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In general I do not draw well with literary men -- not that I dislike them but I never know what to say to them after I have praised their last publication.

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
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Poet
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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
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He makes a solitude, and calls it - peace!
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I am surrounded here by parsons and methodists, but as you will see, not infested with the mania.
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...And these vicissitudes come best in youth For when they happen at a riper age, People are apt to blame the Fates, forsooth, And wonder Providence is not more sage. Adversity is the first path to truth: He who hath proved war, storm, or woman's rage, Whether his winters be eighteen or eighty, Has won experience which is deem'd so weighty.
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Not to admire, is all the art I know To make men happy, or to keep them so. Thus Horace wrote we all know long ago And thus Pope quotes the precept to re-teach From his translation but had none admired, Would Pope have sung, or Horace been inspired?
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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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Let no man grumble when his friends fall off, As they will do like leaves at the first breeze When your affairs come round, one way or t'other, Go to the coffee house, and take another.
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Come what may, I have been blest.
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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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There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion.
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What is Death, so it be but glorious? 'Tis a sunset And mortals may be happy to resemble The Gods but in decay.
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A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
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Of religion I know nothing -- at least, in its favor.
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I am about to be married, and am of course in all the misery of a man in pursuit of happiness.
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Happiness was born a twin.
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She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes.
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The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.
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The premises are so delightfully extensive, that two people might live together without ever seeing, hearing or meeting.
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Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave.
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A thirst for gold, The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm The meanest hearts.
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Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.
Lord Byron