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None are so desolate but something dear, Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd A thought, and claims the homage of a tear.
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
Claims
Dear
None
Dearer
Tears
Desolate
Thought
Homage
Self
Possesses
Something
Tear
Possess
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Now I shall go to sleep. Goodnight.
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I should be very willing to redress men wrongs, and rather check than punish crimes, had not Cervantes, in that all too true tale of Quixote, shown how all such efforts fail.
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Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!
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Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.
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There are some feelings time cannot benumb, Nor torture shake.
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There is something to me very softening in the presence of a woman, some strange influence, even if one is not in love with them, which I cannot at all account for, having no very high opinion of the sex. But yet, I always feel in better humor with myself and every thing else, if there is a woman within ken.
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With flowing tail and flying mane, Wide nostrils never stretched by pain, Mouth bloodless to bit or rein, And feet that iron never shod, And flanks unscar'd by spur or rod, A thousand horses - the wild - the free - Like waves that follow o'er the sea, Came thickly thundering on.
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Out of chaos God made a world, and out of high passions comes a people.
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I came to realize clearly that the mind is no other than the Mountain and the Rivers and the great wide Earth, the Sun and the Moon and the Sky”.
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The place is very well and quiet and the children only scream in a low voice.
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Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized? In him alone, Can nature show as fair?
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A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound.
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Above or Love, Hope, Hate or Fear, It lives all passionless and pure: An age shall fleet like earthly year Its years in moments shall endure. Away, away, without a wing, O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly A nameless and eternal thing, Forgetting what it was to die.
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It is not one man nor a million, but the spirit of liberty that must be preserved. The waves which dash upon the shore are, one by one, broken, but the ocean conquers nevertheless. It overwhelms the Armada, it wears out the rock. In like manner, whatever the struggle of individuals, the great cause will gather strength.
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Religion-freedom-vengeance-what you will, A word's enough to raise mankind to kill.
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Nothing so difficult as a beginning In poesy, unless perhaps the end.
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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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I loved my country, and I hated him.
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For the night Shows stars and women in a better light.
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