George Gordon Noel Byron Quotes

Exhausting thought,
And having wisdom with each studious year.

Exhausting thought,
And having wisdom with each studious year.

Rough Johnson, the great moralist.

Rough Johnson, the great moralist.

'Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle,
Should let itself be snuff'd out by an article.

'Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle,
Should let itself be snuff'd out by an article.

Her years
Were ripe, they might make six-and-twenty springs;
But there are forms which Time to touch read more

Her years
Were ripe, they might make six-and-twenty springs;
But there are forms which Time to touch forbears.
And turns aside his scythe to vulgar things.

Oh, for a forty-parson power to chant
Thy praise, Hypocrisy! Oh, for a hymn
Loud as the read more

Oh, for a forty-parson power to chant
Thy praise, Hypocrisy! Oh, for a hymn
Loud as the virtues thou dost loudly vaunt,
Not practise!

I have a passion for the name of "Mary,"
For once it was a magic sound to me,
read more

I have a passion for the name of "Mary,"
For once it was a magic sound to me,
And still it half calls up the realms of fairy,
Where I beheld what never was to be.

In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell.

In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell.

But now being lifted into high society,
And having pick'd up several odds and ends
Of free read more

But now being lifted into high society,
And having pick'd up several odds and ends
Of free thoughts in his travels for variety,
He deem'd, being in a lone isle, among friends,
That without any danger of a riot, he
Might for long lying make himself amends;
And singing as he sung in his warm youth,
Agree to a short armistice with truth.

A would-be satirist, a hired buffoon,
A monthly scribbler of some low lampoon,
Condemn'd to drudge, the read more

A would-be satirist, a hired buffoon,
A monthly scribbler of some low lampoon,
Condemn'd to drudge, the meanest of the mean,
And furbish falsehoods for a magazine.

Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things read more

Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee.