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A thirst for gold, The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm The meanest hearts.

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
Hearts
Gold
Heart
Overwhelm
Meanest
Beggar
Thirst
Vice
Vices

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Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.
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All human history attests That happiness for man, - the hungry sinner! - Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner. ~Lord Byron, Don Juan, Canto XIII, stanza 99
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The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains--beautiful! I linger yet with nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man, and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness I learned the language of another world.
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The mind can make substance, and people planets of its own with beings brighter than have been, and give a breath to forms which can outlive all flesh.
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What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page, And be alone on earth, as I am now.
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Yet I did love thee to the last, As ferverently as thou, Who didst not change through all the past, And canst not alter now.
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The Christian has greatly the advantage of the unbeliever, having everything to gain and nothing to lose.
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The great object of life is Sensation - to feel that we exist - even though in pain - it is this craving void which drives us to gaming - to battle - to travel - to intemperate but keenly felt pursuits of every description whose principal attraction is the agitation inseparable from their accomplishment.
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Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.
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Who then will explain the explanation?
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The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the Music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonised the whole — And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!
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The very best of vineyards is the cellar
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It is true from early habit, one must make love mechanically as one swims I was once very fond of both, but now as I never swim unless I tumble into the water, I don't make love till almost obliged.
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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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Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes But no too humbly, or she will despise Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes: Disguise even tenderness if thou art wise.
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Happiness was born a twin.
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Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires The young, makes Weariness forget his toil, And Fear her danger opens a new world When this, the present, palls.
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Bread has been made (indifferent) from potatoes And galvanism has set some corpses grinning, But has not answer'd like the apparatus Of the Humane Society's beginning, By which men are unsuffocated gratis: What wondrous new machines have late been spinning.
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