Lord Byron Quotes

But beef is rare within these oxless isles; Goat's flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton; And, when a holiday upon them smiles, A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on.

And the commencement of atonement is the sense of its necessity.

With thee all tales are sweet; each clime has charms; earth - sea alike - our world within our arms.

Sometimes we are less unhappy in being deceived by those we love, than in being undeceived by them.

There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not Man the less, but Nature more.

Out of chaos God made a world, and out of high passions comes a people.

But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless.

I cannot help thinking that the menace of Hell makes as many devils as the severe penal codes of inhuman humanity make villains.

The poetry of speech.

Eat, drink and love...the rest is not worth a nickel

He was a man of his times. with one virtue and a thousand crimes. (The Corsair)

Yet truth will sometimes lend her noblest fires, And decorate the verse herself inspires: This fact, in virtue's name, let Crabbe attest,- Though Nature's sternest painter, yet the best.

Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be.

A feast not profuse but elegant; more of salt [refinement] than of expense.

The English winter - ending in July to recommence in August

Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.

There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in, Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.

If I am fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom.

Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.

Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away.

Talent may be in time forgiven, but genius never

What an antithetical mind! - tenderness, roughness - delicacy, coarseness - sentiment, sensuality - soaring and groveling, dirt and deity - all mixed up in that one compound of inspired clay!

I am so convinced of the advantages of looking at mankind instead of reading about them, . . . that I think there should be a law amongst us to set our young men abroad for a term among the few allies our wars have left us.

The poor dog, in life the firmest friend. The first to welcome, foremost to defend.

Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.

Despair and Genius are too oft connected

Man marks the earth with ruin - his control stops with the shore.

What exile from himself can flee? To zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life--the demon Thought.

I cannot conceive why people will always mix up my own character and opinions with those of the imaginary beings which, as a poet, I have the right and liberty to draw.

And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 'Tis that I may not weep.

He who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him.

A celebrity is one who is known to many persons he is glad he doesn't know.

Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep for here There is such matter for all feelings: Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.

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. There from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life, Yet loathe the banquet which perforce Must feed thy livid living corse. Thy victims ere they yet expire Shall know the demon for their sire, As cursing thee, thou cursing them, Thy flowers are withered on the stem.

In England the only homage which they pay to Virtue - is hypocrisy.

Have not all past human beings parted, And must not all the present, one day part?

He learned the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, And how to scale a fortress - or a nunnery.

If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad.

But stories somehow lengthen when begun.

He scratched his ear, the infallible resource to which embarrassed people have recourse.

Sleep hath its own world, and the wide realm of wild reality.

I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me: and to me High mountains are a feeling, but the hum of human cities torture.

There is music in all things, if men had ears.

Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk and Water! Ye happy mixture of more happy days!

When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted, To sever for years.

So do the dark in soul expire, Or live like scorpion girt by fire; So writhes the mind remorse hath riven, Unfit for earth, undoom'd for heaven, Darkness above, despair beneath, Around it flame, within it death.

This is the patent-age of new inventions For killing bodies, and for saving souls, All propagated with the best intentions; Sir Humphrey Davy's lantern, by which coals Are safely mined for in the mode he mentions, Tombuctoo travels, voyages to the Poles, Are ways to benefit mankind, as true, Perhaps, as shooting them at Waterloo.