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This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction.

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
Waft
Noiseless
Wing
Sail
Distraction
Wings
Quiet

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The Christian has greatly the advantage of the unbeliever, having everything to gain and nothing to lose.
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A drop of ink may make a million think.
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Fills The air around with beauty.
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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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Next to dressing for a rout or ball, undressing is a woe.
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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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The art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest and the stupidest of pretended sports.
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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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I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.
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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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Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection.
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I speak not of men's creeds—they rest between Man and his Maker.
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Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes But no too humbly, or she will despise Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes: Disguise even tenderness if thou art wise.
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Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!
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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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The 'good old times' - all times when old are good.
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This sort of adoration of the real is but a heightening of the beau ideal.
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Roll on, deep and dark blue ocean, roll. Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. Man marks the earth with ruin, but his control stops with the shore.
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I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law.
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