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There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion.

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
Spirit
True
Rum
Much
Calms
Naught
Calm
Doubt
Literature
Religion

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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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Sleep hath its own world, and the wide realm of wild reality.
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Bologna is celebrated for producing popes, painters, and sausage.
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Frienship is eros...without wings
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Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, All ashes to the taste.
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A drop of ink may make a million think.
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Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair spirit for my minister
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I hate all pain, Given or received we have enough within us The meanest vassal as the loftiest monarch, Not to add to each other's natural burden Of mortal misery.
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Man is born passionate of body, but with an innate though secret tendency to the love of Good in his main-spring of Mind. But God help us all! It is at present a sad jar of atoms.
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No words suffice the secret soul to show, For truth denies all eloquence to woe.
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And life 's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
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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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The premises are so delightfully extensive, that two people might live together without ever seeing, hearing or meeting.
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Come what may, I have been blest.
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Just as old age is creeping on space, And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day, They kindly leave us, though not quite alone, But in good company--the gout or stone.
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'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print. A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.
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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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But as to women, who can penetrate the real sufferings of their she condition? Man's very sympathy with their estate has much of selfishness and more suspicion. Their love, their virtue, beauty, education, but form good housekeepers, to breed a nation.
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Always laugh when you can. It is cheap medicine.
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Nothing so difficult as a beginning In poesy, unless perhaps the end.
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