Lord Byron

Lord Byron

George Gordon Byron, 6th Baron Byron (22 January 1788 – 19 April 1824), commonly known simply as Lord Byron, was a British poet, peer, politician, and a leading figure in the Romantic movement. Among his best-known works are the lengthy narrative poems, Don Juan and Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, and the short lyric poem, "She Walks in Beauty".

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There's naught no doubt so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion

When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy And the dimpling stream runs laughing by, When the air does laugh with our merry wit And the green hill laughs with the noise of it.

I like a woman to talk or I am left with the suspicion that she is thinking.

I thought it would appear / That there had been a lady in the case.

Maid of Athens ere we part / Give oh give me back my heart!

She for him had given / Her all on earth and more than all in heaven!

What an antithetical mind! -- tenderness roughness -- delicacy coarseness -- sentiment sensuality -- soaring and groveling dirt and deity -- all mixed up in that one compound of inspired clay!

There is in fact no law or government at all [in Italy], and it is wonderful how well things go on without them.

Sorrow is knowledge those that know the most must mourn the deepest the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.

In short he was a perfect cavalier,  And to his very valet seemed a hero.

Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.

My great comfort is that the temporary celebrity I have wrung from the world has been in the very teeth of all opinions and prejudices. I have flattered no ruling powers, I have never concealed a single thought that tempted me.

Ready money is Aladdin's lamp

The castle crag of Drachenfels / Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine.

I live not in myself but I become / Portion of that around me, and to me / High mountains are a feeling but the hum / Of human cities torture.

But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence, the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.

There is something to me very softening in the presence of a woman some strange influence even if one is not in love with them which I cannot at all account for having no very high opinion of the sex. But yet I always feel in better humor with myself and every thing else if there is a woman within ken.

It is a hard although a common case To find our children running restive- they In whom our brightest days we would retrace Our little selves reform'd in finer clay Just as old age is creeping on apace And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day Th

But here I say the Turks were much mistaken - Who hating hogs yet wished to save their bacon

Men think highly of those who rise rapidly in the world, whereas nothing rises quicker than dust straw and feathers.

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