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If from society we learn to live, solitude should teach us how to die.
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
Live
Loneliness
Solitude
Teach
Dies
Society
Learn
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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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No words suffice the secret soul to show, For truth denies all eloquence to woe.
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I should like to know who has been carried off, except poor dear me - I have been more ravished myself than anybody since the Trojan war.
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Poetry should only occupy the idle.
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This is the patent-age of new inventions For killing bodies, and for saving souls, All propagated with the best intentions Sir Humphrey Davy's lantern, by which coals Are safely mined for in the mode he mentions, Tombuctoo travels, voyages to the Poles, Are ways to benefit mankind, as true, Perhaps, as shooting them at Waterloo.
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Oh! too convincing--dangerously dear-- In woman's eye the unanswerable tear! That weapon of her weakness she can wield, To save, subdue--at once her spear and shield.
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I learned to love despair.
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What is fame? The advantage of being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little.
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Folly loves the martyrdom of fame.
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Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.
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In commitment, we dash the hopes of a thousand potential selves.
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The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed.
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My slumbers--if I slumber--are not sleep, But a continuance of enduring thought, Which then I can resist not: in my heart There is a vigil, and these eyes but close To look within and yet I live, and bear The aspect and the form of breathing men.
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Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine, And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared.
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Since Eve ate the apple, much depends on dinner.
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Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.
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I can't but say it is an awkward sight To see one's native land receding through The growing waters it unmans one quite, Especially when life is rather new.
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Out of chaos God made a world, and out of high passions comes a people.
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