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Out of chaos God made a world, and out of high passions comes a people.

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
High
Literature
Comes
Made
World
People
Passions
Chaos
Passion

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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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I had a dream, which was not at all a dream.
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Man's conscience is the oracle of God.
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Fame is the thirst of youth.
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Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead? Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some less majestic, less beloved head?
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In general I do not draw well with literary men -- not that I dislike them but I never know what to say to them after I have praised their last publication.
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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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You gave me the key to your heart, my love, then why did you make me knock?
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Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes But no too humbly, or she will despise Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes: Disguise even tenderness if thou art wise.
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Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one.
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I loved my country, and I hated him.
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Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.
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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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The 'good old times' - all times when old are good.
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And I would hear yet once before I perish The voice which was my music... Speak to me!
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The very best of vineyards is the cellar
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In itself a thought, a slumbering thought is capable of years and curdles a long life into one hour.
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I am never long, even in the society of her I love, without yearning for the company of my lamp and my library.
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Let not his mode of raising cash seem strange, Although he fleeced the flags of every nation, For into a prime minister but change His title, and 'tis nothing but taxation.
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He who is only just is cruel who Upon the earth would live were all judged justly?
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