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Since Eve ate the apple, much depends on dinner.

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
Cooking
Dinner
Eating
Depends
Food
Since
Much
Apple
Apples

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One hates an author that's all author.
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What is fame? The advantage of being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little.
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The place is very well and quiet and the children only scream in a low voice.
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Kill a man's family, and he may brook it, But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket.
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Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep for here There is such matter for all feelings: Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.
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There is no instinct like that of the heart.
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Oh who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried.
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To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.
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The reading or non-reading a book will never keep down a single petticoat.
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Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story The days of our youth are the days of our glory And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
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This sort of adoration of the real is but a heightening of the beau ideal.
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The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.
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Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, He would have written sonnets all his life?.
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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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Lord of himself that heritage of woe!
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And those who saw, it did surprise, Such drops could fall from human eyes.
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Think'st thou existence doth depend on time? It doth but actions are our epochs.
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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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Such is your cold coquette, who can't say No, And won't say Yes, and keeps you on and off-ing On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow, Then sees your heart wreck'd, with an inward scoffing.
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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.
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