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I have not loved the World, nor the World me I have not flattered its rank breath, nor bowed To its idolatries a patient knee, Nor coined my cheek to smiles,-nor cried aloud In worship of an echo.

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
World
Cheeks
Flattered
Cried
Idolatry
Knees
Knee
Breath
Echo
Breaths
Cheek
Patient
Rank
Coined
Worship
Smiles
Bowed
Loved
Echoes
Aloud

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Opinions are made to be changed or how is truth to be got at?
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Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep for here There is such matter for all feelings: Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.
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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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In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.
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It is useless to tell one not to reason but to believe you might as well tell a man not to wake but sleep.
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I can't but say it is an awkward sight To see one's native land receding through The growing waters it unmans one quite, Especially when life is rather new.
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Smiles form the channels of a future tear.
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And Doubt and Discord step 'twixt thine and thee.
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I had a dream, which was not at all a dream.
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Such is your cold coquette, who can't say No, And won't say Yes, and keeps you on and off-ing On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow, Then sees your heart wreck'd, with an inward scoffing.
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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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The premises are so delightfully extensive, that two people might live together without ever seeing, hearing or meeting.
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A quiet conscience makes one so serene.
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History - the devil's scripture
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But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
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Eternity forbids thee to forget.
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One hates an author that's all author.
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