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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.

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
Tears
Pendulum
Laughing
Weep
Feelings
Tear
Matter
Despise
Men
Admire
Thou
Exult
Smile
Betwixt
Laugh
Pendulums

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This sort of adoration of the real is but a heightening of the beau ideal.
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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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The heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old!-- The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns.
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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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Near this spot are deposited the remains of one who possessed beauty without vanity, strength without insolence, courage without ferocity, and all the virtues of man, without his vices. This praise, which would be unmeaning flattery if inscribed over human ashes, is but a just tribute to the memory of Botswain, a dog.
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Hatred is the madness of the heart.
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Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.
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To be perfectly original one should think much and read little, and this is impossible, for one must have read before one has learnt to think.
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Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.
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With thee all tales are sweet each clime has charms earth - sea alike - our world within our arms.
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In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.
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In England the only homage which they pay to Virtue - is hypocrisy.
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Now I shall go to sleep. Goodnight.
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Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.
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Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!
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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.
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Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, All ashes to the taste.
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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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Tis strange,-but true for truth is always strange Stranger than fiction: if it could be told, How much would novels gain by the exchange! How differently the world would men behold!
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Prolonged endurance tames the bold.
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