Quotes by George Gordon Byron

Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.

They never fail who die in a great cause.

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.

But words are things, and a small drop of ink,      Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think;      ’T is strange, the shortest letter which man uses Instead of speech, may form a lasting link      Of ages; to what straits old Time reduces Frail man, when paper — even a rag like this, Survives himself, his tomb, and all that’s his.

The lapse of ages changes all things - time - language - the earth - the bounds of the sea - the stars of the sky, and everything about, around, and underneath man, except man himself, who has always been and always will be, an unlucky rascal. The infinite variety of lives conduct but to death, and the infinity of wishes lead but to disappointment. All the discoveries which have yet been made have multiplied little but existence.

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

She walks in beauty, like the nightOf cloudless climes and starry skies;And all thats best of dark and brightMeet in her aspect and her eyes...

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.

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.

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 learnd the language of another world.

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:Thus mellow’d to that tender lightWhich heaven to gaudy day denies.One shade the more, one ray the less,Had half impaired the nameless graceWhich waves in every raven tress,Or softly lightens o’er her face;Where thoughts serenely sweet expressHow pure, how dear their dwelling-place.And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,The smiles that win, the tints that glow,But tell of days in goodness spent,A mind at peace with allA heart whose love is innocent!

When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, And the dimpling stream runs laughing by; When the air does laugh with our merry wit, And the green hill laughs with the noise of it.

When people say, Ive told you fifty times, / They mean to scold, and very often do; / When poets say, Ive written fifty rhymes, / They make you dread that they II recite them too;In gangs of fifty, thieves commit their crimes; / At fifty love for love is rare, t is true, / But then, no doubt, it equally as true is, / A good deal may be bought for fifty Louis.

If I do not write to empty my mind, I go mad.

My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes.

But why then publish? There are no rewardsOf fame or profit when the world grows weary.I ask in turn why do you play at cards?Why drink? Why read? To make some hour less dreary.It occupies me to turn back regardsOn what Ive seen or pondered, sad or cheery,And what I write I cast upon the streamTo swim or sink. I have had at least my dream.

I will keep no further journal of that same hesternal torch‐light ; and, to prevent me from returning, like a dog, to the vomit of memory, I tear out the remaining leaves of this volume...

There is something pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything.

I awoke one morning to find myself famous.

The bright sun was extinguishd, and the starsDid wander darkling in the eternal space.