Quotes from George Gordon Byron

Some have accused me of a strange design Against the creed and morals of this land, And trace it in this poem every line: I don't pretend that I quite understand My meaning when I would be very fine; But the fact is that I have nothing planned...

I deny nothing, but doubt everything.

And this the world calls frenzy; but the wise Have a far deeper madness, and the glance Of melancholy is a fearful gift; What is it but the telescope of truth? Which strips the distance of its fantasies, And brings life near in utter nakedness, Making the cold reality too real!

Alas! They were so young, so beautiful, so lonely, loving, helpless, and the hour was that in which the heart is always full, annd, having o'er itself no further power, prompts deeds eternity can not annul.

LUCIFER: They say what they must sing and say on pain Of being that which I am and thou art-- Of spirits and of men. CAIN: And what is that? LUCIFER: Souls who dare use their immortality, Souls who dare look the omnipotent tyrant in His everlasting face and tell him that His evil is not good!

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'll recite them too

Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, there is no sterner moralist then Pleasure.

Love in full life and length, not love ideal, No, nor ideal beauty, that fine name, But something better still, so very real...

Oh pleasure, you're indeed a pleasant thing, / Although one must be damned for you no doubt. / I make a resolution every spring / Of reformation, ere the year run out.

Must crimes be punish'd but by other crimes, and greater criminals?

Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 'Tis woman's whole existence.

There' s not a joy the world can give like that it takes away, When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay.

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Homage he has from all - but none from me... I battle it against him, as I battled in highest heaven - through all eternity, And the unfathomable gulfs of hades, and the interminable realms of space, And the infinity of endless ages... all, all will I dispute. -Lucifer

A woman who gives any advantage to a man may expect a lover -- but will sooner or later find a tyrant.

Shadow! or Spirit! Whatever thou art, Which still doth inherit The whole or a part Of the form of thy birth, Of the mould of thy clay, Which returned to the earth, Re-appear to the day!

He thought about himself, and the whole Earth, Of Man the wonderful, and of the Stars, And how the deuce they ever could have birth; And then he thought of Earthquakes, and of Wars, How many miles the Moon might have in girth, Of Air-balloons, and of the many bars To perfect Knowledge of the boundless Skies; And then he thought of Donna Julia's eyes.

But pomp and power alone are woman's care, And where these are light Eros finds a feere; Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare, And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might despair.

Many are poets, but without the name; For what is Poesy but to create From overfeeling Good or Ill; and aim At an external life beyond our fate, And be the new Prometheus of new men, Bestowing fire from Heaven, and then, too late, Finding the pleasure given repaid with pain

There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion.

Oh could I feel as I have felt,-or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanish'd scene; As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be, So midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me.

There is an order Of mortals on the earth, who do become Old in their youth, and die ere middle age, Without the violence of warlike death; Some perishing of pleasure, some of study, Some worn with toil, some of mere weariness, Some of disease, and some insanity, And some of wither'd or of broken hearts; For this last is a malady which slays More than are number'd in the lists of Fate, Taking all shapes and bearing many names.

The best of prophets of the future is the past.

Every feeling hath been shaken; Pride, which not a world could bow, Bows to thee - by thee forsaken, Even my soul forsakes me now.