Quotes from Lord Byron

Always laugh when you can. It is a cheap medicine.

Where all have gone, and all must go To be the nothing that I was 'Ere born to life and living woe!

a pleasant city, Famous for oranges and women

I may stand alone, But would not change my free thoughts for a throne.

Without a friend, what were humanity, To hunt our errors up with a good grace? Consoling us with—'Would you had thought twice! Ah, if you had but follow'd my advice!

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe, Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast, Is that portentous phrase, 'I told you so,' Utter'd by friends, those prophets of the past, Who, 'stead of saying what you now should do, Own they foresaw that you would fall at last, And solace your slight lapse 'gainst 'bonos mores,' With a long memorandum of old stories.

While common men grow ignorantly old, The lawyer's brief is like the surgeon's knife, Dissecting the whole inside of a question, And with it all the process of digestion.

I could love anything on Earth that appeared to wish it.

The Scene of the Drama is amongst the Higher Alps — partly in the Castle of Manfred, and partly in the Mountains

Composing a letter is a way to combine solitude with good company.

History can only take things in the gross; But could we know them in detail, perchance In balancing the profit and the loss, War's merit it by no means might enhance, To waste so much gold for a little dross, As hath been done, mere conquest to advance. The drying up a single tear has more Of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore.

There rose no day there rolled no hour Of pleasure unembittered; And not a trapping decked my Power That galled not while it glittered.

Tomorrow would have given him all, Repaid his pangs, repair'd his fall: Tomorrow would have been the first Of days no more deplored or crust, But bright, and long, and beckoning years, Seen dazzling through the mist of tears, Guerdon of many a painful hour; Tomorrow would have given him power To rule, to shine, to smite, to save— And must it dawn upon his grave?

Time! On whose arbitrary wing The varying hours must flag or fly, Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring, But drag or drive us on to die

Some women use their tongues—she look'd a lecture, Each eye a sermon, and her brow a homily, An all-in-all sufficient self-director

Her guardian angel had given up his garrison

Perfect she was, but as perfection is Insipid in this naughty world of ours

A wavering spirit may be easier wreck'd, Because 't is frailer, doubtless, than a stanch one; But when the latter works its own undoing, Its inner crash is like an earthquake's ruin.

T is pity learned virgins ever wed With persons of no sort of education, Or gentlemen, who, though well born and bred, Grow tired of scientific conversation: I don't choose to say much upon this head, I 'm a plain man, and in a single station, But—Oh! ye lords of ladies intellectual, Inform us truly, have they not hen-peck'd you all?

The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before; The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air, And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need Of aid from them—She was the Universe.

It glides along the water looking blackly, Just like a coffin clapt in a canoe, Where none can make out what you say or do.

Oh, bella, admirada España, romántico país ¿Dónde está aquella bandera que Pelayo enarboló?

Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art, For there thy habitation is the heart—

Men think highly of those who rise rapidly in the world; whereas nothing rises quicker than dust, straw, and feathers