Lord Byron Quotes

And after all what is a lie? Tis but The truth in masquerade.

Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.

He was the mildest manner'd man That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat.

Soprano basso even the contralto Wished him five fathom under the Rialto.

I love not man the less but nature more.

It is the hour when from the boughs The nightingale's high note is heard It is the hour when lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whisper'd word.

The great art of life is sensation to feel that we exist even in pain.

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.

Gone - glimmering through the dream of things that were.

Society is now one polished horde Formed of two mighty tribes The Bores and the Bored.

If from Society we learn to live Tis Solitude should teach us how to die It hath no flatterers.

In solitude when we are least alone.

His speech was a fine sample on the whole Of rhetoric which the learn'd call "rigmarole."

A schoolboy's tale the wonder of an hour.

The "good old times"-all times when old are good.

The past is the best prophet of the future.

Roll on thou deep and dark blue ocean - roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain Man marks the earth with ruin - his control Stops with the shore.

The power of Thought - the magic of the Mind!

Here's a sigh to those who love me And a smile to those who hate And whatever sky's above me Here's a heart for every fate.

'Tis strange - but true for truth is always strange Stranger than fiction.

Tis sweet to hear the watchdog's honest bark Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home.

Think you if Laura had been Petrarch's wife He would have written sonnets all his life?

Few things surpass old wine and they may preach Who please the more because they preach in vain - Let us have wine and women mirth and laughter Sermons and soda-water the day after.

In her first passion woman loves her lover In all the others all she loves is love.

A schoolboy's tale the wonder of an hour!

There is a tide in the affairs of women Which taken at the flood leads - God knows where.

Tis enough - Who listens once will listen twice Her heart be sure is not of ice And one refusal no rebuff.

Letter-writing is the only device for combining solitude with good company.

I have not loved the world nor the world me I have not flatter'd its rank breath nor bow'd To its idolatries a patient knee.

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? The hearts bleed longest and but heal to wear That which disfigures it.

Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy!

Who loves, raves.

Women hate everything which strips off the tinsel of sentiment, and they are right, or it would rob them of their weapons.

Truth is always strange, stranger than fiction.

Opinions are made to be changed - or how is truth to be got at?

For truth is always strange stranger than fiction.

Lovers may be - and indeed generally are - enemies, but they never can be friends, because there must always be a spice of jealousy and a something of Self in all their speculations.