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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.
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
Depth
Wonder
Piercing
Waiting
Waits
Years
Aged
Life
Woe
World
Depths
Grown
Deeds
More quotes by Lord Byron
Who tracks the steps of glory to the grave?
Lord Byron
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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A man of eighty has outlived probably three new schools of painting, two of architecture and poetry and a hundred in dress.
Lord Byron
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.
Lord Byron
I am about to be married, and am of course in all the misery of a man in pursuit of happiness.
Lord Byron
Tis strange,-but true for truth is always strange Stranger than fiction: if it could be told, How much would novels gain by the exchange! How differently the world would men behold!
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It is when we think we lead that we are most led.
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Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one.
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Come what may, I have been blest.
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I loved my country, and I hated him.
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With thee all tales are sweet each clime has charms earth - sea alike - our world within our arms.
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If I could always read, I should never feel the want of company.
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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.
Lord Byron
This is to be along this, this is solitude!
Lord Byron
Perhaps the early grave Which men weep over may be meant to save.
Lord Byron
By headless Charles see heartless Henry lies.
Lord Byron
I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.
Lord Byron
Now I shall go to sleep. Goodnight.
Lord Byron
The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.
Lord Byron
Alas! how deeply painful is all payment!
Lord Byron
