Quotes from Lord Byron

History, with all her volumes vast, hath but one page

Here's a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate; And whatever sky's above me, Here's a heart for every fate.

He learned the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, And how to scale a fortress - or a nunnery.

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.

The poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still the master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth, While man, vain insect hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.

Society is now one polish'd horde, Form'd of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored.

I am so changeable, being everything by turns and nothing long - such a strange melange of good and evil.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean - roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin - his control Stops with the shore.

We of the craft (poets) are all crazy.

The power of thought is the magic of the mind.

Years steal fire from the mind as vigor from the limb; and life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.

I came to realize clearly that the mind is no other than the Mountain and the Rivers and the great wide Earth, the Sun and the Moon and the Sky".

Here we are and there we go:---but where?

Happiness was born a twin.

So much alarmed that she is quite alarming

whom the god loves dies young

That prose is a verse, and verse is a prose; convincing all, by demonstrating plain – poetic souls delight in prose insane

The 'good old times' - all times when old are good.

We of the craft are all crazy. Some are affected by gaiety, others by melancholy, but all are more or less touched.

The English winter - ending in July to recommence in August

When people say, "I've told you fifty times," / They mean to scold, and very often do; / When poets say, "I've 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.

Between two worlds life hovers like a star, 'Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge How little we know that which we are! How less we may be!

if i dont write to empty my mind, i go mad

As soon seek roses in December, ice in June, Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff Believe a woman or an epitaph Or any other thing that's false Before you trust in critics.