Lord Byron Quotes
I cannot conceive why people will always mix up my own character and opinions with those of the imaginary beings which, as a poet, I have the right and liberty to draw.
Send me no more reviews of any kind. I will read no more of evil or good in that line. Walter Scott has not read a review of himself for thirteen years .
But beef is rare within these oxless isles; Goat's flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton; And, when a holiday upon them smiles, A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on.
The heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old!-- The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns.
Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes; But no too humbly, or she will despise Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes: Disguise even tenderness if thou art wise.
And angling too, that solitary vice, What Izaak Walton sings or says: The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull 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!
Kill a man's family, and he may brook it, But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket.
There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in, Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.
Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave, Then some leap'd overboard with fearful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave.
Oh! too convincing--dangerously dear-- In woman's eye the unanswerable tear! That weapon of her weakness she can wield, To save, subdue--at once her spear and shield.
For a man to become a poet (witness Petrarch and Dante), he must be in love, or miserable.
When Bishop Berkeley said "there was no matter " And proved it - 'twas no matter what he said.
Christians have burned each other quite persuaded That all the apostles would have done as they did.
On with the dance! Let joy be unconfin'd No sleep till morn when Youth and Pleasure meet.
Death so called is a thing which makes men weep And yet a third of life is pass'd in sleep.
I am never long even in the society of her I love without yearning for the company of my lamp and my library.
