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Man marks the earth with ruin - his control stops with the shore.

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
Earth
Stops
Men
Shore
Ruins
Thee
Sea
Nautical
Mark
Marks
Ocean
Sailing
Control
Ruin

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What is Death, so it be but glorious? 'Tis a sunset And mortals may be happy to resemble The Gods but in decay.
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Land of lost gods and godlike men.
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And life 's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
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...And these vicissitudes come best in youth For when they happen at a riper age, People are apt to blame the Fates, forsooth, And wonder Providence is not more sage. Adversity is the first path to truth: He who hath proved war, storm, or woman's rage, Whether his winters be eighteen or eighty, Has won experience which is deem'd so weighty.
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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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Curiosity kills itself and love is only curiosity, as is proved by its end.
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We of the craft are all crazy.
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Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, All ashes to the taste.
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To withdraw myself from myself has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all.
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Think'st thou there is no tyranny but that Of blood and chains? The despotism of vice-- The weakness and the wickedness of luxury-- The negligence--the apathy--the evils Of sensual sloth--produces ten thousand tyrants, Whose delegated cruelty surpasses The worst acts of one energetic master, However harsh and hard in his own bearing.
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Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure.
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My altars are the mountains and the ocean.
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The law of heaven and earth is life for life.
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Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.
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Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized? In him alone, Can nature show as fair?
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Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk and Water! Ye happy mixture of more happy days!
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Who tracks the steps of glory to the grave?
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With flowing tail and flying mane, Wide nostrils never stretched by pain, Mouth bloodless to bit or rein, And feet that iron never shod, And flanks unscar'd by spur or rod, A thousand horses - the wild - the free - Like waves that follow o'er the sea, Came thickly thundering on.
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Fills The air around with beauty.
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Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
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