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The premises are so delightfully extensive, that two people might live together without ever seeing, hearing or meeting.

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
Home
Premises
Ever
Meeting
Live
Meetings
Might
Hearing
Without
Seeing
People
House
Two
Delightfully
Together
Extensive

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Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead? Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some less majestic, less beloved head?
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Such is your cold coquette, who can't say No, And won't say Yes, and keeps you on and off-ing On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow, Then sees your heart wreck'd, with an inward scoffing.
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I can't but say it is an awkward sight To see one's native land receding through The growing waters it unmans one quite, Especially when life is rather new.
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Poetry should only occupy the idle.
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What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? The hearts bleed longest, and heals but to wear That which disfigures it.
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Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, there is no sterner moralist than pleasure.
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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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Retirement accords with the tone of my mind I will not descend to a world I despise.
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Out of chaos God made a world, and out of high passions comes a people.
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Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylæ!
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The devil was the first democrat
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Land of lost gods and godlike men.
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With flowing tail and flying mane, Wide nostrils never stretched by pain, Mouth bloodless to bit or rein, And feet that iron never shod, And flanks unscar'd by spur or rod, A thousand horses - the wild - the free - Like waves that follow o'er the sea, Came thickly thundering on.
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Man is in part divine, A troubled stream from a pure source.
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Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, sermons and soda water the day after.
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A pretty woman is a welcome guest.
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In solitude, when we are least alone.
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He makes a solitude, and calls it - peace!
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Oh Rome! My country! City of the soul!
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Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.
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