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

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...And these vicissitudes come best in youth For when they happen at a riper age, People are apt to blame the Fates, forsooth, And wonder Providence is not more sage. Adversity is the first path to truth: He who hath proved war, storm, or woman's rage, Whether his winters be eighteen or eighty, Has won experience which is deem'd so weighty.
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The simple Wordsworth . . . / Who, both by precept and example, shows / That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose.
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And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy They have a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being.
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I am about to be married, and am of course in all the misery of a man in pursuit of happiness.
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May Moorland weavers boast Pindaric skill, And tailors' lays be longer than their bill! While punctual beaux reward the grateful notes, And pay for poems--when they pay for coats.
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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.
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For the night Shows stars and women in a better light.
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Yes, love indeed is light from heaven A spark of that immortal fire with angels shared, by Allah given to lift from earth our low desire.
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Damn description, it is always disgusting.
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A little still she strove, and much repented, And whispering “I will ne'er consent”—consented.
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Keep thy smooth words and juggling homilies for those who know thee not.
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Hearts will break - yet brokenly, live on.
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Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, He would have written sonnets all his life?.
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The reading or non-reading a book will never keep down a single petticoat.
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What is fame? The advantage of being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little.
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Farewell! if ever fondest prayer For other's weal avail'd on high, Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky.
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Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art, For there thy habitation is the heart-- The heart which love of thee alone can bind And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd-- To fetters and damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom.
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History - the devil's scripture
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Sighing that Nature formed but one such man, and broke the die.
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Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.
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