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Next to dressing for a rout or ball, undressing is a woe.

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
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Undressing
Dressings
Woe
Dressing
Ball
Balls
Clothes
Fashion
Rout

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Friendship is Love without his wings!
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The simple Wordsworth . . . / Who, both by precept and example, shows / That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose.
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You gave me the key to your heart, my love, then why did you make me knock?
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And life 's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
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Man is in part divine, A troubled stream from a pure source.
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Happiness was born a twin.
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The world is a bundle of hay, Mankind are the asses that pull, Each tugs in a different way And the greatest of all is John Bull!
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Frienship is eros...without wings
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Fills The air around with beauty.
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Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.
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Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber!
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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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I had a dream, which was not at all a dream.
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Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires The young, makes Weariness forget his toil, And Fear her danger opens a new world When this, the present, palls.
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I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law.
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My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes.
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We are all the fools of time and terror: Days Steal on us and steal from us yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.
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For truth is always strange stranger than fiction.
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The French courage proceeds from vanity
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Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.
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