Quotes from byron lord ii

Grief is fantastical, and loves the dead, And the apparel of the grave.

There is 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 steal From all I may be, or have been before, To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

We are the fools of Time and Terror: Days Steal on us, and steal from us; yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.

I hate all pain, Given or received; we have enough within us The meanest vassal as the loftiest monarch, Not to add to each other's natural burden Of mortal misery.

The sight of blood to crowds begets the thirst of more, As the first wine-cup leads to the long revel.

Tyranny Is far the worst of treasons. Dost thou deem None rebels except subjects? The prince who Neglects or violates his trust is more A brigand than the robber-chief.

They never fail who die In a great cause: the block may soak their gore: Their heads may sodden in the sun; their limbs Be strung to city gates and castle walls-- But still their Spirit walks abroad. Though years Elapse, and others share as dark a doom, They but augment the deep and sweeping thoughts Which overpower all others, and conduct The world at last to Freedom.

Accursed be the city where the laws would stifle nature's!

She was a good deal shock'd; not shock'd at tears, For women shed and use them at their liking; But there is something when man's eye appears Wet, still more disagreeable and striking.

O Gold! I still prefer thee unto paper, Which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour.

Joy's recollection is no longer joy, While Sorrow's memory is a sorrow still.

What is Death, so it be but glorious? 'Tis a sunset; And mortals may be happy to resemble The Gods but in decay.

There is no passion More spectral or fantastical than Hate; Not even its opposite, Love, so peoples air With phantoms, as this madness of the heart.

Blood only serves to wash ambition's hands.

Heart on her lips and soul within her eyes, Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies.