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

They sicken at the calm that know the storm.

Tho' modest, on his unembarrass'd brow Nature had written--"Gentlemen."

Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a roving By the light of the moon.

The silver light, which, hallowing tree and tower, Sheds beauty and deep softness o'er the whole, Breathes also to the heart, and o'er it throws A loving languor which is not repose.

The very first of human life must spring from woman's breast: your first small words are taught you from her lips; your first tears quench'd by her, and your last sighs too often breath'd out in a woman's hearing, when men have shrunk from the ignoble care of watching the last hour of him who led them.

There be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like thee; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me.

There is no instinct like that of the heart.

There's music in the sighing of a reed; there's music in the gushing of a rill; there's music in all things, if men had ears: their earth is but an echo of the spheres.

They truly mourn that mourn without a witness.

Those who aim at great deeds must also suffer greatly.

Though they did not kiss, Yet still between his Darkness and his Brightness There passed a mutual glance of great politeness.

The simple Wordsworth . . . Who, both by precept and example, shows that prose is verse, and verse is merely prose.

The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, the Moon, their Mistress, had expired before; The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air, And the clouds perish'd; darkness had no need of aid from them--she was the Universe.

There comes forever something between us and what we deem our happiness.

There is no passion more spectral or fantastical than Hate; not even its opposite, Love, so peoples air with phantoms, as this madness of the heart.

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

They used to say that knowledge is power. I used to think so, but I now know that they mean money.

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

Though thy slumber may be deep. Yet thy spirit will not sleep; There are shades that will not vanish, There are thoughts thou canst not banish.

The sky spreads like an ocean hung on high, Bespangled with those isles of light so wildly, spiritually bright. Whoever gaz'd upon them shining, and turn'd to earth without repining, nor wish'd for wings to flee away, and mix with their eternal ray?

The way to be immortal (I mean not to die at all is to have me for your heir. I recommend you to put me in your will and you will see that (as long as I live at least you will never even catch cold.

There could be no honor in a sure success, but much might be wrested from a sure defeat.

There is no sterner moralist than pleasure.

There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away.

Thine are the hours and days when both are cheering and innocent.