Lord Byron Quotes
Most popular Lord Byron Quotes
Fame is the thirst of youth.
Ready money is Aladdin's lamp.
Truth is stranger than fiction.
Without hearts there is no home.
The dew of compassion is a tear.
Good rarely came from good advice.
They said little, but to the purpose.
Friendship is Love without his wings!
Adversity is the first path to truth.
Jealousy dislikes the world to know it.
Smiles form the channels of a future tear.
And when we think we lead, we are most led.
Time! the corrector when our judgments err.
The best prophet of the future is the past.
The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.
There is no instinct like that of the heart.
Liberty! Eternal spirit of the chainless mind.
The best of prophets of the future is the past.
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove.
War's a brain-spattering, windpipe-slitting art.
Tis very certain, the desire of life Prolongs it.
Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure.
Talent may be in time forgiven, but genius never!
With pleasure drugged, they almost longed for woe.
Years steal Fire from the mind as vigor from the limb.
Man: half dust, half deity, alike unfit to sink or soar.
For a man to become a poet he must be in love, or miserable.
Opinions are made to be changed—or how is truth to be got at?
In commitment, we dash the hopes of a thousand potential selves.
I speak not of men's creeds—they rest between Man and his Maker.
All who joy would win must share it — happiness was born a twin.
And, after all, what is a Lie? 'Tis but The truth in masquerade.
But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence.
Like the measles, love was most dangerous when it came late in life.
The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.
Yes, Love indeed is a light from heaven,; a spark of that immortal fire.
Joy's recollection is no longer joy, while sorrow's memory is sorrow still
If from society we learn to live, 'Tis solitude should teach us how to die.
We are all selfish and I no more trust myself than others with a good motive.
A man must serve his time to every trade. Save censure — critics are ready-made.
Men are the sport of circumstances, when the circumstances seem the sport of men.
Talk six times with the same single lady and you may get the wedding-dress ready.
Society is now one polished horde, Formed of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored.
Friendship may, and often does, grow into love; but love never subsides into friendship.
Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure; men love in haste but they detest at leisure.
Prepare for rhyme—I'll publish right or wrong: Fools are my theme, let Satire be my song.
The truly brave are soft of heart and eyes, and feel for what their duty bids them to do.
In play there are two pleasures for your choosing—the one is winning, and the other losing.
Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, there is no sterner moralist than pleasure.
I can't contradict what so oft has been said. "Though women are angels, yet wedlock's the devil."
My attachment has neither the blindness of the beginning—nor the microscopic accuracy of the close of such liaisons.
The poem will please if it is lively—if it is stupid it will fail—but I will have none of your damned cutting and slashing.
But time strips our illusions of their hue, And one by one in turn, some grand mistake Casts off its bright skin yearly, like a snake.
But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling, like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think.
A little tumult, now and then, is an agreeable quickener of sensation; such as a revolution, a battle, or an adventure of any lively description.
She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies;. And all that's best of dark and bright. Meet in her aspect and her eyes.
Man is a carnivorous production, And must have meals, at least one meal a day; He cannot live, like woodcocks, upon suction, But, like the shark and tiger, must have prey.
Near this spot are deposited the remains of one who possessed beauty without vanity, strength without insolence, courage without ferocity, and all the virtues of Man, without his vices.
I by no means rank poetry high in the scale of intelligence—this may look like affectation but it is my real opinion. It is the lava of the imagination whose eruption prevents an earthquake.
Dear authors! Suit your topics to your strength, And ponder well your subject, and its length; Nor lift your load, before you're quite aware What weight your shoulders will, or will not, bear.
The truly brave, When they behold the brave oppressed with odds, Are touched with a desire to shield and save:— A mixture of wild beasts and demi-gods Are they—now furious as the sweeping wave.
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods. There is a rapture on the lonely shore. There is society, where none intrudes. By the deep sea, and music in its roars; I love not man the less, but nature more.
Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe When tipp'd with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe; Like other charmers, wooing the caress More dazzlingly when daring in full dress; Yet thy true lovers more admire by far Thy naked beauties—give me a cigar!
The great object in life is Sensation—to feel that we exist, even though in pain; it is this "craving void" which drives us to gaming, to battle, to travel, to intemperate but keenly felt pursuits of every description whose principal attraction is the agitation inseparable from their accomplishment.
A man must serve his time to every trade Save censure—critics all are ready made.
Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.
Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure; Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.
I by no means rank poetry high in the scale of intelligence—this may look like affectation but it is my real opinion. It is the lava of the imagination whose eruption prevents an earthquake.
