Lord Byron, formally George Gordon Noel Byron, 6th Baron Byron

Years steal fire from the mind as vigor from the limb; and life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.

Yet, Freedom! yet the banner, torn, but flying, Streams like the thunderstorm against the wind!

Yes! Ready money is Aladdin's lamp.

You are 'the best of cut-throats:'--do not start; The phrase is Shakespeare's, and not misapplied:-- War's a brain-spattering, windpipe-slitting art, Unless her cause by Right be sanctified. If you have acted once a generous part, The World, not the World's masters, will decide, and I shall be delighted to learn who, Save you and yours, have gained by Waterloo? I am no flatterer--you've supped full of flattery: They say you like it too--'tis no great wonder: He whose whole life has been assault and battery, At last may get a little tired of thunder; And swallowing eulogy much more than satire, he May like being praised for every lucky blunder; Called 'Savior of the Nations'--not yet saved, And Europe's Liberator--still enslaved. I've done. Now go and dine from off the plate Presented by the Prince of the Brazils, And send the sentinel before your gate A slice or two from your luxurious meals: He fought, but has not fed so well of late.

Wished him five fathom under the Rialto.

Yes, Honor decks the turf that wraps their clay.

You are the fools, not I — for I did dwell with a deep thought, and with a softened eye, on that old sexton's natural homily, in which there was obscurity and fame, the glory and the nothing of a name. [Churchill’s grave}

With but a plank between them and their fate.

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.

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

With common men there needs to oft the show of war to keep The substance of sweet peace, and for a king, 'tis sometimes better to be fear'd than lov'd.

Yes--it was love--if thoughts o? Tenderness, tried in temptation, strengthen'd by distress, unmov'd by absence, firm in every clime, and yet--oh more than all! Untired by time, which nor defeated hope, nor baffled wile, could render sullen were she near to smile, nor rage could fire, nor sickness fret to vent on her one murmur of his discontent; which still would meet with joy, with calmness part, lest that his look of grief should reach her heart; which nought removed, nor menaced to remove-- if there be love in mortals--this was love!

You have greatly ventured, but all must do so who would greatly win.

With just enough of learning to misquote

Yes--the same sin that overthrew the angels, and of all sins most easily besets mortals the nearest to the angelic nature: The vile are only vain; the great are proud.

You may live in an imperfect world but the frontiers are not closed and the doors are not all shut.

With more capacity for love than earth Bestows on most of mortal mold and birth, His early dreams of good out-stripp'd the truth, And troubled manhood follow'd baffled youth.

Yet doth he live! exclaims th' impatient heir, And sighs for sables which he must not wear.

You never know what events are going to transpire to get you home.

With pleasure drugged, he almost longed for woe

Yet even her tyranny had such a grace, The women pardoned all, except her face.

Your letter of excuses has arrived. I receive the letter but do not admit the excuses except in courtesy, as when a man treads on your toes and begs your pardon -- the pardon is granted, but the joint aches, especially if there is a corn upon it.

With swimming looks of speechless tenderness.

Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it

Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.