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The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.
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
Like
Arrows
Hath
Devil
Choice
Sweet
Choices
Voice
Quiver
Heart
Arrow
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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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All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.
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Sweet is revenge-especially to women.
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I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all.
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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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Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.
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One hates an author that's all author.
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Tyranny Is far the worst of treasons. Dost thou deem None rebels except subjects? The prince who Neglects or violates his trust is more A brigand than the robber-chief.
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Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires The young, makes Weariness forget his toil, And Fear her danger opens a new world When this, the present, palls.
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And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy They have a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being.
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Father of Light! great God of Heaven! Hear'st thou the accents of despair? Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven? Can vice atone for crimes by prayer.
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I am surrounded here by parsons and methodists, but as you will see, not infested with the mania.
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Sighing that Nature formed but one such man, and broke the die.
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He learned the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, And how to scale a fortress - or a nunnery.
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Are not the mountains, waves, and skies as much a part of me, as I of them?
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Despair and Genius are too oft connected
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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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I doubt sometimes whether a quiet and unagitated life would have suited me - yet I sometimes long for it.
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Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
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There is, in fact, no law or government at all and it is wonderful how well things go on without them.
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