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The Christian has greatly the advantage of the unbeliever, having everything to gain and nothing to lose.
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
Loses
Christian
Unbeliever
Everything
Unbelievers
Nothing
Greatly
Gain
Gains
Advantage
Lose
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In commitment, we dash the hopes of a thousand potential selves.
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The lapse of ages changes all things - time, language, the earth, the bounds of the sea, the stars of the sky, and every thing about, around, and underneath man, except man himself.
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Letter writing is the only device combining solitude with good company.
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The simple Wordsworth . . . / Who, both by precept and example, shows / That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose.
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It is true from early habit, one must make love mechanically as one swims I was once very fond of both, but now as I never swim unless I tumble into the water, I don't make love till almost obliged.
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Man is born passionate of body, but with an innate though secret tendency to the love of Good in his main-spring of Mind. But God help us all! It is at present a sad jar of atoms.
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Tis pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures And all are to be sold, if you consider Their passions, and are dext'rous some by features Are brought up, others by a warlike leader Some by a place--as tend their years or natures The most by ready cash--but all have prices, From crowns to kicks, according to their vices.
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Despair and Genius are too oft connected
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The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains--beautiful! I linger yet with nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man, and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness I learned the language of another world.
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'Twas strange that one so young should thus concern His brain about the action of the sky If you think 'twas philosophy that this did, I can't help thinking puberty assisted.
Lord Byron
I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse borne away with every breath! Misplaced upon the throne misplaced in life. I know not what I could have been, but feel I am not what I should be let it end.
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Champagne with its foaming whirls/As white as Cleopatra's pearls.
Lord Byron
But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be.
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If we must have a tyrant, let him at least be a gentleman who has been bred to the business, and let us fall by the axe and not by the butcher's cleaver.
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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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And hold up to the sun my little taper.
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Come what may, I have been blest.
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All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin.
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Ah, happy years! once more who would not be a boy?
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But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws So much, as when we call our old debts in At sixty years, and draw the accounts of evil, And find a deuced balance with the devil.
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