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

Vice, that digs her own voluptuous tomb!

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.

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.

Were't the last drop in the well, as I gasp'd upon the brink, ere my fainting spirit fell 't is to thee that I would drink.

What of them is left, to tell Where they lie, and how they fell? Not a stone on their turf, nor a bone in their graves: But they live in the Verse that immortally saves.

When Newton saw an apple fall, he found In that slight startle from his contemplation - 'Tis said (for I'll not answer above ground For any sage's creed or calculation) - A mode of proving that the earth turned round In a most natural whirl called G

Where is the world?" cries Young, at eighty. "Where The world in which a man was born?" Alas! Where is the world of eight years past? 'Twas there-- I look for it--'tis gone, a globe of glass Cracked, shivered, vanished, scarcely gazed on ere A silent change dissolves the glittering mass. Statesmen, chiefs, orators, queens, patriots, kings, And dandies, all are gone on the wind's wings.

Who loves, raves--'tis youth's frenzy--but the cure Is bitterer still.

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.

War, war is still the cry, "War even to the knife!"

What a strange thing is man! and what a stranger Is woman! What a whirlwind is her head, And what a whirlpool full of depth and danger Is all the rest about her.

What say you to such a supper with such a woman?

When one subtracts from life infancy (which is vegetation), sleep, eating and swilling, buttoning and unbuttoning - how much remains of downright existence? The summer of a dormouse.

Where may the wearied eye repose when gazing on the great; where neither guilty glory glows, nor despicable state? Yes — one — the first — the last — the best — the Cincinnatus of the west, whom envy dared not hate, bequeath'd the name of Washington, to make man blush there was but one!

Who surpasses or subdues mankind, must look down on the hate of those below.

Time, the corrector when our judgments err, the test of truth and love; sole philosopher, for all besides are sophists.

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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