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The heart will break, but broken live on.

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
Heart
Breakup
Broken
Break
Live

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That famish'd people must be slowly nurst, and fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst.
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You should have a softer pillow than my heart.
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Tis an old lesson time approves it true, And those who know it best, deplore it most When all is won that all desire to woo, The paltry prize is hardly worth the cost.
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I suppose we shall soon travel by air-vessels make air instead of sea voyages and at length find our way to the moon, in spite of the want of atmosphere.
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A woman who gives any advantage to a man may expect a lover - but will sooner or later find a tyrant.
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Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep for here There is such matter for all feelings: Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.
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I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.
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Hatred is the madness of the heart.
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Curiosity kills itself and love is only curiosity, as is proved by its end.
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Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime!
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Years steal fire from the mind as vigor from the limb and life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
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Fills The air around with beauty.
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He learned the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, And how to scale a fortress - or a nunnery.
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They truly mourn, that mourn without a witness.
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Letter writing is the only device combining solitude with good company.
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The heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old!-- The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns.
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I loved my country, and I hated him.
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And wrinkles, the damned democrats, won't flatter.
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What's drinking? A mere pause from thinking!
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The art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest and the stupidest of pretended sports.
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