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Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection.

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
Scandals
Scandal
Subjects
Dead
Form
Good
Dissection

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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.
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I am acquainted with no immaterial sensuality so delightful as good acting.
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Who tracks the steps of glory to the grave?
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Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe When tipp'd with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe... Yet thy true lovers more admire by far Thy naked beauties - give me a cigar!
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This sort of adoration of the real is but a heightening of the beau ideal.
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The image of Eternity--the throne Of the Invisible even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made each zone Obeys thee thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
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Out of chaos God made a world, and out of high passions comes a people.
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To withdraw myself from myself has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all.
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What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? The hearts bleed longest, and heals but to wear That which disfigures it.
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I am always most religious upon a sunshiny day.
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Frienship is eros...without wings
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Curiosity kills itself and love is only curiosity, as is proved by its end.
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She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes.
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For truth is always strange stranger than fiction.
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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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The heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old!-- The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns.
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He who is only just is cruel who Upon the earth would live were all judged justly?
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Few things surpass old wine and they may preach Who please, the more because they preach in vain
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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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