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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.

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
Heart
Closed
Wounds
Heal
Hearts
Wear
Heals
Deep
Bleed
Ever
Longest
Without
Scar

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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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Next to dressing for a rout or ball, undressing is a woe.
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The place is very well and quiet and the children only scream in a low voice.
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Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, All ashes to the taste.
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He makes a solitude, and calls it - peace!
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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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Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, He would have written sonnets all his life?.
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And then he danced,-all foreigners excel the serious Angels in the eloquence of pantomime-he danced, I say, right well, with emphasis, and a'so with good sense-a thing in footing indispensable: he danced without theatrical pretence, not like a ballet-master in the van of his drill'd nymphs, but like a gentleman.
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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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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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Ah, happy years! once more who would not be a boy?
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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.
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Let no man grumble when his friends fall off, As they will do like leaves at the first breeze When your affairs come round, one way or t'other, Go to the coffee house, and take another.
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Man is a carnivorous production, And must have meals, at least one meal a day He cannot live, like woodcocks, upon suction, But, like the shark and tiger, must have prey Although his anatomical construction Bears vegetables, in a grumbling way, Your laboring people think beyond all question, Beef, veal, and mutton better for digestion.
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Grief is fantastical, and loves the dead, And the apparel of the grave.
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We of the craft are all crazy.
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Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
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