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Now what I love in women is, they won't Or can't do otherwise than lie, but do it. So well, the very truth seems falsehood to 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
Women
Wells
Well
Love
Falsehood
Otherwise
Lying
Truth
Seems

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Many are poets, but without the nameFor what is Poesy but to createFrom overfeeling Good or Ill and aimAt an external life beyond our fate,And be the new Prometheus of new men,Bestowing fire from Heaven, and then, too late,Finding the pleasure given repaid with pain
Lord Byron
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Yes, love indeed is light from heaven A spark of that immortal fire with angels shared, by Allah given to lift from earth our low desire.
Lord Byron
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Years steal fire from the mind as vigor from the limb and life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
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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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For the night Shows stars and women in a better light.
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The Coach does not play in the game, but the Coach helps the players identify areas to improve their game.
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A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound.
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For through the South the custom still commands The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands.
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My turn of mind is so given to taking things in the absurd point of view, that it breaks out in spite of me every now and then.
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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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One certainly has a soul but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine.
Lord Byron
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A little still she strove, and much repented, And whispering “I will ne'er consent”—consented.
Lord Byron
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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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Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart.
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[Armenian] is a rich language, however, and would amply repay any one the trouble of learning it.
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If from society we learn to live, solitude should teach us how to die.
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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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If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad. As to that regular, uninterrupted love of writing. I do not understand it. I feel it as a torture, which I must get rid of, but never as a pleasure. On the contrary, I think composition a great pain.
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I doubt sometimes whether a quiet and unagitated life would have suited me - yet I sometimes long for it.
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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.
Lord Byron