George Gordon Byron Quotes
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Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.
Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, sermons and soda water the day after.
A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound.
A drop of ink may make a million think.
My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes.
If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad.
There is something pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything.
Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.
I do not believe in any religion, I will have nothing to do with immortality. We are miserable enough in this life without speculating upon another.
Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.
Despair and Genius are too oft connected
I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.
They never fail who die in a great cause.
A woman being never at a loss... the devil always sticks by them.
This is to be mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.
Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most must mourn the deepest o’er the fatal truth, the Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.
But first on earth as vampire sentThy corpse shall from its tomb be rentThen gastly haunt thy native placeAnd suck the blood of all thy race
Always laugh when you can, it is cheap medicine.
As soon seek roses in December, ice in June, Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaffBelieve a woman or an epitaphOr any other thing that’s falseBefore you trust in critics.
Sweet to the miser are his glittering heaps, Sweet to the father is his first-born's birth, Sweet is revenge--especially to women
It is not in the storm or in the strifeWe feel benumbed and wish to be nor more, But in the after-silence on the shoreWhen all is lost except a little life.
I love not man the less, but nature more
In secret we met -In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive.If I should meet theeAfter long years, How should I greet thee? -With silence and tears
Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 'Tis woman's whole existence.
The great object of life is sensation- to feel that we exist, even though in pain.
Where there is mystery, it is generally supposed there must be evil.
Then stirs the feeling infinite, s
I am ashes where once I was fire...
But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling, like dew, upon a thought producesThat which makes thousands, perhaps millions think.
If I do not write to empty my mind, I go mad.
A woman who gives any advantage to a man may expect a lover -- but will sooner or later find a tyrant.
On with the dance! let joy be unconfin'd
the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, the first to welcome, the foremost to defend.
What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?The hearts bleed longest, and heals but to wear That which disfigures it.
If I could always read I should never feel the want of company.
The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the Music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonised the whole —And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!
All who joy would winMust share it -- Happiness was born a twin.
And yet methinks the older that one growsInclines us more to laugh than scold, though laughterLeaves us so doubly serious shortly after.
...methinks the older that one grows, Inclines us more to laugh the scold, though laughterLeaves us so doubly serious shortly after.
Friendship is love without wings.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the starsDid wander darkling in the eternal space.
I awoke one morning to find myself famous.
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 roar:I love not man the less, but Nature more
I live not in myself, but I becomePortion of that around me: and to meHigh mountains are a feeling, but the humof human cities torture.