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Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.

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
Thing
Passed
Men
Third
Life
Thirds
Dying
Sleep
Called
Death
Makes
Weep

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Ah, happy years! once more who would not be a boy?
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I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse borne away with every breath! Misplaced upon the throne misplaced in life. I know not what I could have been, but feel I am not what I should be let it end.
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For through the South the custom still commands The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands.
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But every fool describes, in these bright days, His wondrous journey to some foreign court, And spawns his quarto, and demands your praise,-- Death to his publisher, to him 'tis sport.
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Who then will explain the explanation?
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All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin.
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Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk and Water! Ye happy mixture of more happy days!
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The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.
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I really cannot know whether I am or am not the Genius you are pleased to call me, but I am very willing to put up with the mistake, if it be one.
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I do not believe in any religion, I will have nothing to do with immortality. We are miserable enough in this life without speculating upon another.
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Nothing so difficult as a beginning In poesy, unless perhaps the end.
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Fills The air around with beauty.
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Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
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Your thief looks Exactly like the rest, or rather better 'Tis only at the bar, and in the dungeon, That wise men know your felon by his features.
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Kill a man's family, and he may brook it, But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket.
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Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine, And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared.
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To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.
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Prolonged endurance tames the bold.
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Oh! too convincing--dangerously dear-- In woman's eye the unanswerable tear! That weapon of her weakness she can wield, To save, subdue--at once her spear and shield.
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The law of heaven and earth is life for life.
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