Quotes from byron lord iv

Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.

For most men (till by losing rendered sager) Will back their own opinions by a wager.

A thousand years scarce serve to form a state; An hour may lay it in the dust.

And history with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page.

I will have nothing to do with your immortality; we are miserable enough in this life, without the absurdity of speculating upon another.

Too oft is a smile But the hypocrite's wile, To mask detestation, or fear; Give me the soft sigh, Whilst the soul-telling eye Is dimm'd, for a time, with a Tear.

'Tis sweet to listen as the night winds creep From leaf to leaf.

Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest.

He who first met the Highlands' swelling blue Will love each peak that shows a kindred hue, Hail in each crag a friend's familiar face, And clasp the mountain in his mind's embrace.

How beauteous are rouleaus! how charming chests Containing ingots, bags of dollars, coins (Not of old victors, all whose heads and crests Weigh not the thin ore where their visage shines, But) of fine unclipt gold, where dully rests Some likeness, which the glittering cirque confines, Of modern, reigning, sterling, stupid stamp;-- Yes! ready money is Aladdin's lamp.