Maxioms by Lord Byron
Hatred is the madness of the heart.
Hatred is the madness of the heart.
If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad.
If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad.
In solitude, where we are least alone.
In solitude, where we are least alone.
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?
He possessed beauty without vanity, strength without insolence; courage without ferocity; and all the virtues of man without his vices
He possessed beauty without vanity, strength without insolence; courage without ferocity; and all the virtues of man without his vices
