Quotes About Byron

Sometimes I can think of nothing more blissful than going to Berkeley and reading Byron for three years.

We are all bits and pieces of history and literature and international law, Byron, Tom Paine, Machiavelli or Christ, it's here. And the hour's late. And the war's begun. And we are out here, and the city is there, all wrapped up in its own coat of a thousand colors.

We are all bits and pieces of history and literature and international law, Byron, Tom Paine, Machiavelli or Christ, it's here.

A person with a melancholy temperament had been fated with both an awful burden and what Byron called "a fearful gift." The burden was a sadness and despair that could tip into a state of disease. But the gift was a capacity for depth, wisdom—even genius.   In

showed by his appetite his appreciation of Molotov's magnificent refreshments. Relaxed and fortified, he returned to his car and proceeded to recite Byron's "Childe Harold" to Sarah for the remainder of the journey to Yalta.

Tis strange,-but true; for truth is always strange; Stranger than fiction: if it could be told, How much would novels gain by the exchange! How differently the world would men behold!

Sighing that Nature formed but one such man, and broke the die.

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

It's been such a deep and amazing journey for me, getting close to John Keats, and also I love Shelley and Byron. I mean, the thing about the Romantic poets is that they've got the epitaph of romantic posthumously. They all died really young, and Keats, the youngest of them all.

Byron wrote 'The glory and the nothing of a name

Melancholic, although often sardonic, mixtures of emoitions-foreboding, aloneness, regret, and a dark sense of lost destiny and ill-used passions-are woven throughout Byron's most autobiographical poems, especially Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Lara, and Manfred. Perturbed and constant motion, coupled with a brooding awareness of life's impermanence, also mark the transient and often bleak nature of Byron's work.

am reminded of Byron's wonderful description of the rainbow that sits "Like Hope upon a death-bed" on the verge of a wild, rushing cataract; yet, "while all around is torn / By the distracted waters," the rainbow stays serene: Resembling, 'mid the torture of the scene, Love watching Madness with unalterable mien.

Byron owed the vast influence which he exercised over his contemporaries at least as much to his gloomy egotism as to the real power of his poetry.

Sometimes I think the soul is a shadow even gravity can't touch, and love is what passes in the mirror as we look away. from "Desperate Note from Byron's Palace in Lerici

Society is now one polished horde, formed of two mighty tries, the Bores and Bored.

There is no such thing as a life of passion any more than a continuous earthquake, or an eternal fever. Besides, who would ever shave themselves in such a state?

It's that wounded-poet crap, that soul-pain shit, that too-much-of-a-tortured-genius-to-wash bollocks. Brush your teeth, you little bastard. You're not fucking Byron.

Es esa mierda del poeta herido, del dolor del alma, las gilipolleces de soy un genio demasiado torturado como para poder lavarme. Lávate los dientes, cabrón. No eres el puto Byron

Society is now one polished horde Formed of two mighty tribes The Bores and the Bored.

Ah, what he is; that is quite another thing. I have seen so many remarkable things in him, that if you would have me really say what I think, I shall reply that I really do look upon him as one of Byron's heroes, whom misery has marked with a fatal brand; some Manfred, some Lara, some Werner, one of those wrecks, as it were, of some ancient family, who, disinherited of their patrimony, have achieved one by the force of their adventurous genius, which has placed them above the laws of society.

Even if the words were terrible, even though it were a Shakespeare, a Byron, or a Shelley who broke the silence,20 the word always retains its redeeming power, because all despair and all the horror of evil expressed in one word are not as awful as silence.

I shall reply that I really do look upon him as one of Byron's heroes, whom misery has marked with a fatal brand; some Manfred, some Lara, some Werner, one of those wrecks, as it were, of some ancient family, who, disinherited of their patrimony, have achieved one by the force of their adventurous genius, which has placed them above the laws of society." "You

As a matter of fact, if either of the two men were Buckingham or Ovid or Byron, they might have respectively realized that "love is the salt of life," and "the perpetual source of fears and anxieties," and "a capricious power"—but they weren't poets, they

Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.