which I cannot at all account for, having no very high opinion of the sex. But yet, I always feel in better humor with myself and every thing else, if there is a woman within ken.

One hates an author that's all author.

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

The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed.

A quiet conscience makes one so serene.

Better to sink beneath the shock Than moulder piecemeal on the rock!

To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.

Mark! Where his carnage and his conquests cease, He makes a solitude and calls it-peace!

And Doubt and Discord step 'twixt thine and thee.

Eternity forbids thee to forget.

I would rather have a nod from an American, than a snuff- box from an emperor.

Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire with angels shared, by Allah given to lift from earth our low desire.

Pythagoras, Locke, Socrates - but pages might be filled up, as vainly as before, with the sad usage of all sorts of sages, who in his life-time, each was deemed a bore! The loftiest minds outrun their tardy ages.

I think the worst woman that ever existed would have made a man of very passable reputation -- they are all better than us and their faults such as they are must originate with ourselves.

The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.

Rough Johnson, the great moralist.

Self-love for ever creeps out, like a snake, to sting anything which happens to stumble upon it.

Like the measles, love is most dangerous when it comes late in life.

No hand can make the clock strike for me the hours that are passed.

This is the age of oddities let loose.

What is fame? The advantage of being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little.

Come what may, I have been blest.

Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.

Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection.