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Sleep hath its own world, and the wide realm of wild reality.

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
Sleep
Reality
World
Realm
Hath
Realms
Wild
Wide

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Sweet is revenge-especially to women.
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The truly brave are soft of heart and eyes, and feel for what their duty bids them do.
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Why I came here, I know not where I shall go it is useless to inquire - in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom?
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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 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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This is the patent age of new inventions for killing bodies, and for saving souls. All propagated with the best intentions.
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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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Above or Love, Hope, Hate or Fear, It lives all passionless and pure: An age shall fleet like earthly year Its years in moments shall endure. Away, away, without a wing, O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly A nameless and eternal thing, Forgetting what it was to die.
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And hold up to the sun my little taper.
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But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be.
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Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.
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The reading or non-reading a book will never keep down a single petticoat.
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I am acquainted with no immaterial sensuality so delightful as good acting.
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A little still she strove, and much repented, And whispering “I will ne'er consent”—consented.
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Hearts will break - yet brokenly, live on.
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Keep thy smooth words and juggling homilies for those who know thee not.
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I speak not of men's creeds—they rest between Man and his Maker.
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This is to be along this, this is solitude!
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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.
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In commitment, we dash the hopes of a thousand potential selves.
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