The poor dog, in life the firmest friend. The first to welcome, foremost to defend.
LORD BYRONThe poor dog, in life the firmest friend. The first to welcome, foremost to defend.
LORD BYRONGood work and joyous play go hand in hand. When play stops, old age begins. Play keeps you from taking life too seriously.
LORD BYRONI learned to love despair.
LORD BYRONThe heart will break, but broken live on.
LORD BYRONI am not now That which I have been.
LORD BYRONO 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
LORD BYRONWe 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?
LORD BYRONAll tragedies are finished by a death, All comedies are ended by a marriage.
LORD BYRONAll who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin.
LORD BYRONMy heart in passion, and my head on rhymes.
LORD BYRONThere are four questions of value in life, Don Octavio. What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for and what is worth dying for? The answer to each is the same. Only love.
LORD BYRONWhat 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!
LORD BYRONI slept and dreamt that life was beauty; I woke and found that life was duty.
LORD BYRONThere is something pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything.
LORD BYRONRoll on, deep and dark blue ocean, roll. Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. Man marks the earth with ruin, but his control stops with the shore.
LORD BYRONThe leaves along the limpid streams of Eden? Is your course measur’d for ye? Or do ye Sweep on in your unbounded revelry Through an aerial universe of endless Expansion,–at which my soul aches to think,– Intoxicated with eternity.
LORD BYRON