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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
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
Writing
Draw
Never
Draws
Men
General
Lasts
Last
Praised
Art
Publication
Wells
Dislike
Well
Literary

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I am so convinced of the advantages of looking at mankind instead of reading about them, . . . that I think there should be a law amongst us to set our young men abroad for a term among the few allies our wars have left us.
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Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart.
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Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till-'t is gone, and all is gray.
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The law of heaven and earth is life for life.
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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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I am never long, even in the society of her I love, without yearning for the company of my lamp and my library.
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Religion-freedom-vengeance-what you will, A word's enough to raise mankind to kill.
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Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!
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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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A small drop of ink makes thousands, perhaps millions... think.
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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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To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.
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What should I have known or written had I been a quiet, mercantile politician or a lord in waiting? A man must travel, and turmoil, or there is no existence.
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A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound.
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The Niobe of nations! there she stands.
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The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space.
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This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall Lord of himself, though not of lands, And leaving nothing, yet hath all.
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The English winter - ending in July to recommence in August
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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?
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Absence - that common cure of love.
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