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I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.

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
Believe
Atheism
Mere
Christianity
Pleasure
Literature
May
Fancying
Great
Damned
Mind
Atheist

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But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws So much, as when we call our old debts in At sixty years, and draw the accounts of evil, And find a deuced balance with the devil.
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The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the Music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonised the whole — And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!
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Not to admire, is all the art I know To make men happy, or to keep them so. Thus Horace wrote we all know long ago And thus Pope quotes the precept to re-teach From his translation but had none admired, Would Pope have sung, or Horace been inspired?
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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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Next to dressing for a rout or ball, undressing is a woe.
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To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.
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Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down Over the waste of waters like a veil, Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail.
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Alas! how deeply painful is all payment!
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Pure friendship's well-feigned blush.
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Frienship is eros...without wings
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The poetry of speech.
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I had a dream, which was not at all a dream.
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Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized? In him alone, Can nature show as fair?
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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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The Niobe of nations! there she stands.
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I stood among them, but not of them: in a shroud of thoughts which were not their thoughts.
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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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I was accused of every monstrous vice by public rumour and private rancour my name, which had been a knightly or noble one, was tainted. I felt that, if what was whispered, and muttered, and murmured, was true, I was unfit for England if false, England was unfit for me.
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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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Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure.
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