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Eat, drink and love...the rest is not worth a nickel
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
Nickel
Nickels
Drink
Worth
Rest
Love
More quotes by Lord Byron
Of religion I know nothing -- at least, in its favor.
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Though the day of my Destiny 's over, And the star of my Fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find.
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In itself a thought, a slumbering thought is capable of years and curdles a long life into one hour.
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Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.
Lord Byron
Who tracks the steps of glory to the grave?
Lord Byron
The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.
Lord Byron
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.
Lord Byron
I have not loved the World, nor the World me I have not flattered its rank breath, nor bowed To its idolatries a patient knee, Nor coined my cheek to smiles,-nor cried aloud In worship of an echo.
Lord Byron
Fills The air around with beauty.
Lord Byron
I should like to know who has been carried off, except poor dear me - I have been more ravished myself than anybody since the Trojan war.
Lord Byron
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.
Lord Byron
Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair spirit for my minister
Lord Byron
The world is a bundle of hay, Mankind are the asses that pull, Each tugs in a different way And the greatest of all is John Bull!
Lord Byron
Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead? Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some less majestic, less beloved head?
Lord Byron
Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure.
Lord Byron
I only know we loved in vain I only feel-farewell! farewell!
Lord Byron
Bologna is celebrated for producing popes, painters, and sausage.
Lord Byron
Who then will explain the explanation?
Lord Byron
The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed.
Lord Byron
All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.
Lord Byron
