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No words suffice the secret soul to show, For truth denies all eloquence to woe.

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
Soul
Woe
Eloquence
Deny
Secret
Show
Words
Shows
Suffice
Truth
Denies

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I cannot help thinking that the menace of Hell makes as many devils as the severe penal codes of inhuman humanity make villains.
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Always laugh when you can. It is cheap medicine.
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The English winter - ending in July to recommence in August
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Romances I ne'er read like those I have seen.
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Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.
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A woman who gives any advantage to a man may expect a lover - but will sooner or later find a tyrant.
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Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, sermons and soda water the day after.
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Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.
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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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Kill a man's family, and he may brook it, But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket.
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My native land, good night!
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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.
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Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
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Many are poets, but without the nameFor what is Poesy but to createFrom overfeeling Good or Ill and aimAt an external life beyond our fate,And be the new Prometheus of new men,Bestowing fire from Heaven, and then, too late,Finding the pleasure given repaid with pain
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To withdraw myself from myself has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all.
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I really cannot know whether I am or am not the Genius you are pleased to call me, but I am very willing to put up with the mistake, if it be one.
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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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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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