The art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest and the stupidest of pretended sports.
LORD BYRONThere is music in all things, if men had ears.
More Lord Byron Quotes
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What’s drinking? A mere pause from thinking!
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Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were.
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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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Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach Who please, the more because they preach in vain
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I have simplified my politics into an utter detestation of all existing governments; and, as it is the shortest and most agreeable and summary feeling imaginable.
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Truth is a gem that is found at a great depth; whilst on the surface of the world all things are weighed by the false scale of custom.
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The drying up a single tear has more, of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore.
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If from society we learn to live, solitude should teach us how to die.
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Why do they call me misanthrope? Because They hate me, not I them.
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A thousand years may scare form a state. An hour may lay it in ruins.
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I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law.
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Tis the perception of the beautiful, A fine extension of the faculties, Platonic, universal, wonderful, Drawn from the stars, and filtered through the skies, Without which life would be extremely dull
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The best prophet of the future is the past.
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Friendship is Love without his wings!
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The heart will break, but broken live on.
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Come what may, I have been blest.
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Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.
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Be warm, be pure, be amorous, but be chaste.
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You gave me the key to your heart, my love, then why did you make me knock?
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Society is now one polished horde, formed of two mighty tries, the Bores and Bored.
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O thou beautiful And unimaginable ether! and Ye multiplying masses of increased And still increasing lights! what are ye? what Is this blue wilderness of interminable Air, where ye roll along, as I have seen
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What a strange thing is man! And what a stranger is woman.
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I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs; A palace and a prison on each hand;
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If I could always read, I should never feel the want of company.
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I live, but live to die: and, living, see nothing to make death hateful, save an innate clinging, a loathsome and yet all invincible instinct of life, which I abhor, as I despise myself, yet cannot overcome – and so I live. Would I had never lived!
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Armenian is the language to speak with God.
LORD BYRON