Like the measles, love is most dangerous when it comes late in life.
LORD BYRONAnd I would hear yet once before I perish The voice which was my music… Speak to me!
More Lord Byron Quotes
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And gentle winds and waters near, make music to the lonely ear.
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If I don’t write to empty my mind, I go mad.
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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 art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest and the stupidest of pretended sports.
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What is fame? The advantage of being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little.
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There is music in all things, if men had ears.
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What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?
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A thousand years may scare form a state. An hour may lay it in ruins.
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Eternity forbids thee to forget.
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For truth is always strange; stranger than fiction.
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I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone.
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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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Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were.
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We are all the fools of time and terror: Days Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.
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Always laugh when you can; it is cheap medicine. Merriment is a philosophy not well understood. It is the sunny side of existence.
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Self praise is no praise at all.
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If I could always read, I should never feel the want of company.
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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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A mistress never is nor can be a friend. While you agree, you are lovers; and when it is over, anything but friends.
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We have fools in all sects, and impostors in most; why should I believe mysteries no one can understand, because written by men who chose to mistake madness for inspiration and style themselves Evangelicals?
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Till taught by pain, men know not water’s worth.
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Why do they call me misanthrope? Because They hate me, not I them.
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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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Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.
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I am not now That which I have been.
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There is no instinct like that of the heart.
LORD BYRON