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My native land, good night!
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
Native
Land
Night
Good
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Folly loves the martyrdom of fame.
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The art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest and the stupidest of pretended sports.
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All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.
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I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all.
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For truth is always strange stranger than fiction.
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Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime!
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The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space.
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Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires The young, makes Weariness forget his toil, And Fear her danger opens a new world When this, the present, palls.
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The Coach does not play in the game, but the Coach helps the players identify areas to improve their game.
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Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
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And I would hear yet once before I perish The voice which was my music... Speak to me!
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Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone.
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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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Life is too short for chess.
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Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylæ!
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'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come.
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'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print. A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.
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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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He makes a solitude, and calls it - peace!
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