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

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

British Poet and leading figure in the Romantic Movement

Author Quotes

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?

Till taught by pain, Men really know not what good water's worth; If you had been in Turkey or in Spain, Or with a famish'd boat's-crew had your berth, Or in the desert heard the camel's bell, You'd wish yourself where Truth is--in a well.

Tis very certain the desire of life prolongs it.

To what gulfs A single deviation from the track Of human duties leads even those who claim The homage of mankind as their born due, And find it, till they forfeit it themselves!

Voluptuous as the first approach of sleep.

Well, well, the world must turn upon its axis, and all mankind turn with it, heads or tails, and live and die, make love and pay our taxes, and as the veering winds shift, shift our sails.

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

When it gets dark enough you can see the stars.

Where is he, the champion and the child of all that's great or little, wise or wild; whose game was empires, and whose stakes were thrones; whose table earth — whose dice were human bones?

Who like sour fruit to stir their veins' salt tides.

Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow, such as Creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

Tis very puzzling on the brink Of what is called Eternity to stare, And know no more of what is here, than there.

To withdraw myself from myself has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all.

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Byron, formally George Gordon Noel Byron, 6th Baron Byron
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British Poet and leading figure in the Romantic Movement