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But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.

Lord Byron

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Lord Byron
Age: 36 †
Born: 1788
Born: January 22
Died: 1824
Died: April 19
Autobiographer
Baron Byron
Diarist
Librettist
Lyricist
Military Personnel
Playwright
Poet
Politician
Translator
Writer
London
England
George Gordon Byron
George Gordon Byron
6th Baron Byron
Noel Byron
Xhorxh Bajroni
Bajron
George Gordon
Jerzy Gordon Byron
Pai-lun
Baron Byron George Gordon Byron
6th Baron Byron George Gordon Noel
Byron
George Gordon Byron
Baron Byron
6th Baron Byron George Gordon Byron
George Gordon Noël Byron Byron
Bayrěn
Payrěn
George Gordon By
Makes
Produce
Authorship
Thought
Perhaps
Dew
Writing
Millions
Ink
Things
Small
Produces
Think
Upon
Drop
Thinking
Words
Falling
Life
Fall
Thousands
Like
Inspirational
Ambition

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Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!
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I have no consistency, except in politics and that probably arises from my indifference to the subject altogether.
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The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.
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Then farewell, Horace whom I hated so, Not for thy faults, but mine.
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Eternity forbids thee to forget.
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Of religion I know nothing -- at least, in its favor.
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Frienship is eros...without wings
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All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin.
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If a man proves too clearly and convincingly to himself...that a tiger is an optical illusion--well, he will find out he is wrong. The tiger will himself intervene in the discussion, in a manner which will be in every sense conclusive.
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And life 's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
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It has been said that the immortality of the soul is a grand peut-tre -but still it is a grand one. Everybody clings to it -the stupidest, and dullest, and wickedest of human bipeds is still persuaded that he is immortal.
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The premises are so delightfully extensive, that two people might live together without ever seeing, hearing or meeting.
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But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be.
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My turn of mind is so given to taking things in the absurd point of view, that it breaks out in spite of me every now and then.
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Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one.
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My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes.
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I only know we loved in vain I only feel-farewell! farewell!
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Pure friendship's well-feigned blush.
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Religion-freedom-vengeance-what you will, A word's enough to raise mankind to kill.
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