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Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.
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
Sport
Brilliant
Sports
Pheasants
Poachers
Peasants
Autumn
Nuts
Brown
More quotes by Lord Byron
But every fool describes, in these bright days, His wondrous journey to some foreign court, And spawns his quarto, and demands your praise,-- Death to his publisher, to him 'tis sport.
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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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I loved my country, and I hated him.
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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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If a man proves too clearly and convincingly to himself...that a tiger is an optical illusion--well, he will find out he is wrong. The tiger will himself intervene in the discussion, in a manner which will be in every sense conclusive.
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Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.
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My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes.
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Happiness was born a twin.
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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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All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin.
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Folly loves the martyrdom of fame.
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Though I love my country, I do not love my countrymen.
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A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound.
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No words suffice the secret soul to show, For truth denies all eloquence to woe.
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This is to be mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.
Lord Byron
Retirement accords with the tone of my mind I will not descend to a world I despise.
Lord Byron
Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!
Lord Byron
It is when we think we lead that we are most led.
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You should have a softer pillow than my heart.
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Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure.
Lord Byron
