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

Women hate everything which strips off the tinsel of sentiment, and they are right, or it would rob them of their weapons.

Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine, And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared.

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

Yet still there whispers the small voice within, Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's din; Whatever creed be taught or land be trod, Man's conscience is the oracle of God.

Wordsworth – stupendous genius! Damned fool! These poets run about their ponds though they cannot fish.

Yet Time, who changes all, had altered him in soul and aspect as in age: Years steal Fire from the mind as vigor from the limb; And Life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.

Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!

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.

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.