Authors — Quotes

George Gordon Byron Quotes: 24

And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.
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
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
She walks in beauty, like the nightOf cloudless climes and starry skies;And all that's best of dark and brightMeet in her aspect and her eyes...
All who joy would winMust share it -- Happiness was born a twin.
Don Juan
The great object of life is sensation- to feel that we exist, even though in pain.
Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.
If I do not write to empty my mind, I go mad.
Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.
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,From these our interviews, in which I stealFrom all I may be, or have been before,To mingle with the Universe, and feelWhat I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage
There is something pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything.
I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.
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!
Don Juan
They never fail who die in a great cause.
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.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage
We'll Go No More A-rovingSo, we'll go no more a-rovingSo late into the night,Though the heart still be as loving,And the moon still be as bright.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.Though the night was made for loving,And the day returns too soon,Yet we'll go no more a-rovingBy the light of the moon.
Poetical Works
But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the starsDid wander darkling in the eternal space.
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!
The stars are forth, the moon above the topsOf the snow-shining mountains.—Beautiful!I linger yet with Nature, for the nightHath been to me a more familiar faceThan that of man; and in her starry shadeOf dim and solitary loveliness,I learn'd the language of another world.
Manfred: A Dramatic Poem
We are all the fools of time and terror: DaysSteal on us and steal from us; yet we live,Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.
A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound.
I awoke one morning to find myself famous.
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.
Manfred: A Dramatic Poem