Lord Byron Quotes

453 Sourced Quotes

There were his young barbarians all at play,
There was their Dacian mother— he, their sire,
Butchered to make a Roman holiday.

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

Lord Byron
And when the gorgeous coffin was laid low,
It seemed the mockery of hell to fold
The rottenness of eighty years in gold.
On the burial of george iii

Lord Byron
He who ascends to mountaintops, shall find The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow; He who surpasses or subdues mankind Must look down on the hate of those below.

Lord Byron
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.

Lord Byron
Are we aware of our obligations to a mob? It is the mob that labor in your fields and serve in your houses - that man your navy, and recruit your army - that have enabled you to defy the world, and can also defy you when neglect and calamity have driven them to despair. You may call the people a mob; but do not forget that a mob too often speaks the sentiments of the people.

Lord Byron
A man must serve his time to every trade
Save censure—critics all are ready made.
Take hackneyed jokes from Miller, got by rote,
With just enough of learning to misquote.

Lord Byron
His love was passion's essence:—as a tree
On fire by lightning, with ethereal flame
Kindled he was, and blasted.
Of Jean-Jacques rousseau

Lord Byron
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.
Although his anatomical construction
Bears vegetables, in a grumbling way,
Your laboring people think beyond all question,
Beef, veal, and mutton better for digestion.

Lord Byron
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed.

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

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

Lord Byron
Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one.

Lord Byron
Better to sink beneath the shock
Than moulder piecemeal on the rock.

Lord Byron
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.

Lord Byron
'Let there be light!' said God, and there was light!'
'Let there be blood!' says man, and there's a sea!

Lord Byron
Still I can't contradict, what so oft has been said,
'Though women are angels, yet wedlock's the devil.'

Lord Byron
The castled crag of Drachenfels Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine.

Lord Byron
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.

Lord Byron
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.

Lord Byron
Dreading that climax of all human ills,
The inflammation of his weekly bills.

Lord Byron
Just as old age is creeping on space,
And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day,
They kindly leave us, though not quite alone,
But in good company—the gout or stone.

Lord Byron
Thou fatal Waterloo.
Millions of tongues record thee, and anew Their children's lips shall echo them, and say— "Here, where the sword united nations drew,
Our countrymen were warring on that day!"
And this is much, and all which will not pass away.

Lord Byron
And to his eye
There was but one beloved face on earth,
And that was shining on him.

Lord Byron
My hair is grey, but not with years,
Nor grew it white
In a single night,
As men's have grown from sudden fears.

Lord Byron
There's nought, no doubt, so much the spirit calms
As rum and true religion.

Lord Byron
And trusted to thy billows far and near,
And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here.

Lord Byron
And Harold stands upon this place of skulls.

Lord Byron
How my soul hates This language,
Which makes life itself a lie,
Flattering dust with eternity.

Lord Byron
Now what I love in women is, they won't Or can't do otherwise than lie, but do it. So well, the very truth seems falsehood to it.

Lord Byron