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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.

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
Pleasant
Although
Name
Names
Literature
Sure
Book
Nothing
Print

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The English winter - ending in July to recommence in August
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What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? The hearts bleed longest, and heals but to wear That which disfigures it.
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In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.
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There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion.
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Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story The days of our youth are the days of our glory And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
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We of the craft are all crazy.
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I am surrounded here by parsons and methodists, but as you will see, not infested with the mania.
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Pure friendship's well-feigned blush.
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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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But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.
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I cannot help thinking that the menace of Hell makes as many devils as the severe penal codes of inhuman humanity make villains.
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Folly loves the martyrdom of fame.
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Out of chaos God made a world, and out of high passions comes a people.
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Father of Light! great God of Heaven! Hear'st thou the accents of despair? Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven? Can vice atone for crimes by prayer.
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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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It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us. A year impairs, a luster obliterates. There is little distinct left without an effort of memory, then indeed the lights are rekindled for a moment - but who can be sure that the Imagination is not the torch-bearer?
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I am so convinced of the advantages of looking at mankind instead of reading about them, . . . that I think there should be a law amongst us to set our young men abroad for a term among the few allies our wars have left us.
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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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He learned the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, And how to scale a fortress - or a nunnery.
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Retirement accords with the tone of my mind I will not descend to a world I despise.
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