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Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.

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
Like
Comparison
World
Worlds
Star
Stars
Twixt
Upon
Hovers
Night
Morn
Two
Verge
Life
Horizon

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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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For truth is always strange stranger than fiction.
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This is to be mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.
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A quiet conscience makes one so serene.
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By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see For one who hath no friend, no brother there.
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Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime!
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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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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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The place is very well and quiet and the children only scream in a low voice.
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I learned to love despair.
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Pure friendship's well-feigned blush.
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For what were all these country patriots born? To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn?
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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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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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A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
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I know that two and two make four - and should be glad to prove it too if I could - though I must say if by any sort of process I could convert 2 and 2 into five it would give me much greater pleasure.
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I have not loved the World, nor the World me I have not flattered its rank breath, nor bowed To its idolatries a patient knee, Nor coined my cheek to smiles,-nor cried aloud In worship of an echo.
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Man's conscience is the oracle of God.
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And wrinkles, the damned democrats, won't flatter.
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