Quotes: George Gordon Byron

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Let us have wine and woman, mirth and laughter,
Sermons and soda water the day after.

Man, being reasonable, must get drunk;
The best of life is but intoxication:
Glory, the grape, love, gold, in these are sunk
The hopes of all men, and of every nation;
Without their sap, how branchless were the trunk
Of life's strange tree, so fruitful on occasion:
But to return--Get very drunk; and when
You wake with head-ache, you shall see what then.

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the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, the first to welcome, the foremost to defend.

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I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.

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In secret we met -
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee? -
With silence and tears

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The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the Music breathing from her face,
The heart whose softness harmonised the whole —
And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!

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A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound.

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When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow—
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met—
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.

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       'Tis to create, and in creating live
        A being more intense, that we endow
        With form our fancy, gaining as we give
        The life we image, even as I do now.
        What am I? Nothing: but not so art thou,
        Soul of my thought! with whom I traverse earth,
        Invisible but gazing, as I glow
        Mix'd with thy spirit, blended with thy birth,
And feeling still with thee in my crush'd feelings' dearth.

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There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more

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There is no instinct like that of the heart.

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Gwynned lies two days westwards; still further south, the weregeld calls. Mayhap with All-Father Woden's favour, my deeds may yet inspire the skalds.

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For truth is always strange; stranger than fiction.

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Thou shalt believe in Milton, Dryden, Pope;
Thou shalt not set up Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey;
Because the first is crazed beyond all hope,
The second drunk, the third so quaint and mouthy.

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The lapse of ages changes all things - time - language - the earth - the bounds of the sea - the stars of the sky, and everything 'about, around, and underneath' man, except man himself, who has always been and always will be, an unlucky rascal. The infinite variety of lives conduct but to death, and the infinity of wishes lead but to disappointment. All the discoveries which have yet been made have multiplied little but existence.

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Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, sermons and soda water the day after.

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The great object of life is sensation- to feel that we exist, even though in pain.

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All who joy would win
Must share it -- Happiness was born a twin.

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This is to be mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.

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I will keep no further journal of that same hesternal torch‐light ; and, to prevent me from returning, like a dog, to the vomit of memory, I tear out the remaining leaves of this volume...

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A woman being never at a loss... the devil always sticks by them.