Lord Byron Quotes

Prolonged endurance tames the bold.

No hand can make the clock strike for me the hours that are passed.

I am always most religious upon a sunshiny day.

When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted, To sever for years.

There's music in the sighing of a reed; There's music in the gushing of a rill; There's music in all things, if men had ears; The earth is but the music of the spheres.

My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea.

Yes! Ready money is Aladdin's lamp.

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

The Cardinal is at his wit's end - it is true that he had not far to go.

Switzerland is a curst, selfish, swinish country of brutes, placed in the most romantic region of the world.

I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law.

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

America is a model of force and freedom and moderation - with all the coarseness and rudeness of its people.

Let not his mode of raising cash seem strange, Although he fleeced the flags of every nation, For into a prime minister but change His title, and 'tis nothing but taxation.

That low vice, curiosity!

Sometimes we are less unhappy in being deceived by those we love, than in being undeceived by them.

In secret we met - In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? - With silence and tears

Nothing can confound a wise man more than laughter from a dunce.

So for a good old-gentlemanly vice, I think I must take up with avarice.

If from society we learn to live, solitude should teach us how to die.

Next to dressing for a rout or ball, undressing is a woe.

Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away.

For what were all these country patriots born? To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn?

A man of eighty has outlived probably three new schools of painting, two of architecture and poetry and a hundred in dress.

I am about to be married, and am of course in all the misery of a man in pursuit of happiness.

A thirst for gold, The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm The meanest hearts.

Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains; They crown'd him long ago On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow.

There is a tear for all who die, A mourner o'er the humblest grave.

Man's love is of man's life a part; it is a woman's whole existence. In her first passion, a woman loves her lover, in all the others all she loves is love.

Sorrow preys upon Its solitude, and nothing more diverts it From its sad visions of the other world Than calling it at moments back to this. The busy have no time for tears.

Romances paint at full length people's wooing. But only give a bust of marriages.

A quiet conscience makes one so serene.

He who is only just is cruel; who Upon the earth would live were all judged justly?

Sighing that Nature formed but one such man, and broke the die.

The mind can make substance, and people planets of its own with beings brighter than have been, and give a breath to forms which can outlive all flesh.

I have always believed that all things depended upon Fortune, and nothing upon ourselves.

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

Oh, nature's noblest gift, my grey goose quill, Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will, Torn from the parent bird to form a pen, That mighty instrument of little men.

I shall soon be six-and-twenty. Is there anything in the future that can possibly console us for not being always twenty-five?

Tis strange,-but true; for truth is always strange; Stranger than fiction: if it could be told, How much would novels gain by the exchange! How differently the world would men behold!

Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, All ashes to the taste.

This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And leaving nothing, yet hath all.

Shelley is truth itself and honour itself notwithstanding his out-of-the-way notions about religion.

Her great merit is finding out mine; there is nothing so amiable as discernment.

There is pleasure in the pathless woods.

In England the only homage which they pay to Virtue - is hypocrisy.

In the desert a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee

He had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept.

Of all tales 'tis the saddest--and more sad, Because it makes us smile.

He who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him.