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I do not believe in any religion, I will have nothing to do with immortality. We are miserable enough in this life without speculating upon another.

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
Religion
Another
Without
Nothing
Enough
Speculating
Believe
Immortality
Life
Miserable
Upon

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No ear can hear nor tongue can tell the tortures of the inward hell!
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The poetry of speech.
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There is no passion, more spectral or fantastical than hate, not even its opposite, love, so peoples air, with phantoms, as this madness of the heart.
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Like the measles, love is most dangerous when it comes late in life.
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There is no instinct like that of the heart.
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For through the South the custom still commands The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands.
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It is not one man nor a million, but the spirit of liberty that must be preserved. The waves which dash upon the shore are, one by one, broken, but the ocean conquers nevertheless. It overwhelms the Armada, it wears out the rock. In like manner, whatever the struggle of individuals, the great cause will gather strength.
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One hates an author that's all author.
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Curiosity kills itself and love is only curiosity, as is proved by its end.
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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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You should have a softer pillow than my heart.
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Tis pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures And all are to be sold, if you consider Their passions, and are dext'rous some by features Are brought up, others by a warlike leader Some by a place--as tend their years or natures The most by ready cash--but all have prices, From crowns to kicks, according to their vices.
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Think'st thou existence doth depend on time? It doth but actions are our epochs.
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I would rather have a nod from an American, than a snuff- box from an emperor.
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The waves were dead the tides were in their grave, The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air, And the clouds perish'd Darkness had no need Of aid from them-She was the Universe.
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Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay, Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme, Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.
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The lapse of ages changes all things - time, language, the earth, the bounds of the sea, the stars of the sky, and every thing about, around, and underneath man, except man himself.
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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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He who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him.
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Though the day of my Destiny 's over, And the star of my Fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find.
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