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Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay, Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme, Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.

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
Lying
Coffin
Evil
Coffins
Rhyme
Clay
Florid
Prose
Heralds
Deeds
Consecrate
Lies
Rake
Crime
Rakes

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A man of eighty has outlived probably three new schools of painting, two of architecture and poetry and a hundred in dress.
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It has been said that the immortality of the soul is a grand peut-tre -but still it is a grand one. Everybody clings to it -the stupidest, and dullest, and wickedest of human bipeds is still persuaded that he is immortal.
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The Christian has greatly the advantage of the unbeliever, having everything to gain and nothing to lose.
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A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound.
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We are all the fools of time and terror: Days Steal on us and steal from us yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.
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Man marks the earth with ruin - his control stops with the shore.
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Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine, And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared.
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Oh who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried.
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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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Grief is fantastical, and loves the dead, And the apparel of the grave.
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The world is a bundle of hay, Mankind are the asses that pull, Each tugs in a different way And the greatest of all is John Bull!
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My slumbers--if I slumber--are not sleep, But a continuance of enduring thought, Which then I can resist not: in my heart There is a vigil, and these eyes but close To look within and yet I live, and bear The aspect and the form of breathing men.
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A material resurrection seems strange and even absurd except for purposes of punishment, and all punishment which is to revenge rather than correct must be morally wrong, and when the World is at an end, what moral or warning purpose can eternal tortures answer?
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The law of heaven and earth is life for life.
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Man's conscience is the oracle of God.
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Though the day of my Destiny 's over, And the star of my Fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find.
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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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Yet I did love thee to the last, As ferverently as thou, Who didst not change through all the past, And canst not alter now.
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Absence - that common cure of love.
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Send me no more reviews of any kind. I will read no more of evil or good in that line. Walter Scott has not read a review of himself for thirteen years .
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