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The art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest and the stupidest of pretended sports.
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
Cruelest
Angling
Pretended
Stupidest
Hunting
Sports
Animal
Art
Coldest
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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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I am never long, even in the society of her I love, without yearning for the company of my lamp and my library.
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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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I cannot help thinking that the menace of Hell makes as many devils as the severe penal codes of inhuman humanity make villains.
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History - the devil's scripture
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Kill a man's family, and he may brook it, But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket.
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Religion-freedom-vengeance-what you will, A word's enough to raise mankind to kill.
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There is no instinct like that of the heart.
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Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.
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A pretty woman is a welcome guest.
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When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past - For years fleet away with the wings of the dove - The dearest remembrance will still be the last, Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.
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