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Man's conscience is the oracle of God.

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
Oracle
Oracles
Conscience
Men

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Our life is two fold Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality.
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In commitment, we dash the hopes of a thousand potential selves.
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There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion.
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Religion-freedom-vengeance-what you will, A word's enough to raise mankind to kill.
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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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One hates an author that's all author.
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For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
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By headless Charles see heartless Henry lies.
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O ye! who teach the ingenious youth of nations, Holland, France, England, Germany or Spain, I pray ye flog them upon all occasions, It mends their morals, never mind the pain.
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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
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Your thief looks Exactly like the rest, or rather better 'Tis only at the bar, and in the dungeon, That wise men know your felon by his features.
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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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The French courage proceeds from vanity
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Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.
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I have had, and may have still, a thousand friends, as they are called, in life, who are like one's partners in the waltz of this world -not much remembered when the ball is over.
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They truly mourn, that mourn without a witness.
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For truth is always strange stranger than fiction.
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In solitude, when we are least alone.
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Man is in part divine, A troubled stream from a pure source.
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Constancy... that small change of love, which people exact so rigidly, receive in such counterfeit coin, and repay in baser metal.
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