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'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come.
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
Love
Brighter
Mark
Sweet
Coming
Eye
Look
Come
Looks
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If I could always read, I should never feel the want of company.
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Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!
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Then farewell, Horace whom I hated so, Not for thy faults, but mine.
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It is not one man nor a million, but the spirit of liberty that must be preserved. The waves which dash upon the shore are, one by one, broken, but the ocean conquers nevertheless. It overwhelms the Armada, it wears out the rock. In like manner, whatever the struggle of individuals, the great cause will gather strength.
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I am about to be married, and am of course in all the misery of a man in pursuit of happiness.
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In England the only homage which they pay to Virtue - is hypocrisy.
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Since Eve ate the apple, much depends on dinner.
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In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.
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A pretty woman is a welcome guest.
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Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart.
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If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad. As to that regular, uninterrupted love of writing. I do not understand it. I feel it as a torture, which I must get rid of, but never as a pleasure. On the contrary, I think composition a great pain.
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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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Man marks the earth with ruin - his control stops with the shore.
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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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The heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old!-- The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns.
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Always laugh when you can. It is cheap medicine.
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A thirst for gold, The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm The meanest hearts.
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Tis an old lesson time approves it true, And those who know it best, deplore it most When all is won that all desire to woo, The paltry prize is hardly worth the cost.
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Though the day of my Destiny 's over, And the star of my Fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find.
Lord Byron
There is no instinct like that of the heart.
Lord Byron
