Lord Byron

Hatred is the madness of the heart.

Hatred is the madness of the heart.

It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us. A year impairs, read more

It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us. A year impairs, a luster obliterates. There is little distinct left without an effort of memory, then indeed the lights are rekindled for a moment -- but who can be sure that the Imagination is not the torch-bearer?

For truth is always strange; stranger than fiction.

For truth is always strange; stranger than fiction.

We are all selfish and I no more trust myself than others with a good motive.

We are all selfish and I no more trust myself than others with a good motive.

All who would win joy, must share it; happiness was born a twin. Anon -Lord Byron.

All who would win joy, must share it; happiness was born a twin. Anon -Lord Byron.