Quotes About Byron

I saw two beings in the hues of the youth Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill... And both were young-- and one was beautiful -The Dream, Canto II Lord Byron

What exile from himself can flee? To zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life--the demon Thought.

Our life is two fold Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality.

Wordsworth is a philosophical and Christian poet, with depths in his soul to which poor Byron could never reach.

With Byron's reaction to her deepest dream, she should have realized her mistake, that the romance she had infused him with was all of her own invention.

My dear Pepper," said Ellery, "that is the curse of my composition. I'm always thinking. I'm pursued by what Byron in Childe Harold—you recall that magnificent first canto?—saw fit to call, 'The blight of life—the demon Thought.

He managed to get the loan of a copy of Burns—better meat for a strong spirit than the poetry of Byron or even Scott.

I've been making the best movies at Elegant Angel since Tom Byron left.

Time may restore us in his course Goethe's sage mind and Byron's force: But where will Europe's latter hour Again find Wordsworth's healing power?

I hate the whole race. There is no believing a word they say, your professional poets, I mean there never existed a more worthless set than Byron and his friends for example.

A boy and a girl, I forget their names. The two of them seemed to be a pair. The girl had hair like a raven and the boy looked a bit like Byron. They were interested in poetry. They had a little light behind the eyes. The girl asked me about Dorothy Parker

No one rejoices more in revenge than women, wrote Juvenal. Women do most delight in revenge, wrote Sir Thomas Browne. Sweet is revenge, especially to women, wrote Lord Byron. And I say, I wonder why, boys. I wonder why.

Byron!—he would be all forgotten to-day if he had lived to be a florid old gentleman with iron-grey whiskers, writing very long, very able letters to "The Times" about the Repeal of the Corn Laws.

Perhaps, had Byron not been a dandy—but ah, had he not been in his soul a dandy there would have been no Byron worth mentioning.

For Byron, the most moving sight was "Sappho's Leap," at the southeasternmost point of Ithaca, from where the poet, martyr to betrayed passion, is supposed to have flung herself into the sea.

Byron tilted his head to a very odd angle, half-closed his eyes and composed his features to suggest that he was about to expire from chronic indigestion.

A lovely young Italian girl passed by. Byron tilted his head to a very odd angle, half-closed his eyes and composed his features to suggest that he was about to expire from chronic indigestion. Dr Greysteel could only suppose that he was treating the young woman to the Byronic profile and the Byronic expression.

Love rules the camp, the court, the grove - for love is Heaven, and Heaven is love.

Byron!" exclaimed the little man. "Really? Dear me! Mad, and a friend of Lord Byron!" He sounded as if he did not know which was worse.

Oh, quite!" agreed Byron. "I was with him again a few hours ago and could not get him to talk of any thing but his dead wife and how she is not really dead, but merely enchanted. And now he shrouds himself in Darkness and works Black Magic! There is something rather admirable in all this, do you not agree?

Mr Murray was sorry to find that his two authors could not agree better, but he reflected that it probably could not be helped since both men were famous for quarrelling: Strange with Norrell, and Byron with practically everybody.3 When

Lord Byron ! Of course!" cried Dr Greysteel. "I forgot all about him! I must go and warn him to be discreet." "I think it's a little late for that, sir," said Frank.

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

No, I'm not Byron, it's my role To be an undiscovered wonder, Like him, a persecuted wand'rer, But furnished with a Russian soul. I started sooner, sooner ending, My mind will never reach so high; Within my soul, beyond the mending, My shattered aspirations lie: Dark ocean answer me, can any Plumb all your depth with skillful trawl? Who will explain me to the many? I... perhaps God? No one at all?