George Gordon Noel Byron Quotes

And be the Spartan's epitaph on me--
"Sparta hath many a worthier son than he."

And be the Spartan's epitaph on me--
"Sparta hath many a worthier son than he."

If a man proves too clearly and convincingly to
himself . . . that a tiger is an optical read more

If a man proves too clearly and convincingly to
himself . . . that a tiger is an optical illusion--well, he will
find out he is wrong. The tiger will himself intervene in the
discussion, in a manner which will be in every sense conclusive.

For everything seemed resting on his nod,
As they could read in all eyes. Now to them,
read more

For everything seemed resting on his nod,
As they could read in all eyes. Now to them,
Who were accustomed, as a sort of god,
To see the sultan, rich in many a gem,
Like an imperial peacock stalk abroad
(That royal bird, whose tail's a diadem,)
With all the pomp of power, it was a doubt
How power could condescend to do without.

There was no great disparity of years,
Though much in temper; but they never clash'd,
They moved read more

There was no great disparity of years,
Though much in temper; but they never clash'd,
They moved like stars united in their spheres,
Or like the Rhone by Leman's waters wash'd,
Where mingled and yet separate appears
The river from the lake, all bluely dash'd
Through the serene and placid glassy deep,
Which fain would lull its river-child to sleep.

I depart,
Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by
When Albion's lessening shores could grieve read more

I depart,
Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by
When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.

Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast,
Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs.

Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast,
Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs.

I die,--but first I have possess'd,
And come what may, I have been bless'd.

I die,--but first I have possess'd,
And come what may, I have been bless'd.

The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice,
An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.

The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice,
An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.

There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Her Beauty and read more

There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men.

Like a lovely tree
She grew to womanhood, and between whiles
Rejected several suitors, just to learn
read more

Like a lovely tree
She grew to womanhood, and between whiles
Rejected several suitors, just to learn
How to accept a better in his turn.