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O Fame! if I ever took delight in thy praises, Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover The thought that I was not unworthy to love her.
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
Love
Fame
Unworthy
Took
Phrases
Eyes
Bright
High
Discover
Eye
Delight
Less
Dear
Twas
Thought
Praise
Praises
Ever
Sake
Sounding
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The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space.
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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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I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.
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Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave.
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My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes.
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I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me: and to me High mountains are a feeling, but the hum of human cities torture.
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Perhaps the early grave Which men weep over may be meant to save.
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What is Death, so it be but glorious? 'Tis a sunset And mortals may be happy to resemble The Gods but in decay.
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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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Bologna is celebrated for producing popes, painters, and sausage.
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Grief is fantastical, and loves the dead, And the apparel of the grave.
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We are all the fools of time and terror: Days Steal on us and steal from us yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.
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And the commencement of atonement is the sense of its necessity.
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I would rather have a nod from an American, than a snuff- box from an emperor.
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Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.
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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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The French courage proceeds from vanity
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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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