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1.47_-_Lityerses
1.jk_-_I_Stood_Tip-Toe_Upon_A_Little_Hill
1.pbs_-_Julian_and_Maddalo_-_A_Conversation
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Lord Byron
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Ada Lovelace "person" (1811-1852) The daughter of Lord Byron, who became the world's first programmer while cooperating with {Charles Babbage} on the design of his mechanical computing engines in the mid-1800s. The language {Ada} was named after her. [{"Ada, Enchantress of Numbers Prophit of the Computer Age", Betty Alexandra Toole (http://well.com/user/adatoole)}]. [More details?] (1999-07-17)
Ada Lovelace ::: (person) (1811-1852) The daughter of Lord Byron, who became the world's first programmer while cooperating with Charles Babbage on the design of his mechanical computing engines in the mid-1800s.The language Ada was named after her.[ Ada, Enchantress of Numbers Prophit of the Computer Age, Betty Alexandra Toole ].[More details?] (1999-07-17)
byronic ::: a. --> Pertaining to, or in the style of, Lord Byron.
II. Metaphysics of History: The metaphysical interpretations of the meaning of history are either supra-mundane or intra-mundane (secular). The oldest extra-mundane, or theological, interpretation has been given by St. Augustine (Civitas Dei), Dante (Divma Commedia) and J. Milton (Paradise Lost and Regained). All historic events are seen as having a bearing upon the redemption of mankind through Christ which will find its completion at the end of this world. Owing to the secularistic tendencies of modern times the Enlightenment Period considered the final end of human history as the achievement of public welfare through the power of reason. Even the ideal of "humanity" of the classic humanists, advocated by Schiller, Goethe, Fichte, Rousseau, Lord Byron, is only a variety of the philosophy of the Enlightenment, and in the same line of thought we find A. Comte, H. Spencer ("human moral"), Engels and K. Marx. The German Idealism of Kant and Hegel saw in history the materialization of the "moral reign of freedom" which achieves its perfection in the "objective spirit of the State". As in the earlier systems of historical logic man lost his individuality before the forces of natural laws, so, according to Hegel, he is nothing but an instrument of the "idea" which develops itself through the three dialectic stages of thesis, antithesis, and synthesis. (Example. Absolutism, Democracy, Constitutional Monarchy.) Even the great historian L. v. Ranke could not break the captivating power of the Hegelian mechanism. Ranke places every historical epoch into a relation to God and attributes to it a purpose and end for itself. Lotze and Troeltsch followed in his footsteps. Lately, the evolutionistic interpretation of H. Bergson is much discussed and disputed. His "vital impetus" accounts for the progressiveness of life, but fails to interpret the obvious setbacks and decadent civilizations. According to Kierkegaard and Spranger, merely human ideals prove to be too narrow a basis for the tendencies, accomplishments, norms, and defeats of historic life. It all points to a supra-mundane intelligence which unfolds itself in history. That does not make superfluous a natural interpretation, both views can be combined to understand history as an endless struggle between God's will and human will, or non-willing, for that matter. -- S.V.F.
KEYS (10k)
4 Lord Byron
1 Brenda Ueland
NEW FULL DB (2.4M)
845 Lord Byron
3 Susanna Clarke
3 Percy Bysshe Shelley
2 Willa Cather
2 Siddhartha Mukherjee
2 Shirley Jackson
2 Josie Litton
2 John Keats
2 Doris Kearns Goodwin
2 Chuck Palahniuk
2 Brenda Ueland
1:In solitude, where we are least alone.
~ Lord Byron,#KEYS
2:Sincerity may be humble but she cannot be servile. ~ Lord Byron, #KEYS
3:Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.
~ Lord Byron,#KEYS
4:Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.
~ Lord Byron, [T5],#KEYS
5:I learned that you should feel when writing, not like Lord Byron on a mountain top, but like a child stringing beads in kindergarten - happy, absorbed and quietly putting one bead on after another.
~ Brenda Ueland,#KEYS
*** WISDOM TROVE ***
1:The poetry of speech. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 2:Let joy be unconfined. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 3:Critics are already made. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 4:That low vice, curiosity! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 5:Happiness was born a twin. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 6:I learned to love despair. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 7:My native land, good night! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 8:Fame is the thirst of youth. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 9:Life is too short for chess. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 10:Think not I am what I appear. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 11:We of the craft are all crazy. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 12:History - the devil's scripture ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 13:To have joy, one must share it. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 14:Eternity forbids thee to forget. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 15:Self praise is no praise at all. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 16:The busy have no time for tears. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 17:The devil was the first democrat ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 18:The dew of compassion is a tear. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 19:Come what may, I have been blest. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 20:Fills The air around with beauty. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 21:I am ashes where once I was fire. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 22:A pretty woman is a welcome guest. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 23:Folly loves the martyrdom of fame. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 24:Frienship is eros... without wings ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 25:I see before me the gladiator lie. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 26:Land of lost gods and godlike men. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 27:Rough Johnson, the great moralist. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 28:Absence - that common cure of love. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 29:Fill high the cup with Samian wine! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 30:Hatred is the madness of the heart. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 31:Now I shall go to sleep. Goodnight. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 32:Poetry should only occupy the idle. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 33:Prolonged endurance tames the bold. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 34:Yes! Ready money is Aladdin's lamp. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 35:But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 36:I am not now That which I have been. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 37:I loved my country, and I hated him. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 38:Adversity is the first path to truth. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 39:Friendship is Love without his wings! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 40:I deny nothing, but doubt everything. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 41:In solitude, when we are least alone. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 42:Pure friendship's well-feigned blush. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 43:Sweet is revenge-especially to women. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 44:Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 45:Tyranny is for the worst of treasons. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 46:Good but rarely came from good advice. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 47:I awoke one day to find myself famous. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 48:In solitude, where we are least alone. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 49:Lord of himself; that heritage of woe! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 50:Man's conscience is the oracle of God. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 51:Oh Rome! My country! City of the soul! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 52:One hates an author that's all author. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 53:Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 54:This is the age of oddities let loose. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 55:Who then will explain the explanation? ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 56:A drop of ink may make a million think. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 57:And hold up to the sun my little taper. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 58:A quiet conscience makes one so serene. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 59:Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 60:Jealousy dislikes the world to know it. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 61:The French courage proceeds from vanity ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 62:The Niobe of nations! there she stands. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 63:Alas! how deeply painful is all payment! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 64:But stories somehow lengthen when begun. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 65:Despair and Genius are too oft connected ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 66:Heaven gives its favourites-early death. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 67:There is pleasure in the pathless woods. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 68:The very best of vineyards is the cellar ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 69:Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 70:I love not man the less, but Nature more. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 71:Old man! & 72:The heart will break, but broken live on. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 73:They never fail who die in a great cause. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 74:Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 75:A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 76:A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 77:Damn description, it is always disgusting. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 78:Fools are my theme, let satire be my song. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 79:Hearts will break - yet brokenly, live on. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 80:He makes a solitude, and calls it - peace! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 81:My altars are the mountains and the ocean. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 82:Smiles form the channels of a future tear. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 83:So much alarmed that she is quite alarming ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 84:Armenian is the language to speak with God. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 85:My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 86:The best prophet of the future is the past. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 87:Thy decay's still impregnate with divinity. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 88:Who tracks the steps of glory to the grave? ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 89:Be warm, be pure, be amorous, but be chaste. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 90:Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 91:I awoke one morning and found myself famous. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 92:If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 93:I had a dream, which was not at all a dream. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 94:The dome of thought, the palace of the soul. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 95:There is no instinct like that of the heart. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 96:This is to be along; this, this is solitude! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 97:To chase the glowing hours with flying feet. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 98:What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 99:What's drinking? A mere pause from thinking! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 100:By headless Charles see heartless Henry lies. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 101:I have not loved the world, nor the world me. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 102:Romances I ne'er read like those I have seen. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 103:Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 104:The law of heaven and earth is life for life. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 105:Liberty - eternal spirit of the chainless mind ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 106:Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 107:There is music in all things, if men had ears. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 108:You should have a softer pillow than my heart. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 109:A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 110:I am always most religious upon a sunshiny day. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 111:In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 112:They truly mourn, that mourn without a witness. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 113:Always laugh when you can. It is cheap medicine. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 114:Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 115:Oh who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 116:Since Eve ate the apple, much depends on dinner. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 117:Talent may be in time forgiven, but genius never ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 118:Till taught by pain, men know not water's worth. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 119:It is when we think we lead that we are most led. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 120:Never to talk to ones self is a form of hypocrisy ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 121:Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 122:Ah, happy years! once more who would not be a boy? ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 123:And wrinkles, the damned democrats, won't flatter. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 124:For truth is always strange; stranger than fiction. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 125:My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 126:Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 127:And what is writ is writ - / Would it were worthier! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 128:If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 129:Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 130:Eat, drink and love... the rest is not worth a nickel ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 131:I do detest everything which is not perfectly mutual. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 132:On the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 133:For the night Shows stars and women in a better light. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 134:History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 135:Though I love my country, I do not love my countrymen. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 136:& 137:And Doubt and Discord step & 138:Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 139:Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 140:I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 141:Italia! O Italia! thou who hast The fatal gift of beauty. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 142:Next to dressing for a rout or ball, undressing is a woe. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 143:The & 144:War, war is still the cry,-& 145:Accursed be the city where the laws would stifle nature's! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 146:Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 147:Of religion I know nothing - at least, in its favor. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 148:What a strange thing is man! And what a stranger is woman. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 149:And life & 150:The English winter - ending in July to recommence in August ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 151:This is to be mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 152:Man is in part divine, A troubled stream from a pure source. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 153:I only know we loved in vain; I only feel-farewell! farewell! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 154:Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 155:Opinions are made to be changed or how is truth to be got at? ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 156:Sleep hath its own world, and the wide realm of wild reality. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 157:There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 158:Exhausting thought, And hiving wisdom with each studious year. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 159:Fare thee well, and if for ever Still for ever fare thee well. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 160:There are some feelings time cannot benumb, Nor torture shake. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 161:All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 162:And gentle winds and waters near, make music to the lonely ear. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 163:Sighing that Nature formed but one such man, and broke the die. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 164:Tis sweet to listen as the night winds creep From leaf to leaf. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 165:And the commencement of atonement is the sense of its necessity. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 166:A small drop of ink makes thousands, perhaps millions... think. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 167:A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 168:Grief should be the instructor of the wise; Sorrow is Knowledge. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 169:If I could always read, I should never feel the want of company. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 170:In commitment, we dash the hopes of a thousand potential selves. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 171:Nothing can confound a wise man more than laughter from a dunce. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 172:yet cannot overcome ‚Äî and so I live. Would I had never lived!" ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 173:Bologna is celebrated for producing popes, painters, and sausage. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 174:Champagne with its foaming whirls/As white as Cleopatra's pearls. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 175:Man marks the earth with ruin - his control stops with the shore. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 176:Perhaps the early grave Which men weep over may be meant to save. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 177:A woman being never at a loss... the devil always sticks by them. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 178:He had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 179:I speak not of men's creeds‚Äîthey rest between Man and his Maker. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 180:That music in itself, whose sounds are song, The poetry of speech. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 181:Why do they call me misanthrope? Because They hate me, not I them. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 182:And if I laugh at any mortal thing, & 183:Go let thy less than woman's hand Assume the distaff not the brand. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 184:In England the only homage which they pay to Virtue - is hypocrisy. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 185:Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, All ashes to the taste. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 186:No hand can make the clock strike for me the hours that are passed. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 187:There is a tear for all who die, A mourner o'er the humblest grave. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 188:This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 189:Who falls from all he knows of bliss, Cares little into what abyss. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 190:Better to sink beneath the shock Than moulder piecemeal on the rock! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 191:Like the measles, love is most dangerous when it comes late in life. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 192:No ear can hear nor tongue can tell the tortures of the inward hell! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 193:A thousand years may scare form a state. An hour may lay it in ruins. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 194:Nothing so difficult as a beginning In poesy, unless perhaps the end. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 195:So bright the tear in Beauty's eye, Love half regrets to kiss it dry. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 196:So sweet the blush of bashfulness, E'en pity scarce can wish it less! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 197:Then farewell, Horace; whom I hated so, Not for thy faults, but mine. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 198:Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 199:If from society we learn to live, solitude should teach us how to die. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 200:Grief is fantastical, and loves the dead, And the apparel of the grave. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 201:Letter writing is the only device combining solitude with good company. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 202:Out of chaos God made a world, and out of high passions comes a people. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 203:Tis said that persons living on annuities Are longer lived than others. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 204:It is the lava of the imagination whose eruption prevents an earthquake. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 205:Keep thy smooth words and juggling homilies for those who know thee not. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 206:So for a good old-gentlemanly vice, I think I must take up with avarice. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 207:The Cardinal is at his wit's end - it is true that he had not far to go. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 208:The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 209:I die but first I have possessed, And come what may, I have been blessed. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 210:And those who saw, it did surprise, Such drops could fall from human eyes. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 211:Let none think to fly the danger for soon or late love is his own avenger. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 212:The reading or non-reading a book will never keep down a single petticoat. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 213:This sort of adoration of the real is but a heightening of the beau ideal. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 214:Where there is mystery, it is generally suspected there must also be evil. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 215:A celebrity is one who is known to many persons he is glad he doesn't know. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 216:A feast not profuse but elegant; more of salt [refinement] than of expense. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 217:Are not the mountains, waves, and skies as much a part of me, as I of them? ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 218:Be hypocritical, be cautious, be not what you seem but always what you see. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 219:I am acquainted with no immaterial sensuality so delightful as good acting. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 220:You gave me the key to your heart, my love, then why did you make me knock? ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 221:All tragedies are finished by a death, All comedies are ended by a marriage. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 222:Curiosity kills itself; and love is only curiosity, as is proved by its end. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 223:Dreading that climax of all human ills the inflammation of his weekly bills. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 224:Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; the best of life is but intoxication. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 225:Of all tales 'tis the saddest& 226:There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 227:I slept and dreamt that life was beauty; I woke and found that life was duty. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 228:The place is very well and quiet and the children only scream in a low voice. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 229:We are all selfish and I no more trust myself than others with a good motive. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 230:Whatsoever thy birth, Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 231:I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 232:I would rather have a nod from an American, than a snuff- box from an emperor. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 233:When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; And when Rome falls& 234:He was a man of his times. with one virtue and a thousand crimes. (The Corsair) ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 235:He who surpasses or subdues mankind, must look down on the hate of those below. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 236:Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair spirit for my minister ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 237:Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 238:Her great merit is finding out mine; there is nothing so amiable as discernment. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 239:No words suffice the secret soul to show, For truth denies all eloquence to woe. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 240:Reason is so unreasonable, that few people can say they are in possession of it. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 241:As falls the dew on quenchless sands, blood only serves to wash ambition's hands. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 242:A thirst for gold, The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm The meanest hearts. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 243:I have a notion that gamblers are as happy as most people - being always excited. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 244:Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk and Water! Ye happy mixture of more happy days! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 245:Romances paint at full length people's wooing. But only give a bust of marriages. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 246:The drying up a single tear has more, of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 247:Think'st thou existence doth depend on time? It doth; but actions are our epochs. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 248:When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted, To sever for years. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 249:Have not all past human beings parted, And must not all the present, one day part? ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 250:He who is only just is cruel; who Upon the earth would live were all judged justly? ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 251:Love rules the camp, the court, the grove - for love is Heaven, and Heaven is love. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 252:Religion-freedom-vengeance-what you will, A word's enough to raise mankind to kill. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 253:Society is now one polished horde, formed of two mighty tries, the Bores and Bored. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 254:The poor dog, in life the firmest friend. The first to welcome, foremost to defend. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 255:A legal broom's a moral chimney-sweeper, And that's the reason he himself's so dirty ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 256:Gold! I still prefer thee unto paper, which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 257:Shakespeare's name, you may depend on it, stands absurdly too high and will go down. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 258:The art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest and the stupidest of pretended sports. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 259:I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse - borne away with every breath! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 260:I've seen your stormy seas and stormy women, And pity lovers rather more than seamen. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 261:Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, sermons and soda water the day after. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 262:Muse of the many twinkling feet, whose charms are now extending up from legs to arms. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 263:Retirement accords with the tone of my mind; I will not descend to a world I despise. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 264:By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see For one who hath no friend, no brother there. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 265:Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 266:One of the pleasures of reading old letters is the knowledge that they need no answer. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 267:The truly brave are soft of heart and eyes, and feel for what their duty bids them do. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 268:And I would hear yet once before I perish The voice which was my music... Speak to me! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 269:For through the South the custom still commands The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 270:Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 271:Glory, like the phoenix & 272:He scratched his ear, the infallible resource to which embarrassed people have recourse. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 273:Mark! Where his carnage and his conquests cease, He makes a solitude and calls it-peace! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 274:That famish'd people must be slowly nurst, and fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 275:The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 276:Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 277:I have always believed that all things depended upon Fortune, and nothing upon ourselves. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 278:For a man to become a poet (witness Petrarch and Dante), he must be in love, or miserable. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 279:It is very iniquitous to make me pay my debts - you have no idea of the pain it gives one. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 280:Kill a man's family, and he may brook it, But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 281:The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 282:Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, He would have written sonnets all his life?. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 283:Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 284:Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 285:I stood among them, but not of them: in a shroud of thoughts which were not their thoughts. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 286:What men call gallantry, and gods adultery, is much more common where the climate's sultry. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 287:Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized? In him alone, Can nature show as fair? ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 288:He learned the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, And how to scale a fortress - or a nunnery. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 289:They used to say that knowledge is power. I used to think so, but I know now they mean money. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 290:& 291:As winds come whispering lightly from the West, Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 292:Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 293:For what were all these country patriots born? To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn? ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 294:I am about to be married, and am of course in all the misery of a man in pursuit of happiness. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 295:Such hath it been& 296:Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, there is no sterner moralist than pleasure. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 297:But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 298:What want these outlaws conquerors should have but history's purchased page to call them great? ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 299:Self-love for ever creeps out, like a snake, to sting anything which happens to stumble upon it. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 300:There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in, Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 301:Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine, And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 302:[Armenian] is a rich language, however, and would amply repay any one the trouble of learning it. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 303:Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach Who please, the more because they preach in vain ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 304:I am surrounded here by parsons and methodists, but as you will see, not infested with the mania. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 305:I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 306:All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 307:Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away; A single laugh demolish'd the right arm Of his own country. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 308:Sometimes we are less unhappy in being deceived by those we love, than in being undeceived by them. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 309:A little still she strove, and much repented, And whispering ‚ÄúI will ne'er consent‚Äù‚Äîconsented. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 310:Maidens, like moths, are ever caught, by glare, And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 311:Shelley is truth itself and honour itself notwithstanding his out-of-the-way notions about religion. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 312:With thee all tales are sweet; each clime has charms; earth - sea alike - our world within our arms. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 313:A woman who gives any advantage to a man may expect a lover - but will sooner or later find a tyrant. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 314:Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded. That all the Apostles would have done as they did. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 315:In itself a thought, a slumbering thought is capable of years; and curdles a long life into one hour. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 316:The sight of blood to crowds begets the thirst of more, As the first wine-cup leads to the long revel. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 317:Egeria! sweet creation of some heart Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 318:It is odd but agitation or contest of any kind gives a rebound to my spirits and sets me up for a time. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 319:Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 320:There is, in fact, no law or government at all; and it is wonderful how well things go on without them. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 321:There is something pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 322:Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 323:To withdraw myself from myself has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 324:Brisk Confidence still best with woman copes: Pique her and soothe in turn-soon Passion crowns thy hopes. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 325:I am so changeable, being everything by turns and nothing long - such a strange melange of good and evil. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 326:I doubt sometimes whether a quiet and unagitated life would have suited me - yet I sometimes long for it. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 327:I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 328:The Christian has greatly the advantage of the unbeliever, having everything to gain and nothing to lose. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 329:The cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew, The mourn'd, the loved, the lost,-too many, yet how few! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 330:When Bishop Berkeley said "there was no matter." And proved it& 331:The Coach does not play in the game, but the Coach helps the players identify areas to improve their game. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 332:If I am fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 333:It is useless to tell one not to reason but to believe; you might as well tell a man not to wake but sleep. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 334:Years steal fire from the mind as vigor from the limb; and life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 335:America is a model of force and freedom and moderation - with all the coarseness and rudeness of its people. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 336:Switzerland is a curst, selfish, swinish country of brutes, placed in the most romantic region of the world. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 337:& 338:One certainly has a soul; but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 339:Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers!& 340:I am as comfortless as a pilgrim with peas in his shoes - and as cold as Charity, Chastity or any other Virtue. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 341:I am never long, even in the society of her I love, without yearning for the company of my lamp and my library. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 342:I love the language, it sounds as if it should be writ on satin with syllables which breathe of the sweet South ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 343:Know ye not who would be free themselves must strike the blow? by their right arms the conquest must be wrought? ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 344:My hair is grey, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 345:Knowledge is not happiness, and science But an exchange of ignorance for that Which is another kind of ignorance. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 346:I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 347:I have imbibed such a love for money that I keep some sequins in a drawer to count, and cry over them once a week. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 348:There is no traitor like him whose domestic treason plants the poniard within the breast that trusted to his truth ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 349:I have no consistency, except in politics; and that probably arises from my indifference to the subject altogether. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 350:Yon Sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight; Farewell awhile to him and thee, My native land-Good Night! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 351:A mistress never is nor can be a friend. While you agree, you are lovers; and when it is over, anything but friends. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 352:Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 353:He who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 354:Men think highly of those who rise rapidly in the world; whereas nothing rises quicker than dust, straw, and feathers. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 355:What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? The hearts bleed longest, and heals but to wear That which disfigures it. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 356:What is Death, so it be but glorious? & 357:The simple Wordsworth . . . / Who, both by precept and example, shows / That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 358:.. that small change of love, which people exact so rigidly, receive in such counterfeit coin, and repay in baser metal. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 359:The premises are so delightfully extensive, that two people might live together without ever seeing, hearing or meeting. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 360:What is fame? The advantage of being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 361:Good work and joyous play go hand in hand. When play stops, old age begins. Play keeps you from taking life too seriously. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 362:A man of eighty has outlived probably three new schools of painting, two of architecture and poetry and a hundred in dress. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 363:A sort of hostile transaction, very necessary to keep the world going, but by no means a sinecure to the parties concerned. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 364:This is the patent age of new inventions for killing bodies, and for saving souls. All propagated with the best intentions. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 365:For pleasures past I do not grieve, nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave nothing that claims a tear. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 366:Here's a sigh to those who love me,And a smile to those who hate;And, whatever sky's above me,Here's a heart for every fate. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 367:That prose is a verse, and verse is a prose; convincing all, by demonstrating plain ‚Äì poetic souls delight in prose insane ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 368:Yet I did love thee to the last, As ferverently as thou, Who didst not change through all the past, And canst not alter now. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 369:My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief, Are mine alone! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 370:None are so desolate but something dear, Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd A thought, and claims the homage of a tear. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 371:I shall soon be six-and-twenty. Is there anything in the future that can possibly console us for not being always twenty-five? ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 372:Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 373:My turn of mind is so given to taking things in the absurd point of view, that it breaks out in spite of me every now and then. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 374:Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep for here There is such matter for all feelings: Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 375:I cannot help thinking that the menace of Hell makes as many devils as the severe penal codes of inhuman humanity make villains. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 376:Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe, Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast; Is that portentous phrase, "I told you so. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 377:Now what I love in women is, they won't Or can't do otherwise than lie, but do it. So well, the very truth seems falsehood to it. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 378:The world is a bundle of hay, Mankind are the asses that pull, Each tugs in a different way And the greatest of all is John Bull! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 379:Always laugh when you can; it is cheap medicine. Merriment is a philosophy not well understood. It is the sunny side of existence. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 380:Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains; They crown'd him long ago On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 381:Time strips our illusions of their hue, And one by one in turn, some grand mistake Casts off its bright skin yearly like the snake. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 382:I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 383: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! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 384:On with the dance! let joy be unconfin'd No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the Glowing Hours with Flying feet ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 385:A woman should never be seen eating or drinking, unless it be lobster salad and Champagne, the only true feminine and becoming viands. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 386:Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopyl√¶! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 387:Farewell! if ever fondest prayer For other's weal avail'd on high, Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 388:The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 389:Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 390:Truth is a gem that is found at a great depth; whilst on the surface of the world all things are weighed by the false scale of custom. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 391:Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay, Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme, Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 392:We are all the fools of time and terror: Days Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 393:& 394:But I had not quite fixed whether to make him [Don Juan] end in Hell-or in an unhappy marriage,-not knowing which would be the severest. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 395:No more we meet in yonder bowers Absence has made me prone to roving; But older, firmer hearts than ours, Have found monotony in loving. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 396:I should like to know who has been carried off, except poor dear me - I have been more ravished myself than anybody since the Trojan war. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 397:I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me: and to me High mountains are a feeling, but the hum of human cities torture. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 398:Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire with angels shared, by Allah given to lift from earth our low desire. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 399:It is not for minds like ours to give or to receive flatter; yet the praises of sincerity have ever been permitted to the voice of friendship ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 400:But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 401:To be perfectly original one should think much and read little, and this is impossible, for one must have read before one has learnt to think. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 402:As long as I retain my feeling and my passion for Nature, I can partly soften or subdue my other passions and resist or endure those of others. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 403:This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And leaving nothing, yet hath all. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 404:She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 405:The heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old!& 406:I really cannot know whether I am or am not the Genius you are pleased to call me, but I am very willing to put up with the mistake, if it be one. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 407:I came to realize clearly that the mind is no other than the Mountain and the Rivers and the great wide Earth, the Sun and the Moon and the Sky‚Äù. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 408:I do not believe in any religion, I will have nothing to do with immortality. We are miserable enough in this life without speculating upon another. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 409:Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom, On thee shall press no ponderous tomb; But on thy turf shall roses rear Their leaves, the earliest of the year. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 410:In the desert a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 411:Every day confirms my opinion on the superiority of a vicious life, and if Virtue is not its own reward, I don't know any other stipend annexed to it. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 412:Father of Light! great God of Heaven! Hear'st thou the accents of despair? Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven? Can vice atone for crimes by prayer. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 413:There is no passion, more spectral or fantastical than hate, not even its opposite, love, so peoples air, with phantoms, as this madness of the heart. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 414:Physicians mend or end us, Secundum artem; but although we sneer - In health - when ill we call them to attend us, Without the least propensity to jeer ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 415:The mind can make substance, and people planets of its own with beings brighter than have been, and give a breath to forms which can outlive all flesh. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 416:The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed. I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 417:Your thief looks Exactly like the rest, or rather better; & 418:If we must have a tyrant, let him at least be a gentleman who has been bred to the business, and let us fall by the axe and not by the butcher's cleaver. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 419:Send me no more reviews of any kind. I will read no more of evil or good in that line. Walter Scott has not read a review of himself for thirteen years . ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 420:What exile from himself can flee? To zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life& 421:You speak of Lord Byron and me; there is this great difference between us. He describes what he sees I describe what I imagine. Mine is the hardest task. ~ john-keats, @wisdomtrove 422:I cannot describe to you the despairing sensation of trying to do something for a man who seems incapable or unwilling to do anything further for himself. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 423:Roll on, deep and dark blue ocean, roll. Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. Man marks the earth with ruin, but his control stops with the shore. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 424:Though the day of my Destiny & 425:But I hate things all fiction... there should always be some foundation of fact for the most airy fabric - and pure invention is but the talent of a liar. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 426:I suppose we shall soon travel by air-vessels; make air instead of sea voyages; and at length find our way to the moon, in spite of the want of atmosphere. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 427:Man's love is of man's life a part; it is a woman's whole existence. In her first passion, a woman loves her lover, in all the others all she loves is love. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 428:The reason that adulation is not displeasing is that, though untrue, it shows one to be of consequence enough, in one way or other, to induce people to lie. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 429:I can't but say it is an awkward sight To see one's native land receding through The growing waters; it unmans one quite, Especially when life is rather new. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 430:The fact is that my wife if she had common sense would have more power over me than any other whatsoever, for my heart always alights upon the nearest perch. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 431:What should I have known or written had I been a quiet, mercantile politician or a lord in waiting? A man must travel, and turmoil, or there is no existence. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 432:Books, Manuals, Directives, Regulations. The geometries that circumscribe your working life draw norrower and norrower until nothing fits inside them anymore. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 433:Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till-& 434:In general I do not draw well with literary men - not that I dislike them but I never know what to say to them after I have praised their last publication. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 435:There is no such thing as a life of passion any more than a continuous earthquake, or an eternal fever. Besides, who would ever shave themselves in such a state? ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 436:Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires The young, makes Weariness forget his toil, And Fear her danger; opens a new world When this, the present, palls. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 437: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. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 438:All human history attests That happiness for man, - the hungry sinner! - Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner. ~Lord Byron, Don Juan, Canto XIII, stanza 99 ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 439:I hate all pain, Given or received; we have enough within us The meanest vassal as the loftiest monarch, Not to add to each other's natural burden Of mortal misery. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 440:And angling too, that solitary vice, What Izaak Walton sings or says: The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 441:Our life is two fold Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 442:Romantic poetry had its heyday when people like Lord Byron were kicking it large. But you try and make a living as a poet today, and you'll find it's very different! ~ alan-moore, @wisdomtrove 443:A man must serve his time to every trade, Save censure-critics all are ready made. Take hackney'd jokes from Miller, got by rote With just enough learning to misquote. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 444:I cannot conceive why people will always mix up my own character and opinions with those of the imaginary beings which, as a poet, I have the right and liberty to draw. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 445:There's music in the sighing of a reed; There's music in the gushing of a rill; There's music in all things, if men had ears; The earth is but the music of the spheres. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 446:Tyranny Is far the worst of treasons. Dost thou deem None rebels except subjects? The prince who Neglects or violates his trust is more A brigand than the robber-chief. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 447:But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 448:Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes; But no too humbly, or she will despise Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes: Disguise even tenderness if thou art wise. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 449:Oh, nature's noblest gift, my grey goose quill, Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will, Torn from the parent bird to form a pen, That mighty instrument of little men. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 450:Tis an old lesson; time approves it true, And those who know it best, deplore it most; When all is won that all desire to woo, The paltry prize is hardly worth the cost. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 451:Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead? Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some less majestic, less beloved head? ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 452:Just as old age is creeping on space, And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day, They kindly leave us, though not quite alone, But in good company& 453:What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page, And be alone on earth, as I am now. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 454:But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws So much, as when we call our old debts in At sixty years, and draw the accounts of evil, And find a deuced balance with the devil. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 455:Ecclesiastes said that "all is vanity," Most modern preachers say the same, or show it By their examples of true Christianity: In short, all know, or very short may know it. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 456:Sorrow preys upon Its solitude, and nothing more diverts it From its sad visions of the other world Than calling it at moments back to this. The busy have no time for tears. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 457:ye! who teach the ingenious youth of nations, Holland, France, England, Germany or Spain, I pray ye flog them upon all occasions, It mends their morals, never mind the pain. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 458:I should be very willing to redress men wrongs, and rather check than punish crimes, had not Cervantes, in that all too true tale of Quixote, shown how all such efforts fail. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 459:Marriage, from love, like vinegar from wine& 460:The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the Music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonised the whole ‚Äî And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 461:I feel my immortality over sweep all pains, all tears, all time, all fears, - and peal, like the eternal thunders of the deep, into my ears, this truth, - thou livest forever! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 462:As soon seek roses in December, ice in June, Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff Believe a woman or an epitaph Or any other thing that’s false Before you trust in critics. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 463:Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down Over the waste of waters; like a veil, Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 464:Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave, Then some leap'd overboard with fearful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 465:To what gulfs A single deviation from the track Of human duties leads even those who claim The homage of mankind as their born due, And find it, till they forfeit it themselves! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 466: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 ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 467:Lovers may be and indeed generally are enemies, but they never can be friends, because there must always be a spice of jealousy and a something of Self in all their speculations. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 468:I have had, and may have still, a thousand friends, as they are called, in life, who are like one's partners in the waltz of this world -not much remembered when the ball is over. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 469:Man is born passionate of body, but with an innate though secret tendency to the love of Good in his main-spring of Mind. But God help us all! It is at present a sad jar of atoms. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 470:& 471:A bargain is in its very essence a hostile transaction do not all men try to abate the price of all they buy? I contend that a bargain even between brethren is a declaration of war. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 472:Oh! too convincing& 473:The image of Eternity& 474:The lapse of ages changes all things - time, language, the earth, the bounds of the sea, the stars of the sky, and every thing about, around, and underneath man, except man himself. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 475:Yet still there whispers the small voice within, Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's din; Whatever creed be taught or land be trod, Man's conscience is the oracle of God. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 476:But beef is rare within these oxless isles; Goat's flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton; And, when a holiday upon them smiles, A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 477:So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, View'd his own feather on the fatal dart, And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 478:Tis strange,-but true; for truth is always strange; Stranger than fiction: if it could be told, How much would novels gain by the exchange! How differently the world would men behold! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 479:May Moorland weavers boast Pindaric skill, And tailors' lays be longer than their bill! While punctual beaux reward the grateful notes, And pay for poems& 480:Let no man grumble when his friends fall off, As they will do like leaves at the first breeze; When your affairs come round, one way or t'other, Go to the coffee house, and take another. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 481:Yet truth will sometimes lend her noblest fires, And decorate the verse herself inspires: This fact, in virtue's name, let Crabbe attest,- Though Nature's sternest painter, yet the best. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 482:But & 483:Well, well, the world must turn upon its axis, And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails, And live and die, make love and pay our taxes, And as the veering winds shift, shift our sails. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 484:But every fool describes, in these bright days, His wondrous journey to some foreign court, And spawns his quarto, and demands your praise,& 485:Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory; And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 486:What an antithetical mind! - tenderness, roughness - delicacy, coarseness - sentiment, sensuality - soaring and groveling, dirt and deity - all mixed up in that one compound of inspired clay! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 487:I think the worst woman that ever existed would have made a man of very passable reputation - they are all better than us and their faults such as they are must originate with ourselves. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 488:Such is your cold coquette, who can't say "No," And won't say "Yes," and keeps you on and off-ing On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow, Then sees your heart wreck'd, with an inward scoffing. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 489:Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime! ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 490:There are four questions of value in life, Don Octavio. What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for and what is worth dying for? The answer to each is the same. Only love. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 491:Why I came here, I know not; where I shall go it is useless to inquire - in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom? ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 492:You have to have a passion for your work. How can we expect people to be passionate if you, as their coach, does not have a passion? Coaching has to be something that gives you passion and energy. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 493:I have not loved the World, nor the World me; I have not flattered its rank breath, nor bowed To its idolatries a patient knee, Nor coined my cheek to smiles,-nor cried aloud In worship of an echo. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 494:There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in 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. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 495:Fame! if I ever took delight in thy praises, Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover The thought that I was not unworthy to love her. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 496:It is true from early habit, one must make love mechanically as one swims; I was once very fond of both, but now as I never swim unless I tumble into the water, I don't make love till almost obliged. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 497:What makes a regiment of soldiers a more noble object of view than the same mass of mob? Their arms, their dresses, their banners, and the art and artificial symmetry of their position and movements. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 498:Tis the perception of the beautiful, A fine extension of the faculties, Platonic, universal, wonderful, Drawn from the stars, and filtered through the skies, Without which life would be extremely dull ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 499:I know that two and two make four - and should be glad to prove it too if I could - though I must say if by any sort of process I could convert 2 and 2 into five it would give me much greater pleasure. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove 500:When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past - For years fleet away with the wings of the dove - The dearest remembrance will still be the last, Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove *** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***
1:My beautiful, my own ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
2:The poetry of speech. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
3:Venice once was dear, ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
4:Hail, Muse! et cetera. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
5:Let joy be unconfined. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
6:Critics are already made. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
7:That low vice, curiosity! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
8:Happiness was born a twin. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
9:I learned to love despair. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
10:My native land, good night! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
11:Fame is the thirst of youth. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
12:For Earth is but a tombstone ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
13:Life is too short for chess. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
14:As if her veins ran lightning ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
15:Think not I am what I appear. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
16:whom the god loves dies young ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
17:We of the craft are all crazy. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
18:History - the devil's scripture ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
19:To have joy, one must share it. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
20:Eternity forbids thee to forget. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
21:I want a hero: an uncommon want, ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
22:Self praise is no praise at all. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
23:The busy have no time for tears. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
24:The devil was the first democrat ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
25:The dew of compassion is a tear. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
26:Come what may, I have been blest. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
27:Fills The air around with beauty. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
28:Friendship is love without wings. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
29:Frienship is eros...without wings ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
30:I am ashes where once I was fire. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
31:[My advice] will one day be found ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
32:A pretty woman is a welcome guest. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
33:Folly loves the martyrdom of fame. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
34:I see before me the gladiator lie. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
35:Land of lost gods and godlike men. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
36:Rough Johnson, the great moralist. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
37:With flowing tail and flying mane, ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
38:Absence - that common cure of love. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
39:Fill high the cup with Samian wine! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
40:Hatred is the madness of the heart. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
41:I am ashes where once I was fire... ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
42:Now I shall go to sleep. Goodnight. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
43:Old man! 'Tis not difficult to die. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
44:Poetry should only occupy the idle. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
45:Prolonged endurance tames the bold. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
46:Was Juan a recherché welcome guest, ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
47:Yes! Ready money is Aladdin's lamp. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
48:But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
49:but quiet to quick bosoms is a hell. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
50:Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
51:I loved my country, and I hated him. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
52:Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom, ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
53:Adversity is the first path to truth. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
54:Friendship is Love without his wings! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
55:I deny nothing, but doubt everything. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
56:If I have any fault, it is digression ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
57:In solitude, when we are least alone. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
58:Pure friendship's well-feigned blush. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
59:Socrates said, our only knowledge was ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
60:Sweet is revenge-especially to women. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
61:Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
62:Tyranny is for the worst of treasons. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
63:Good but rarely came from good advice. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
64:I awoke one day to find myself famous. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
65:In solitude, where we are least alone. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
66:Lord of himself; that heritage of woe! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
67:Man's conscience is the oracle of God. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
68:Oh Rome! My country! City of the soul! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
69:One hates an author that's all author. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
70:Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
71:This is the age of oddities let loose. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
72:We of the craft (poets) are all crazy. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
73:Who then will explain the explanation? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
74:A drop of ink may make a million think. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
75:And hold up to the sun my little taper. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
76:A quiet conscience makes one so serene. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
77:Can tyrants but by tyrants conquered be ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
78:Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
79:Jealousy dislikes the world to know it. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
80:Knowledge is not happiness, and science ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
81:The French courage proceeds from vanity ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
82:The Niobe of nations! there she stands. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
83:With virtues equall'd by her wit alone, ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
84:Alas! how deeply painful is all payment! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
85:But stories somehow lengthen when begun. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
86:Despair and Genius are too oft connected ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
87:Heaven gives its favourites-early death. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
88:I love not man the less, but nature more ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
89:On with the dance! let joy be unconfin'd ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
90:There is pleasure in the pathless woods. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
91:The very best of vineyards is the cellar ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
92:Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
93:Here we are and there we go:---but where? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
94:I love not man the less, but Nature more. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
95:In solitude, where we are least alone.
~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
96:Recuso-me a ser escravo de algum apetite. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
97:The heart will break, but broken live on. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
98:They never fail who die in a great cause. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
99:Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
100:A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
101:A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
102:But who, alas! can love, and then be wise? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
103:Damn description, it is always disgusting. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
104:Fools are my theme, let satire be my song. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
105:Hearts will break - yet brokenly, live on. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
106:He makes a solitude, and calls it - peace! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
107:I awoke one morning to find myself famous. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
108:if i dont write to empty my mind, i go mad ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
109:My altars are the mountains and the ocean. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
110:Once more upon the waters! yet once more! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
111:Smiles form the channels of a future tear. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
112:So much alarmed that she is quite alarming ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
113:The heart will break, but broken live on. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
114:And gave no outward signs of inward strife, ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
115:Armenian is the language to speak with God. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
116:Life's enchanted cup sparkles near the brim ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
117:My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
118:The best prophet of the future is the past. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
119:Thy decay's still impregnate with divinity. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
120:Who tracks the steps of glory to the grave? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
121:Be warm, be pure, be amorous, but be chaste. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
122:But mighty Nature bounds as from her birth; ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
123:Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
124:I awoke one morning and found myself famous. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
125:If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
126:I had a dream, which was not at all a dream. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
127:The dome of thought, the palace of the soul. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
128:There is no instinct like that of the heart. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
129:This is to be along; this, this is solitude! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
130:To chase the glowing hours with flying feet. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
131:What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
132:What's drinking? A mere pause from thinking! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
133:By headless Charles see heartless Henry lies. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
134:If I do not write to empty my mind, I go mad. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
135:I have not loved the world, nor the world me. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
136:Le donne sono angeli,il matrimonio il diavolo ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
137:Romances I ne'er read like those I have seen. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
138:Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
139:The law of heaven and earth is life for life. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
140:...And these vicissitudes come best in youth; ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
141:Let not his mode of raising cash seem strange, ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
142:Liberty - eternal spirit of the chainless mind ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
143:Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
144:The power of thought is the magic of the mind. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
145:There is music in all things, if men had ears. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
146:There 's music in all things, if men had ears: ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
147:You should have a softer pillow than my heart. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
148:A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
149:I am always most religious upon a sunshiny day. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
150:In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
151:Man!
Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
152:The best of prophets of the future is the past. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
153:They truly mourn, that mourn without a witness. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
154:Always laugh when you can. It is cheap medicine. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
155:Always laugh when you can, it is cheap medicine. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
156:a pleasant city,
Famous for oranges and women ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
157:Being of no party,
I shall offend all parties ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
158:Bread has been made (indifferent) from potatoes; ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
159:Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
160:Oh who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
161:Since Eve ate the apple, much depends on dinner. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
162:Talent may be in time forgiven, but genius never ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
163:Till taught by pain, men know not water's worth. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
164:And Doubt and Discord step 'twixt thine and thee. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
165:It is when we think we lead that we are most led. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
166:Never to talk to ones self is a form of hypocrisy ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
167:Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
168:'Tis very certain the desire of life prolongs it. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
169:Ah, happy years! once more who would not be a boy? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
170:Always laugh when you can. It is a cheap medicine. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
171:And wrinkles, the damned democrats, won't flatter. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
172:For truth is always strange; stranger than fiction. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
173:My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
174:none are left to please when none are left to love. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
175:Sólo salgo para renovar la necesidad de estar solo. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
176:The 'good old times' - all times when old are good. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
177:War, war is still the cry,-"war even to the knife!" ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
178:Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
179:And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
180:And what is writ is writ - / Would it were worthier! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
181:Eat, drink and love...the rest is not worth a nickel ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
182:If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
183:Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
184:The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
185:And life 's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
186:History, with all her volumes vast, hath but one page ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
187:I do detest everything which is not perfectly mutual. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
188:Of religion I know nothing -- at least, in its favor. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
189:On the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
190:For the night Shows stars and women in a better light. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
191:History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
192:Though I love my country, I do not love my countrymen. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
193:Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
194:Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
195:If I don’t write to empty my mind, I go mad.” - Lord Byron ~ Rossi Fox, #NFDB
196:I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
197:Italia! O Italia! thou who hast The fatal gift of beauty. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
198:Next to dressing for a rout or ball, undressing is a woe. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
199:The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
200:When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past - ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
201:Accursed be the city where the laws would stifle nature's! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
202:Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
203:What a strange thing is man! And what a stranger is woman. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
204:The English winter - ending in July to recommence in August ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
205:This is to be mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
206:Man is in part divine, A troubled stream from a pure source. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
207:And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 'Tis that I may not weep. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
208:I only know we loved in vain; I only feel-farewell! farewell! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
209:Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
210:Opinions are made to be changed or how is truth to be got at? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
211:Sleep hath its own world, and the wide realm of wild reality. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
212:There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
213:But for the present gentle reader! And still gentler purchaser ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
214:Exhausting thought, And hiving wisdom with each studious year. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
215:Fare thee well, and if for ever Still for ever fare thee well. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
216:There are some feelings time cannot benumb, Nor torture shake. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
217:All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
218:And gentle winds and waters near, make music to the lonely ear. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
219:A small drop of ink makes thousands, perhaps millions... think. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
220:Come, lay thy head upon my breast and I'll kiss thee unto rest. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
221:If I could always read I should never feel the want of company. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
222:Sighing that Nature formed but one such man, and broke the die. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
223:Tis sweet to listen as the night winds creep From leaf to leaf. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
224:And the commencement of atonement is the sense of its necessity. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
225:A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
226:Grief should be the instructor of the wise; Sorrow is Knowledge. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
227:If I could always read, I should never feel the want of company. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
228:In commitment, we dash the hopes of a thousand potential selves. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
229:I speak not of men's creeds—they rest between Man and his Maker. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
230:Nothing can confound a wise man more than laughter from a dunce. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
231:The world is a bundle of hay,
Mankind are the asses who pull; ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
232:A woman being never at a loss... the devil always sticks by them. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
233:Bologna is celebrated for producing popes, painters, and sausage. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
234:Champagne with its foaming whirls/As white as Cleopatra's pearls. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
235:Fare thee well, and if for ever
Still for ever fare thee well. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
236:Man marks the earth with ruin - his control stops with the shore. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
237:Perhaps the early grave Which men weep over may be meant to save. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
238:Composing a letter is a way to combine solitude with good company. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
239:He had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
240:That music in itself, whose sounds are song, The poetry of speech. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
241:Why do they call me misanthrope? Because They hate me, not I them. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
242:all that's best of dark and bright/ meet in her aspect and her eyes ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
243:Go let thy less than woman's hand Assume the distaff not the brand. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
244:In England the only homage which they pay to Virtue - is hypocrisy. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
245:Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, All ashes to the taste. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
246:Must crimes be punish'd but by other crimes, and greater criminals? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
247:No hand can make the clock strike for me the hours that are passed. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
248:There is a tear for all who die, A mourner o'er the humblest grave. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
249:This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
250:Who falls from all he knows of bliss, Cares little into what abyss. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
251:All who joy would win
Must share it -- Happiness was born a twin. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
252:Better to sink beneath the shock Than moulder piecemeal on the rock! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
253:I am at length joined to Bologna, where I am settled like a sausage. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
254:Like the measles, love is most dangerous when it comes late in life. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
255:No ear can hear nor tongue can tell the tortures of the inward hell! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
256:Where there is mystery, it is generally supposed there must be evil. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
257:A thousand years may scare form a state. An hour may lay it in ruins. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
258:Nothing so difficult as a beginning In poesy, unless perhaps the end. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
259:So bright the tear in Beauty's eye, Love half regrets to kiss it dry. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
260:So sweet the blush of bashfulness, E'en pity scarce can wish it less! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
261:Then farewell, Horace; whom I hated so, Not for thy faults, but mine. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
262:Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
263:If from society we learn to live, solitude should teach us how to die. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
264:¡Qué poco sabemos de lo que somos!
¡Como menos lo que podemos ser! ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
265:Grief is fantastical, and loves the dead, And the apparel of the grave. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
266:Letter writing is the only device combining solitude with good company. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
267:Of all tales 'tis the saddest--and more sad, Because it makes us smile. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
268:Out of chaos God made a world, and out of high passions comes a people. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
269:She is so good a person, that - that - in short, I wish I was a better. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
270:Tis said that persons living on annuities Are longer lived than others. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
271:It is the lava of the imagination whose eruption prevents an earthquake. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
272:Keep thy smooth words and juggling homilies for those who know thee not. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
273:So for a good old-gentlemanly vice, I think I must take up with avarice. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
274:The Cardinal is at his wit's end - it is true that he had not far to go. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
275:The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
276:I die but first I have possessed, And come what may, I have been blessed. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
277:When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; And when Rome falls--the World. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
278:And those who saw, it did surprise, Such drops could fall from human eyes. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
279:Let none think to fly the danger for soon or late love is his own avenger. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
280:The reading or non-reading a book will never keep down a single petticoat. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
281:This sort of adoration of the real is but a heightening of the beau ideal. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
282:Where there is mystery, it is generally suspected there must also be evil. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
283:A celebrity is one who is known to many persons he is glad he doesn't know. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
284:A feast not profuse but elegant; more of salt [refinement] than of expense. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
285:Are not the mountains, waves, and skies as much a part of me, as I of them? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
286:Be hypocritical, be cautious, be not what you seem but always what you see. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
287:I am acquainted with no immaterial sensuality so delightful as good acting. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
288:Man's love is of man's life a thing apart,
'Tis woman's whole existence. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
289:You gave me the key to your heart, my love, then why did you make me knock? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
290:All tragedies are finished by a death, All comedies are ended by a marriage. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
291:And all that 's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
292:Be hypocritical, be cautious, be Not what you seem, but always what you see. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
293:Curiosity kills itself; and love is only curiosity, as is proved by its end. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
294:Dreading that climax of all human ills the inflammation of his weekly bills. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
295:Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; the best of life is but intoxication. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
296:There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
297:And those who saw, it did surprise,
Such drops could fall from human eyes. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
298:I slept and dreamt that life was beauty; I woke and found that life was duty. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
299:I suppose I had some meaning when I wrote it; I believe I understood it then. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
300:The place is very well and quiet and the children only scream in a low voice. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
301:Tis strange - but true; for Truth is always strange,
Stranger than Fiction ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
302:We are all selfish and I no more trust myself than others with a good motive. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
303:Whatsoever thy birth, Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
304:I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
305:I would rather have a nod from an American, than a snuff- box from an emperor. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
306:Hate is by far the greatest pleasure; men love in haste, but detest in leisure. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
307:He was a man of his times. with one virtue and a thousand crimes. (The Corsair) ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
308:He who surpasses or subdues mankind, must look down on the hate of those below. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
309:Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair spirit for my minister ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
310:Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
311:Her great merit is finding out mine; there is nothing so amiable as discernment. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
312:I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse -- borne away with every breath! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
313:Il ricordo del piacere non è più piacere. Il ricordo del dolore è ancora dolore. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
314:No words suffice the secret soul to show, For truth denies all eloquence to woe. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
315:Reason is so unreasonable, that few people can say they are in possession of it. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
316:And when we think we lead, we are most led. —Lord Byron, The Two Foscari (1821) ~ Raine Miller, #NFDB
317:As falls the dew on quenchless sands, blood only serves to wash ambition's hands. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
318:A sleep without dreams, after a rough day of toil, is what we covet most; and yet ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
319:A thirst for gold, The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm The meanest hearts. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
320:I have a notion that gamblers are as happy as most people - being always excited. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
321:Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk and Water! Ye happy mixture of more happy days! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
322:Romances paint at full length people's wooing. But only give a bust of marriages. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
323:That is the usual method, but not mine—
My way is to begin with the beginning; ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
324:The drying up a single tear has more, of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
325:Think'st thou existence doth depend on time? It doth; but actions are our epochs. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
326:When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted, To sever for years. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
327:Glory, like the phoenix 'midst her fires, Exhales her odours, blazes, and expires. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
328:Have not all past human beings parted, And must not all the present, one day part? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
329:The great object of life is sensation- to feel that we exist, even though in pain. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
330:There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
331:He who is only just is cruel; who Upon the earth would live were all judged justly? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
332:Love rules the camp, the court, the grove - for love is Heaven, and Heaven is love. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
333:Religion-freedom-vengeance-what you will, A word's enough to raise mankind to kill. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
334:Society is now one polished horde, formed of two mighty tries, the Bores and Bored. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
335:strange, the Hebrew noun which means “I am”, The English always use to govern damn. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
336:The poor dog, in life the firmest friend. The first to welcome, foremost to defend. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
337:A legal broom's a moral chimney-sweeper, And that's the reason he himself's so dirty ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
338:Shakespeare's name, you may depend on it, stands absurdly too high and will go down. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
339:Society is now one polish'd horde, Form'd of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
340:Such hath it been--shall be--beneath the sun The many still must labour for the one. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
341:The art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest and the stupidest of pretended sports. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
342:The moon is up, and yet it is not night,
The sun as yet divides the day with her. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
343:The world is rid of Lord Byron, but the deadly slime of his touch still remains. ~ John Constable, #NFDB
344:I've seen your stormy seas and stormy women, And pity lovers rather more than seamen. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
345:Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, sermons and soda water the day after. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
346:Muse of the many twinkling feet, whose charms are now extending up from legs to arms. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
347:Retirement accords with the tone of my mind; I will not descend to a world I despise. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
348:To others' share let 'female errors fall,' For she had not even one—the worst of all. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
349:And I would hear yet once before I perish The voice which was my music... Speak to me! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
350:By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see For one who hath no friend, no brother there. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
351:O Gold! I still prefer thee unto paper, which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
352:Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
353:One of the pleasures of reading old letters is the knowledge that they need no answer. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
354:The truly brave are soft of heart and eyes, and feel for what their duty bids them do. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
355:Though the day of my destiny’s over, And the star of my fate has declined. —Lord Byron ~ M C Beaton, #NFDB
356:And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but the truth in masquerade;” — Don Juan, Lord Byron ~ M Malone, #NFDB
357:And mine’s a bubble not blown up for praise, But just to play with, as an infant plays. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
358:For through the South the custom still commands The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
359:I have stood upon Achilles' tomb
and heard Troy doubted,
Time will doubt of Rome ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
360:In her first passion, a woman loves her lover, in all the others all she loves is love. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
361:the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, the first to welcome, the foremost to defend. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
362:Censure no more shall brand my humble name
The child of passion and the fool of fame ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
363:Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
364:He scratched his ear, the infallible resource to which embarrassed people have recourse. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
365:LUCIFER: I pity thee who lovest what must perish.
CAIN: And I thee who lov'st nothing ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
366:Mark! Where his carnage and his conquests cease, He makes a solitude and calls it-peace! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
367:That famish'd people must be slowly nurst, and fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
368:The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
369:'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
370:Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
371:I have always believed that all things depended upon Fortune, and nothing upon ourselves. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
372:Lord Byron is only great as a poet; as soon as he reflects he is a child. ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, #NFDB
373:Oh! Many a time and oft had Harold loved, or dream'd he'd loved since Rapture is a dream. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
374:Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt
In solitude, where we are least alone. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
375:And he who lieth there was childless. I have dried the fountain of gentle race..
-Cain ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
376:For a man to become a poet (witness Petrarch and Dante), he must be in love, or miserable. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
377:It is very iniquitous to make me pay my debts - you have no idea of the pain it gives one. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
378:Kill a man's family, and he may brook it, But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
379:The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
380:Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, He would have written sonnets all his life?. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
381:Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
382:And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on. —Lord Byron, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage ~ Matt Haig, #NFDB
383:Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
384:I stood among them, but not of them: in a shroud of thoughts which were not their thoughts. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
385:The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
386:What men call gallantry, and gods adultery, is much more common where the climate's sultry. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
387:Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized? In him alone, Can nature show as fair? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
388:And fourthly, what need hardly be said twice,
That good but rarely came from good advice. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
389:He learned the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, And how to scale a fortress - or a nunnery. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
390:In vain!—As fall the dews on quenchless sands,
Blood only serves to wash Ambition's hands! ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
391:Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure;
Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
392:They used to say that knowledge is power. I used to think so, but I know now they mean money. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
393:A little still she strove, and much repented, And whispering “I will ne'er consent”—consented. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
394:As winds come whispering lightly from the West, Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
395:Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.
~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
396:Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
397:For what were all these country patriots born? To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
398:I am about to be married, and am of course in all the misery of a man in pursuit of happiness. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
399:Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, there is no sterner moralist than pleasure. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
400:Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, there is no sterner moralist then Pleasure. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
401:When Bishop Berkeley said "there was no matter." And proved it--'t was no matter what he said. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
402:With just enough of learning to misquote. ~ Lord Byron, English Bards and Scotch Reviewers (1809), line 66., #NFDB
403:But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
404:He learned the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery,
And how to scale a fortress - or a nunnery. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
405:" — I may stand alone,But would not change my free thoughts for a throne." ~ Lord Byron(Don Juan ; Canto 11), #NFDB
406:In secret we met
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
407:The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain,” said Lord Byron, ~ Shirley Jackson, #NFDB
408:There's music in all things, if men had ears: Their earth is but an echo of the spheres. ~ Lord Byron #music, #NFDB
409:They grieved for those who perished with the cutter, and also for the biscuit casks and butter. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
410:What want these outlaws conquerors should have but history's purchased page to call them great? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
411:and what is writ, is writ,
Would it were worthier! but I am not now
That which I have been ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
412:If I should meet thee
After long years
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
413:Poetry is a distinct faculty, - it won't come when called, - you may as well whistle for a wind. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
414:Self-love for ever creeps out, like a snake, to sting anything which happens to stumble upon it. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
415:There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in, Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
416:Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine, And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
417:[Armenian] is a rich language, however, and would amply repay any one the trouble of learning it. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
418:Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach Who please, the more because they preach in vain ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
419:I am surrounded here by parsons and methodists, but as you will see, not infested with the mania. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
420:I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
421:'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print. A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
422:A little still she strove, and much repented,
And whispering “I will ne'er consent”—consented. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
423:All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
424:Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away; A single laugh demolish'd the right arm Of his own country. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
425:Sometimes we are less unhappy in being deceived by those we love, than in being undeceived by them. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
426:Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
427:Maidens, like moths, are ever caught, by glare, And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
428:Shelley is truth itself and honour itself notwithstanding his out-of-the-way notions about religion. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
429:With thee all tales are sweet; each clime has charms; earth - sea alike - our world within our arms. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
430:A woman who gives any advantage to a man may expect a lover - but will sooner or later find a tyrant. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
431:Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded. That all the Apostles would have done as they did. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
432:In itself a thought, a slumbering thought is capable of years; and curdles a long life into one hour. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
433:More brave than firm,
and more disposed to dare
And die at once
than wrestle with despair... ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
434:Perverts the Prophets, and purloins the Psalms. ~ Lord Byron, English Bards and Scotch Reviewers (1809), line 326., #NFDB
435:A woman who gives any advantage to a man may expect a lover -- but will sooner or later find a tyrant. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
436:The sight of blood to crowds begets the thirst of more, As the first wine-cup leads to the long revel. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
437:Egeria! sweet creation of some heart Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
438:I have not been thy dupe, nor am thy prey
But was my own destroyer, and will be
My own hereafter. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
439:It is odd but agitation or contest of any kind gives a rebound to my spirits and sets me up for a time. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
440:Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
441:There is, in fact, no law or government at all; and it is wonderful how well things go on without them. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
442:There is something pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
443:Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
444:To withdraw myself from myself has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
445:Brisk Confidence still best with woman copes: Pique her and soothe in turn-soon Passion crowns thy hopes. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
446:I am so changeable, being everything by turns and nothing long - such a strange melange of good and evil. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
447:I doubt sometimes whether a quiet and unagitated life would have suited me - yet I sometimes long for it. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
448:I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
449:The Christian has greatly the advantage of the unbeliever, having everything to gain and nothing to lose. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
450:The cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew, The mourn'd, the loved, the lost,-too many, yet how few! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
451:Where all have gone, and all must go
To be the nothing that I was
'Ere born to life and living woe! ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
452:The Coach does not play in the game, but the Coach helps the players identify areas to improve their game. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
453:If I am fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
454:It is useless to tell one not to reason but to believe; you might as well tell a man not to wake but sleep. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
455:Years steal fire from the mind as vigor from the limb; and life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
456:America is a model of force and freedom and moderation - with all the coarseness and rudeness of its people. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
457:Switzerland is a curst, selfish, swinish country of brutes, placed in the most romantic region of the world. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
458:If I am a fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
459:Then away with all such from the head that is hoary!
What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory? ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
460:One certainly has a soul; but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
461:I am as comfortless as a pilgrim with peas in his shoes - and as cold as Charity, Chastity or any other Virtue. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
462:I am never long, even in the society of her I love, without yearning for the company of my lamp and my library. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
463:I love the language, it sounds as if it should be writ on satin with syllables which breathe of the sweet South ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
464:Know ye not who would be free themselves must strike the blow? by their right arms the conquest must be wrought? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
465:My hair is grey, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
466:What is Death, so it be but glorious? 'Tis a sunset; And mortals may be happy to resemble The Gods but in decay. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
467:Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded That all the Apostles would have done as they did. LORD BYRON ~ A C Grayling, #NFDB
468:I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
469:I have imbibed such a love for money that I keep some sequins in a drawer to count, and cry over them once a week. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
470:There is no traitor like him whose domestic treason plants the poniard within the breast that trusted to his truth ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
471:I have no consistency, except in politics; and that probably arises from my indifference to the subject altogether. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
472:We of the craft are all crazy. Some are affected by gaiety, others by melancholy, but all are more or less touched. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
473:Yon Sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight; Farewell awhile to him and thee, My native land-Good Night! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
474:A mistress never is nor can be a friend. While you agree, you are lovers; and when it is over, anything but friends. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
475:and there the stories
Of martyrs awed, as Spagnoletto tainted
His brush with all the blood of all the sainted. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
476:Ata që nuk do të arsyetojnë, janë fanatikë, ata që nuk munden, janë të marrë, dhe ata që nuk guxojnë, janë skllevër. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
477:Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
478:I see before me the Gladiator lie: / He leans upon his hand - his manly brow / Consents to death, but conquers agony. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
479:Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
480:There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion. ~ Lord Byron, Don Juan (1818-24), Canto II, Stanza 34, #NFDB
481:He who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
482:Men think highly of those who rise rapidly in the world; whereas nothing rises quicker than dust, straw, and feathers. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
483:What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? The hearts bleed longest, and heals but to wear That which disfigures it. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
484:The simple Wordsworth . . . / Who, both by precept and example, shows / That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
485:The premises are so delightfully extensive, that two people might live together without ever seeing, hearing or meeting. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
486:What is fame? The advantage of being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
487:Good work and joyous play go hand in hand. When play stops, old age begins. Play keeps you from taking life too seriously. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
488:So we'll go no more a-roving so late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving, and the moon be still as bright. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
489:That prose is a verse, and verse is a prose; convincing all, by demonstrating plain – poetic souls delight in prose insane ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
490:A man of eighty has outlived probably three new schools of painting, two of architecture and poetry and a hundred in dress. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
491:A sort of hostile transaction, very necessary to keep the world going, but by no means a sinecure to the parties concerned. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
492:This is the patent age of new inventions for killing bodies, and for saving souls. All propagated with the best intentions. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
493:For pleasures past I do not grieve, nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave nothing that claims a tear. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
494:Here's a sigh to those who love me,And a smile to those who hate;And, whatever sky's above me,Here's a heart for every fate. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
495:Yet I did love thee to the last, As ferverently as thou, Who didst not change through all the past, And canst not alter now. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
496:None are so desolate but something dear, Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd A thought, and claims the homage of a tear. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
497:Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.
~ Lord Byron, [T5],#NFDB
498:What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?
The hearts bleed longest, and heals but to wear
That which disfigures it. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
499:Here’s a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate; And whatever sky’s above me, Here’s a heart for every fate. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
500:I shall soon be six-and-twenty. Is there anything in the future that can possibly console us for not being always twenty-five? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
501:My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief, Are mine alone! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
502:Zda się być żywą -gdyby nie to oko,
Gdzie już nie świeci ni łza, ni namiętność,
Gdzie mieszka zimna, wieczna obojętność. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
503:Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
504:My turn of mind is so given to taking things in the absurd point of view, that it breaks out in spite of me every now and then. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
505:Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep for here There is such matter for all feelings: Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
506:I cannot help thinking that the menace of Hell makes as many devils as the severe penal codes of inhuman humanity make villains. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
507:I will not ask where thou liest low, Nor gaze upon the spot;
There flowers or weeds at will may
grow, So I behold them not ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
508:Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe, Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast; Is that portentous phrase, "I told you so. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
509:Let there be light!” said God, and there was light! “Let there be blood!” says man, and there’s a sea! —Lord Byron, Don Juan ~ Robert Liparulo, #NFDB
510:Now what I love in women is, they won't Or can't do otherwise than lie, but do it. So well, the very truth seems falsehood to it. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
511:The world is a bundle of hay, Mankind are the asses that pull, Each tugs in a different way And the greatest of all is John Bull! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
512:Always laugh when you can; it is cheap medicine. Merriment is a philosophy not well understood. It is the sunny side of existence. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
513:But that wasn't fancy enough for Lord Byron, oh dear me no, he had to invent a lot of figures of speech and then interpolate them, ~ Ogden Nash, #NFDB
514:Constancy... that small change of love, which people exact so rigidly, receive in such counterfeit coin, and repay in baser metal. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
515:'Tis solitude should teach us how to die; It hath no flatterers; vanity can give, No hollow aid; alone - man with God must strive. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
516:Even innocence itself has many a wile,
And will not dare to trust itself with truth,
And love is taught hypocrisy from youth. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
517:Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains; They crown'd him long ago On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
518:Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most must mourn the deepest o’er the fatal truth, the Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
519:There' s not a joy the world can give like that it takes away,
When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
520:Time strips our illusions of their hue, And one by one in turn, some grand mistake Casts off its bright skin yearly like the snake. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
521:I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
522:Revenge is as the tigers spring,
Deadly, and quick, and crushing; yet, as real
Torture is theirs, what they inflict they feel. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
523:Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylæ! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
524:Love in full life and length, not love ideal,
No, nor ideal beauty, that fine name,
But something better still, so very real... ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
525: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! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
526:On with the dance! let joy be unconfin'd No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the Glowing Hours with Flying feet ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
527:Yet I did love thee to the last,
As ferverently as thou,
Who didst not change through all the past,
And canst not alter now. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
528:And feeling, in a poet, is the source
Of others' feeling; but they are such liars,
And take all colours—like the hands of dyers. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
529:A woman should never be seen eating or drinking, unless it be lobster salad and Champagne, the only true feminine and becoming viands. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
530:Farewell! if ever fondest prayer For other's weal avail'd on high, Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
531:The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
532:Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
533:Truth is a gem that is found at a great depth; whilst on the surface of the world all things are weighed by the false scale of custom. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
534:Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay, Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme, Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
535:Sweet to the miser are his glittering heaps,
Sweet to the father is his first-born's birth,
Sweet is revenge--especially to women ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
536:We are all the fools of time and terror: Days Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
537:But I had not quite fixed whether to make him [Don Juan] end in Hell-or in an unhappy marriage,-not knowing which would be the severest. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
538:No more we meet in yonder bowers Absence has made me prone to roving; But older, firmer hearts than ours, Have found monotony in loving. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
539:I should like to know who has been carried off, except poor dear me - I have been more ravished myself than anybody since the Trojan war. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
540:Start not—nor deem my spirit fled:
In me behold the only skull
From which, unlike a living head,
Whatever flows is never dull. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
541:I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me: and to me High mountains are a feeling, but the hum of human cities torture. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
542:Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire with angels shared, by Allah given to lift from earth our low desire. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
543:Byron!” exclaimed the little man. “Really? Dear me! Mad, and a friend of Lord Byron!” He sounded as if he did not know which was worse. ~ Susanna Clarke, #NFDB
544:Every feeling hath been shaken;
Pride, which not a world could bow,
Bows to thee - by thee forsaken,
Even my soul forsakes me now. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
545:...methinks the older that one grows,
Inclines us more to laugh the scold, though laughter
Leaves us so doubly serious shortly after. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
546:The heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old!-- The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
547:It is not for minds like ours to give or to receive flatter; yet the praises of sincerity have ever been permitted to the voice of friendship ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
548:On with the dance! let joy be unconfin'd;
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet
To chase the Glowing Hours with Flying feet. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
549:We are all the fools of time and terror: Days
Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live,
Loathing our life, and dreading still to die. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
550:But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
551:To be perfectly original one should think much and read little, and this is impossible, for one must have read before one has learnt to think. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
552:As long as I retain my feeling and my passion for Nature, I can partly soften or subdue my other passions and resist or endure those of others. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
553:To be fair he is Lord Byron," Jane said. "I don't know many people who haven't slept with him at one time or another." -- Jane Fairfax ~ Michael Thomas Ford, #NFDB
554:And yet methinks the older that one grows
Inclines us more to laugh than scold, though laughter
Leaves us so doubly serious shortly after. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
555:There rose no day there rolled no hour
Of pleasure unembittered;
And not a trapping decked my Power
That galled not while it glittered. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
556:This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And leaving nothing, yet hath all. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
557:And yet, my girl, we weep in vain,
In vain our fate in sighs deplore;
Remembrance only can remain,
But that, will make us weep the more. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
558:I came to realize clearly that the mind is no other than the Mountain and the Rivers and the great wide Earth, the Sun and the Moon and the Sky”. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
559:Lord Byron doesn’t have a life plan. He doesn’t have a day plan. I once found a note that he wrote to himself that said: 'put on pants. ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, #NFDB
560:No more Keats, I entreat: flay him alive; if some of you don’t I must skin him myself: there is no bearing the drivelling idiotism of the Mankin. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
561:She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
562:forgive me also that I didn't fight like Lord Byron for the happiness of captive peoples that I watched only risings of the moon and museums ~ Zbigniew Herbert, #NFDB
563:I really cannot know whether I am or am not the Genius you are pleased to call me, but I am very willing to put up with the mistake, if it be one. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
564:Or, like the thief of fire from heaven,
Wilt thou withstand the shock?
And share with him, the unforgiven,
His vulture and his rock! ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
565:Your thief looks Exactly like the rest, or rather better; 'Tis only at the bar, and in the dungeon, That wise men know your felon by his features. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
566:But words are things, and a small drop of ink,
Falling, like dew, upon a thought produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
567:I live not in myself, but I become
Portion of that around me: and to me
High mountains are a feeling, but the hum
of human cities torture. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
568:The Mountains look on Marathon
And Marathon looks to the sea;
And musing there an hour alone,
I dreamed that Greece might still be free... ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
569:I do not believe in any religion, I will have nothing to do with immortality. We are miserable enough in this life without speculating upon another. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
570:Though the day of my Destiny 's over, And the star of my Fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
571:What exile from himself can flee? To zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life--the demon Thought. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
572: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. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
573:In the desert a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
574:Every day confirms my opinion on the superiority of a vicious life, and if Virtue is not its own reward, I don't know any other stipend annexed to it. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
575:Father of Light! great God of Heaven! Hear'st thou the accents of despair? Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven? Can vice atone for crimes by prayer. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
576:There is no passion, more spectral or fantastical than hate, not even its opposite, love, so peoples air, with phantoms, as this madness of the heart. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
577:Physicians mend or end us, Secundum artem; but although we sneer - In health - when ill we call them to attend us, Without the least propensity to jeer ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
578:The mind can make substance, and people planets of its own with beings brighter than have been, and give a breath to forms which can outlive all flesh. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
579:The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed. I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
580:But first on earth as vampire sent
Thy corpse shall from its tomb be rent
Then gastly haunt thy native place
And suck the blood of all thy race ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
581:For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust
In one fond breast, to which his own would melt,
And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
582:Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till-'t is gone, and all is gray. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
583:'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print; A book's a book, although there's nothing in't. ~ Lord Byron, English Bards and Scotch Reviewers (1809), line 51., #NFDB
584:If we must have a tyrant, let him at least be a gentleman who has been bred to the business, and let us fall by the axe and not by the butcher's cleaver. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
585:Send me no more reviews of any kind. I will read no more of evil or good in that line. Walter Scott has not read a review of himself for thirteen years . ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
586:VALENTINE: Are you talking about Lord Byron, the poet?
BERNARD: No, you fucking idiot, we're talking about Lord Byron, the chartered accountant. ~ Tom Stoppard,#NFDB
587:You speak of Lord Byron and me; there is this great difference between us. He describes what he sees I describe what I imagine. Mine is the hardest task. ~ John Keats, #NFDB
588:But I hate things all fiction... there should always be some foundation of fact for the most airy fabric - and pure invention is but the talent of a liar. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
589:I cannot describe to you the despairing sensation of trying to do something for a man who seems incapable or unwilling to do anything further for himself. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
590:Roll on, deep and dark blue ocean, roll. Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. Man marks the earth with ruin, but his control stops with the shore. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
591:I suppose we shall soon travel by air-vessels; make air instead of sea voyages; and at length find our way to the moon, in spite of the want of atmosphere. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
592:In general I do not draw well with literary men -- not that I dislike them but I never know what to say to them after I have praised their last publication. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
593:Man's love is of man's life a part; it is a woman's whole existence. In her first passion, a woman loves her lover, in all the others all she loves is love. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
594:She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes... ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
595:The reason that adulation is not displeasing is that, though untrue, it shows one to be of consequence enough, in one way or other, to induce people to lie. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
596:I can't but say it is an awkward sight To see one's native land receding through The growing waters; it unmans one quite, Especially when life is rather new. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
597:The fact is that my wife if she had common sense would have more power over me than any other whatsoever, for my heart always alights upon the nearest perch. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
598:There are two Souls, whose equal flow
In gentle stream so calmly run,
That when they part—they part?—ah no!
They cannot part—those Souls are One. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
599:The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree
I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed.
I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
600:What should I have known or written had I been a quiet, mercantile politician or a lord in waiting? A man must travel, and turmoil, or there is no existence. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
601:Books, Manuals, Directives, Regulations. The geometries that circumscribe your working life draw norrower and norrower until nothing fits inside them anymore. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
602:There is no such thing as a life of passion any more than a continuous earthquake, or an eternal fever. Besides, who would ever shave themselves in such a state? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
603:Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires The young, makes Weariness forget his toil, And Fear her danger; opens a new world When this, the present, palls. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
604: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. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
605:All human history attests That happiness for man, - the hungry sinner! - Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner. ~Lord Byron, Don Juan, Canto XIII, stanza 99 ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
606:I hate all pain, Given or received; we have enough within us The meanest vassal as the loftiest monarch, Not to add to each other's natural burden Of mortal misery. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
607:Marriage, from love, like vinegar from wine-- A sad, sour sober beverage--by time Is sharpened from its high celestial flavor Down to a very homely household savor. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
608:And angling too, that solitary vice, What Izaak Walton sings or says: The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
609:Our life is two fold Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
610:Romantic poetry had its heyday when people like Lord Byron were kicking it large. But you try and make a living as a poet today, and you'll find it's very different! ~ Alan Moore, #NFDB
611:Tenê di dema aştîyê de ye ku niştecîhê welatekî dikarin barê giran yê şer hest/hês bikin.
.تەنیا لە کاتی ئاشتیدا، خەڵکی یەک وڵات، هەست بە باری قورسی شەڕ ئەکەن ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
612:Oh! too convincing--dangerously dear-- In woman's eye the unanswerable tear! That weapon of her weakness she can wield, To save, subdue--at once her spear and shield. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
613:Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean - roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin - his control
Stops with the shore. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
614:A man must serve his time to every trade, Save censure-critics all are ready made. Take hackney'd jokes from Miller, got by rote With just enough learning to misquote. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
615:It is not in the storm or in the strife
We feel benumbed and wish to be nor more,
But in the after-silence on the shore
When all is lost except a little life. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
616:Just as old age is creeping on space, And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day, They kindly leave us, though not quite alone, But in good company--the gout or stone. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
617:Oh pleasure, you're indeed a pleasant thing, / Although one must be damned for you no doubt. / I make a resolution every spring / Of reformation, ere the year run out. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
618:I cannot conceive why people will always mix up my own character and opinions with those of the imaginary beings which, as a poet, I have the right and liberty to draw. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
619:There's music in the sighing of a reed; There's music in the gushing of a rill; There's music in all things, if men had ears; The earth is but the music of the spheres. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
620:Tyranny Is far the worst of treasons. Dost thou deem None rebels except subjects? The prince who Neglects or violates his trust is more A brigand than the robber-chief. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
621:But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
622:Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes; But no too humbly, or she will despise Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes: Disguise even tenderness if thou art wise. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
623:Lord Byron ! Of course!” cried Dr Greysteel. “I forgot all about him! I must go and warn him to be discreet.” “I think it’s a little late for that, sir,” said Frank. ~ Susanna Clarke, #NFDB
624:Oh, nature's noblest gift, my grey goose quill, Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will, Torn from the parent bird to form a pen, That mighty instrument of little men. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
625:Tis an old lesson; time approves it true, And those who know it best, deplore it most; When all is won that all desire to woo, The paltry prize is hardly worth the cost. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
626:Turning oneself to the misfortunes of others is the best way to dispense with personal troubles. Hadn’t Lord Byron himself said, “The busy have no time for tears”? ~ Martha Hall Kelly, #NFDB
627:Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead? Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some less majestic, less beloved head? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
628:There is no god but God! — to prayer — lo! God is great! ~ Lord Byron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto II (1812), Stanza 59, this is a translation of standard Islamic exclamations, #NFDB
629:Too oft is a smile
But the hypocrite's wile,
To mask detestation or fear;
Give me a soft sigh,
Whilst the soultelling eye
Is dimm'd, for a time, with a Tear ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
630:All present life is but an interjection, An “Oh!” or “Ah!” of joy or misery Or a “Ha, ha!” or “Bah!”—a yawn, or “Pooh!” Of which perhaps the latter is most true. —LORD BYRON ~ Mark Dunn, #NFDB
631:I saw two beings in the hues of the youth
Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill... And both were young-- and one was beautiful
-The Dream, Canto II
Lord Byron ~ Madeleine L Engle,#NFDB
632: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! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
633:Think how the joys of reading a Gazette
Are purchased by all agonies and crimes:
Or if these do not move you, don't forget
Such doom may be your own in aftertimes. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
634:What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page, And be alone on earth, as I am now. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
635:But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws So much, as when we call our old debts in At sixty years, and draw the accounts of evil, And find a deuced balance with the devil. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
636:Ecclesiastes said that "all is vanity," Most modern preachers say the same, or show it By their examples of true Christianity: In short, all know, or very short may know it. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
637:Sorrow preys upon Its solitude, and nothing more diverts it From its sad visions of the other world Than calling it at moments back to this. The busy have no time for tears. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
638:I should be very willing to redress men wrongs, and rather check than punish crimes, had not Cervantes, in that all too true tale of Quixote, shown how all such efforts fail. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
639:We of the craft are all crazy,” Lord Byron, the high priest of crazies, wrote. “Some are affected by gaiety, others by melancholy, but all are more or less touched. ~ Siddhartha Mukherjee, #NFDB
640:I feel my immortality over sweep all pains, all tears, all time, all fears, - and peal, like the eternal thunders of the deep, into my ears, this truth, - thou livest forever! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
641:In quiet we had learn'd to dwell-
Myvery chains and I grew friends,
So much a long communion tends-
To make us what we are:-even I
Regain'd my freedom with a sigh. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
642:O ye! who teach the ingenious youth of nations, Holland, France, England, Germany or Spain, I pray ye flog them upon all occasions, It mends their morals, never mind the pain. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
643:'Twas strange that one so young should thus concern His brain about the action of the sky; If you think 'twas philosophy that this did, I can't help thinking puberty assisted. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
644:Wedded she some years, and to a man
Of fifty, and such husbands are in plenty;
And yet, I think, instead of such a ONE
'Twere better to have TWO of five and twenty... ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
645:As soon seek roses in December, ice in June, Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff Believe a woman or an epitaph Or any other thing that’s false Before you trust in critics. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
646:The image of Eternity--the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
647:Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down Over the waste of waters; like a veil, Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
648:Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave, Then some leap'd overboard with fearful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
649:There's music in the sighing of a reed;
There's music in the gushing of a rill;
There's music in all things, if men had ears;
The earth is but the music of the spheres. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
650:There's music in the sighing of a reed;
There's music in the gushing of a rill;
There's music in all things, if men had ears:
Their earth is but an echo of the spheres. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
651:To what gulfs A single deviation from the track Of human duties leads even those who claim The homage of mankind as their born due, And find it, till they forfeit it themselves! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
652: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 ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
653:Lovers may be and indeed generally are enemies, but they never can be friends, because there must always be a spice of jealousy and a something of Self in all their speculations. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
654:I have had, and may have still, a thousand friends, as they are called, in life, who are like one's partners in the waltz of this world -not much remembered when the ball is over. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
655:Man is born passionate of body, but with an innate though secret tendency to the love of Good in his main-spring of Mind. But God help us all! It is at present a sad jar of atoms. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
656:May Moorland weavers boast Pindaric skill, And tailors' lays be longer than their bill! While punctual beaux reward the grateful notes, And pay for poems--when they pay for coats. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
657:He would gain cheerfulness, and she would learn to be an enthusiast for Scott and Lord Byron; nay, that was probably learnt already; of course they had fallen in love over poetry. ~ Jane Austen, #NFDB
658:I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant, The age discovers he is not the true one; ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
659:Lord Byron is an exceedingly interesting person, and as such is it not to be regretted that he is a slave to the vilest and most vulgar prejudices, and as mad as the winds? ~ Edmond de Goncourt, #NFDB
660:The humblest individual under heaven, Than might suffice a moderate century through. I knew that nought was lasting, but now even Change grows too changeable without being new. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
661:A bargain is in its very essence a hostile transaction do not all men try to abate the price of all they buy? I contend that a bargain even between brethren is a declaration of war. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
662:But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
663:The lapse of ages changes all things - time, language, the earth, the bounds of the sea, the stars of the sky, and every thing about, around, and underneath man, except man himself. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
664:Yet still there whispers the small voice within, Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's din; Whatever creed be taught or land be trod, Man's conscience is the oracle of God. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
665:nature’s noblest gift – my grey goose-quill! Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will, Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen, That mighty instrument of little men! – Lord Byron ~ Julie Klassen, #NFDB
666: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! ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
667:When one subtracts from life infancy (which is vegetation), sleep,eating and swilling, buttoning and unbuttoning -- how much remains of downright existence? The summer of a dormouse. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
668:All human history attests
That happiness for man, - the hungry sinner! -
Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner. ~ Lord ByronLord Byron, Don Juan, Canto XIII, stanza 99 ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
669:But beef is rare within these oxless isles; Goat's flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton; And, when a holiday upon them smiles, A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
670:So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, View'd his own feather on the fatal dart, And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
671:Tis strange,-but true; for truth is always strange; Stranger than fiction: if it could be told, How much would novels gain by the exchange! How differently the world would men behold! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
672:When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, And the dimpling stream runs laughing by; When the air does laugh with our merry wit, And the green hill laughs with the noise of it. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
673:Yet, should our feeble efforts nought avail, Should, after all, our best endeavours fail; Still, let some mercy in your bosoms live, And, if you can't applaud, at least forgive. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
674:But every fool describes, in these bright days, His wondrous journey to some foreign court, And spawns his quarto, and demands your praise,-- Death to his publisher, to him 'tis sport. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
675:I live, but live to die: and, living, see nothing to make death hateful, save an innate clinging, a loathsome and yet all invincible instinct of life, which I abhor, as I despise myself, ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
676:Let no man grumble when his friends fall off, As they will do like leaves at the first breeze; When your affairs come round, one way or t'other, Go to the coffee house, and take another. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
677:Yet truth will sometimes lend her noblest fires, And decorate the verse herself inspires: This fact, in virtue's name, let Crabbe attest,- Though Nature's sternest painter, yet the best. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
678:Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen, Count o'er thy days from anguish free, And know, whatever thou hast been, 'Tis something better not to be. [First published, Childe Harold, 1812 ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
679:I think the worst woman that ever existed would have made a man of very passable reputation -- they are all better than us and their faults such as they are must originate with ourselves. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
680:As soon seek roses in December, ice in June,
Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff
Believe a woman or an epitaph
Or any other thing that’s false
Before you trust in critics. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
681: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... ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
682:Well, well, the world must turn upon its axis, And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails, And live and die, make love and pay our taxes, And as the veering winds shift, shift our sails. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
683:When people say, 'I've told you fifty times',
They mean to scold, and very often do;
When poets say, 'I've written fifty rhymes',
They make you dread that they'll recite them too ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
684:Just as I had formed a tolerable establishment my travels commenced, and on my return I find all to do over again; my former flock were all scattered; some married, not before it was needful. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
685:Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory; And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
686:What an antithetical mind! - tenderness, roughness - delicacy, coarseness - sentiment, sensuality - soaring and groveling, dirt and deity - all mixed up in that one compound of inspired clay! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
687:Such is your cold coquette, who can't say "No," And won't say "Yes," and keeps you on and off-ing On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow, Then sees your heart wreck'd, with an inward scoffing. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
688:Tis strange,-but true; for truth is always strange;
Stranger than fiction: if it could be told,
How much would novels gain by the exchange!
How differently the world would men behold! ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
689:Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
690:There are four questions of value in life, Don Octavio. What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for and what is worth dying for? The answer to each is the same. Only love. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
691:Why I came here, I know not; where I shall go it is useless to inquire - in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
692:You have to have a passion for your work. How can we expect people to be passionate if you, as their coach, does not have a passion? Coaching has to be something that gives you passion and energy. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
693:But pomp and power alone are woman's care,
And where these are light Eros finds a feere;
Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,
And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might despair. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
694:I have not loved the World, nor the World me; I have not flattered its rank breath, nor bowed To its idolatries a patient knee, Nor coined my cheek to smiles,-nor cried aloud In worship of an echo. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
695:There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in 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. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
696: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 ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
697:It is true from early habit, one must make love mechanically as one swims; I was once very fond of both, but now as I never swim unless I tumble into the water, I don't make love till almost obliged. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
698:What makes a regiment of soldiers a more noble object of view than the same mass of mob? Their arms, their dresses, their banners, and the art and artificial symmetry of their position and movements. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
699:I learned that you should feel when writing, not like Lord Byron on a mountain top, but like a child stringing beads in kindergarten - happy, absorbed and quietly putting one bead on after another. ~ Brenda Ueland, #NFDB
700:Tis the perception of the beautiful, A fine extension of the faculties, Platonic, universal, wonderful, Drawn from the stars, and filtered through the skies, Without which life would be extremely dull ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
701:I know that two and two make four - and should be glad to prove it too if I could - though I must say if by any sort of process I could convert 2 and 2 into five it would give me much greater pleasure. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
702:O Fame! if I ever took delight in thy praises, Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover The thought that I was not unworthy to love her. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
703: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. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
704:I learned that you should feel when writing, not like Lord Byron on a mountain top, but like a child stringing beads in kindergarten - happy, absorbed and quietly putting one bead on after another.
~ Brenda Ueland,#NFDB
705:And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
706:I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse borne away with every breath! Misplaced upon the throne misplaced in life. I know not what I could have been, but feel I am not what I should be let it end. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
707:Alas! They were so young, so beautiful, so lonely, loving, helpless, and the hour was that in which the heart is always full, annd, having o'er itself no further power, prompts deeds eternity can not annul. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
708:Shadow! or Spirit!
Whatever thou art,
Which still doth inherit
The whole or a part
Of the form of thy birth,
Of the mould of thy clay,
Which returned to the earth,
Re-appear to the day! ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
709:We have fools in all sects, and impostors in most; why should I believe mysteries no one can understand, because written by men who chose to mistake madness for inspiration and style themselves Evangelicals? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
710:Whenever I meet with anything agreeable in this world it surprises me so much - and pleases me so much (when my passions are not interested in one way or the other) that I go on wondering for a week to come. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
711:And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; They have a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
712:So do the dark in soul expire, Or live like scorpion girt by fire; So writhes the mind remorse hath riven, Unfit for earth, undoom'd for heaven, Darkness above, despair beneath, Around it flame, within it death. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
713:Pythagoras, Locke, Socrates - but pages might be filled up, as vainly as before, with the sad usage of all sorts of sages, who in his life-time, each was deemed a bore! The loftiest minds outrun their tardy ages. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
714:When I was 16, I wanted to look like Lord Byron. It's not really a haircut so much as a hair-not-cut, but I've never changed it. It's a bit Byron, a bit Don Juan DeMarco and other things that I aspire to be. ~ Jeremy Clarkson, #NFDB
715: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 ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
716:Ada’s mother, Anne, was a mathematician in her own right, and despite Lord Byron praising Anne as the “Princess of Parallelograms,” the two had a tumultuous relationship and young Ada never really met her father. Now ~ Sam Maggs, #NFDB
717:Evil and Good are things in their own essebce and not made good or evil by the giver. but if he gives you good so cal him; if evil springs from him, do not name it mine till ye know better its true fount
-Lucifer ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
718:For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
719:The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain,” said Lord Byron, enunciating a basic Romantic idea and, perhaps, hoping that goblins, ghosts, and demons provided some necessary release ~ Shirley Jackson, #NFDB
720:I can recognize any one by the teeth, with whom I have talked. I always watch the lips and mouth: they tell what the tongue and eyes try to conceal. [at the funeral of Percy Bysshe Shelley, according to E.J. Trelawny] ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
721:My time has been passed viciously and agreeably—at thirty-one so few years months days hours or minutes remain that 'Carpe diem' is not enough—I have been obliged to crop even the seconds—for who can trust to tomorrow? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
722:From the poetry of Lord Byron they drew a system of ethics compounded of misanthropy and voluptuousness,-a system in which the two great commandments were to hate your neighbour and to love your neighbour's wife. ~ Thomas B Macaulay, #NFDB
723:It has been said that the immortality of the soul is a grand peut-tre -but still it is a grand one. Everybody clings to it -the stupidest, and dullest, and wickedest of human bipeds is still persuaded that he is immortal. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
724:I am so convinced of the advantages of looking at mankind instead of reading about them, . . . that I think there should be a law amongst us to set our young men abroad for a term among the few allies our wars have left us. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
725:Though [Abraham Lincoln] never would travel to Europe, he went with Shakespeare's kings to Merry England; he went with Lord Byron poetry to Spain and Portugal. Literature allowed him to transcend his surroundings. ~ Doris Kearns Goodwin, #NFDB
726:Though [Abraham Lincoln] never would travel to Europe, he went with Shakespeare’s kings to Merry England; he went with Lord Byron poetry to Spain and Portugal. Literature allowed him to transcend his surroundings. ~ Doris Kearns Goodwin, #NFDB
727:For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still! ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
728:It is not with earth, though I must till it, I feel at war..but I may not profit of what it bears of beauty,untoiling, Nor gratify my thousands swelling thoughts with knowledge, Nor allay my thousand fears of death and life. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
729:İnsan yaşamı kadının göğüsünden doğar,
Onun dudaklarından öğrenirsiniz söylediğiniz ilk küçük sözcükleri,
İlk gözyaşınızı da silen odur;
Son saatinde, erkekler çekinirken küçük düşmekten
Kendilerine önderlik edene. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
730:My great comfort is, that the temporary celebrity I have wrung from the world has been in the very teeth of all opinions and prejudices. I have flattered no ruling powers; I have never concealed a single thought that tempted me. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
731:A good coach encourages the same type of resilience in the people they work with. They encourage them to take risks. If the risk results in failure, they help all people to learn from the mistake and then go on to try another way. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
732:Ah me! what hand can pencil guide, or pen, To follow half on which the eye dilates Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken. Than those whereof such things the bard relates, Who to the awe-struck world unlocked Elysium’s gates? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
733:Ancient of days! august Athena! where, Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul? Gone--glimmering through the dream of things that were; First in the race that led to glory's goal, They won, and pass'd away--Is this the whole? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
734: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. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
735:O time! The beautifier of the dead, Adorner of the ruin, comforter And only healer when the heart hath bled— Time! The corrector where our judgments err, The test of truth, love, sole philosopher. —Lord Byron, Childe Harold IV, 1818 ~ Jack McDevitt, #NFDB
736:Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality, And dreams in their development have breath, And tears and tortures, and the touch of joy. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
737:I have seen a thousand graves opened, and always perceived that whatever was gone, the teeth and hair remained of those who had died with them. Is not this odd? They go the very first things in youth and yet last the longest in the dust. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
738:Woman! experience might have told me,
That all must love thee who behold thee:
Surely experience might have taught
Thy firmest promises are nought:
But, placed in all thy charms before me,
All I forget, but to adore thee. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
739:Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime,
The image of Eternity, -- the throne
Of the Invisible! even from out thy slime
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone
Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
740:It is the lava of the imagination whose eruption prevents an earth-quake-they say Poets never or rarely go mad...but are generally so near it-that I cannot help thinking rhyme is so far useful in anticipating & preventing the disorder. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
741:But first, on earth as vampire sent,
Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent:
Then ghastly haunt thy native place,
And suck the blood of all thy race;
There from thy daughter, sister, wife,
At midnight drain the stream of life; ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
742:The sky is changed,-and such a change! O night And storm and darkness! ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, Leaps the live thunder. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
743:If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad. As to that regular, uninterrupted love of writing. I do not understand it. I feel it as a torture, which I must get rid of, but never as a pleasure. On the contrary, I think composition a great pain. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
744:My slumbers--if I slumber--are not sleep, But a continuance of enduring thought, Which then I can resist not: in my heart There is a vigil, and these eyes but close To look within; and yet I live, and bear The aspect and the form of breathing men. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
745:Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase,
And marvel men should quit their easy chair,
The toilsome way, and long, long leagues to trace,
Oh! there is sweetness in the mountain air,
And life that bloated Ease can never hope to share. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
746:Nothing so fretful, so despicable as a Scribbler, see what I am, and what a parcel of Scoundrels I have brought about my ears, and what language I have been obliged to treat them with to deal with them in their own way; - all this comes of Authorship. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
747:Not to admire, is all the art I know To make men happy, or to keep them so. Thus Horace wrote we all know long ago; And thus Pope quotes the precept to re-teach From his translation; but had none admired, Would Pope have sung, or Horace been inspired? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
748:But as to women, who can penetrate the real sufferings of their she condition? Man's very sympathy with their estate has much of selfishness and more suspicion. Their love, their virtue, beauty, education, but form good housekeepers, to breed a nation. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
749:Egypt! from whose all dateless tombs arose Forgotten Pharaohs from their long repose, And shook within their pyramids to hear A new Cambyses thundering in their ear; While the dark shades of forty ages stood Like startled giants by Nile's famous flood. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
750:Martin Buber suggested that evil prevailed because of the inability of man to imagine the real. Yet human beings do have that capacity. Lord Byron, a poet favored by Alfred Nobel, captured the stark essence of a post-nuclear world in his poem Darkness. ~ Bernard Lown, #NFDB
751:What opposite discoveries we have seen! (Signs of true genius, and of empty pockets.) One makes new noses, one a guillotine, One breaks your bones, one sets them in their sockets; But vaccination certainly has been A kind antithesis to Congreve's rockets. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
752:The languages, especially the dead, The sciences, and most of all the abstruse, The arts, at least all such as could be said To be the most remote from common use, In all these he was much and deeply read. ~ Lord Byron, Don Juan (1818-24), Canto I, Stanza 40., #NFDB
753:Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue By female lips and eyes--that is, I mean, When both the teacher and the taught are young, As was the case, at least, where I have been; They smile so when one's right; and when one's wrong They smile still more. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
754:And Mocha's berry, from Arabia pure, In small fine china cups, came in at last. Gold cups of filigree, made to secure the hand from burning, underneath them place. Cloves, cinnamon and saffron, too, were boiled Up with the coffee, which, I think, they spoiled. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
755:I have always laid it down as a maxim -and found it justified by experience -that a man and a woman make far better friendships than can exist between two of the same sex -but then with the condition that they never have made or are to make love to each other. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
756:A material resurrection seems strange and even absurd except for purposes of punishment, and all punishment which is to revenge rather than correct must be morally wrong, and when the World is at an end, what moral or warning purpose can eternal tortures answer? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
757:Let him! He is great but in his greatness he is no happier than we in our conflict! Goodness would not make evil; and what else hath he made? but let him sit on his vast solitary throne, creating worlds to make eternity less burthensome to his immense existence. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
758:My slumbers--if I slumber--are not sleep,
But a continuance of enduring thought,
Which then I can resist not: in my heart
There is a vigil, and these eyes but close
To look within; and yet I live, and bear
The aspect and the form of breathing men. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
759:I am no Platonist, I am nothing at all; but I would sooner be a Paulician, Manichean, Spinozist, Gentile, Pyrrhonian, Zoroastrian, than one of the seventy-two villainous sects who are tearing each other to pieces for the love of the Lord and hatred of each other. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
760:Oh could I feel as I have felt,-or be what I have been,
Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanish'd scene;
As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be,
So midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
761:In large Victorian houses with many rooms and heavy doors, the occupants could be mysterious and exciting to one another in a way that those who live in rackety developments can never hope to be. Not even the lust of a Lord Byron could survive the fact of Levittown. ~ Gore Vidal, #NFDB
762:Many are poets, but without the name;For what is Poesy but to createFrom overfeeling Good or Ill; and aimAt an external life beyond our fate,And be the new Prometheus of new men,Bestowing fire from Heaven, and then, too late,Finding the pleasure given repaid with pain ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
763:Some have accused me of a strange design
Against the creed and morals of this land,
And trace it in this poem every line:
I don't pretend that I quite understand
My meaning when I would be very fine;
But the fact is that I have nothing planned... ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
764:The music, and the banquet, and the wine-- The garlands, the rose odors, and the flowers, The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments-- The white arms and the raven hair--the braids, And bracelets; swan-like bosoms, and the necklace, An India in itself, yet dazzling not. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
765:I was accused of every monstrous vice by public rumour and private rancour; my name, which had been a knightly or noble one, was tainted. I felt that, if what was whispered, and muttered, and murmured, was true, I was unfit for England; if false, England was unfit for me. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
766:Cripples are not the stuff of romance. Only Lord Byron, dragging his club foot, springs to mind as an exception to the rule, but such a failing in a man is regarded as interesting, even provocative, rather than disfiguring. Women must submit to a more exacting measure. ~ Mordecai Richler, #NFDB
767:That which would not yield, nor could forget,
Which, when it least appear'd to melt,
Intensely thought, intensely felt:
The deepest ice which ever froze
Can only o'er the surface close;
The living stream lies quick below,
And flows--and cannot cease to flow. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
768:Above or Love, Hope, Hate or Fear, It lives all passionless and pure: An age shall fleet like earthly year; Its years in moments shall endure. Away, away, without a wing, O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly; A nameless and eternal thing, Forgetting what it was to die. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
769:The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains--beautiful! I linger yet with nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man, and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness I learned the language of another world. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
770:From the mingled strength of shade and light A new creation rises to my sight, Such heav'nly figures from his pencil flow, So warm with light his blended colors glow. . . . . The glowing portraits, fresh from life, that bring Home to our hearts the truth from which they spring. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
771:So, we’ll go no more a roving So late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving, And the moon be still as bright. II For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest. III ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
772:Homage he has from all - but none from me...
I battle it against him, as I battled in highest heaven - through all eternity,
And the unfathomable gulfs of hades, and the interminable realms of space,
And the infinity of endless ages... all, all will I dispute.
-Lucifer ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
773:I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day, ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
774:The basis of your religion is injustice. The Son of God the pure, the immaculate, the innocent, is sacrificed for the guilty. This proves his heroism, but no more does away with man's sin than a school boy's volunteering to be flogged for another would exculpate a dunce from negligence. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
775:Like other parties of the kind, it was first silent, then talky, then argumentative, then disputatious, then unintelligible, then altogether, then inarticulate, and then drunk. When we had reached the last step of this glorious ladder, it was difficult to get down again without stumbling. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
776:Many are poets, but without the name;
For what is Poesy but to create
From overfeeling Good or Ill; and aim
At an external life beyond our fate,
And be the new Prometheus of new men,
Bestowing fire from Heaven, and then, too late,
Finding the pleasure given repaid with pain ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
777:And this the world calls frenzy; but the wise
Have a far deeper madness, and the glance
Of melancholy is a fearful gift;
What is it but the telescope of truth?
Which strips the distance of its fantasies,
And brings life near in utter nakedness,
Making the cold reality too real! ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
778:The stars are forth, the moon above the tops
Of the snow-shining mountains.—Beautiful!
I linger yet with Nature, for the night
Hath been to me a more familiar face
Than that of man; and in her starry shade
Of dim and solitary loveliness,
I learn'd the language of another world. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
779:Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art, For there thy habitation is the heart-- The heart which love of thee alone can bind; And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd-- To fetters and damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
780:Above or Love, Hope, Hate or Fear,
It lives all passionless and pure:
An age shall fleet like earthly year;
Its years in moments shall endure.
Away, away, without a wing,
O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly;
A nameless and eternal thing,
Forgetting what it was to die. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
781:The great object of life is sensation—to feel that we exist, even though in pain. It is this ‘craving void’ which drives us to gaming—to battle—to travel—to intemperate but keenly felt pursuits of every description, whose principal attraction is the agitation inseparable from their accomplishment. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
782:How sweet and soothing is this hour of calm! I thank thee, night! for thou has chased away these horrid bodements which, amidst the throng, I could not dissipate; and with the blessing of thy benign and quiet influence now will I to my couch, although to rest is almost wronging such a night as this. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
783: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? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
784:But ’tis done—all words are idle—
Words from me are vainer still;
But the thoughts we cannot bridle 55
Force their way without the will.
Fare thee well! thus disunited,
Torn from every nearer tie,
Sear’d in heart, and lone, and blighted,
More than this I scarce can die. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
785:Prometheus-like from heaven she stole The fire that through those silken lashes In darkest glances seems to roll, From eyes that cannot hide their flashes: And as along her bosom steal In lengthened flow her raven tresses, You'd swear each clustering lock could feel, And curled to give her neck caresses. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
786:The castled crag of Drachenfels, Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, Whose breast of waters broadly swells Between the banks which bear the vine, And hills all rich with blossom'd trees, And fields which promise corn and wine, And scatter'd cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them shine. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
787:The great object of life is Sensation - to feel that we exist - even though in pain - it is this "craving void" which drives us to gaming - to battle - to travel - to intemperate but keenly felt pursuits of every description whose principal attraction is the agitation inseparable from their accomplishment. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
788:There is something to me very softening in the presence of a woman, some strange influence, even if one is not in love with them, which I cannot at all account for, having no very high opinion of the sex. But yet, I always feel in better humor with myself and every thing else, if there is a woman within ken. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
789:Where yet my boys are, and that fatal She,
Their mother, the cold partner who hath brought
Destruction for a dowry—this to see
And feel, and know without repair, hath taught
A bitter lesson; but it leaves me free:
I have not vilely found, nor basely sought,
They made an Exile—not a Slave of me. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
790:And then he danced,-all foreigners excel the serious Angels in the eloquence of pantomime;-he danced, I say, right well, with emphasis, and a'so with good sense-a thing in footing indispensable: he danced without theatrical pretence, not like a ballet-master in the van of his drill'd nymphs, but like a gentleman. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
791:========== If I Stay (Forman, Gayle) - Your Note on page 182 | Location 2191 | Added on Friday, September 26, 2014 4:01:31 PM We look before and after and pine for what is not. Our sincerest laughter with some pain is fraught. The sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. Ode to a Skylark by Lord Byron? ~ Anonymous, #NFDB
792:Near this spot are deposited the remains of one who possessed beauty without vanity, strength without insolence, courage without ferocity, and all the virtues of man, without his vices. This praise, which would be unmeaning flattery if inscribed over human ashes, is but a just tribute to the memory of Botswain, a dog. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
793:It is not one man nor a million, but the spirit of liberty that must be preserved. The waves which dash upon the shore are, one by one, broken, but the ocean conquers nevertheless. It overwhelms the Armada, it wears out the rock. In like manner, whatever the struggle of individuals, the great cause will gather strength. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
794:LUCIFER: They say what they must sing and say on pain
Of being that which I am and thou art--
Of spirits and of men.
CAIN: And what is that?
LUCIFER: Souls who dare use their immortality,
Souls who dare look the omnipotent tyrant in
His everlasting face and tell him that
His evil is not good! ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
795:Tis pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures; And all are to be sold, if you consider Their passions, and are dext'rous; some by features Are brought up, others by a warlike leader; Some by a place--as tend their years or natures; The most by ready cash--but all have prices, From crowns to kicks, according to their vices. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
796:Now Juan could not understand a word, Being no Grecian; but he had an ear, And her voice was the warble of a bird, ... So soft, so sweet, so delicately clear, That finer, simpler music ne'er was heard; The sort of sound we echo with a tear, Without knowing why - an overpowering tone, Whence Melody descends as from a throne. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
797:Remember thee! remember thee!
Till Lethe quench life's burning stream
Remorse and shame shall cling to thee,
And haunt thee like a feverish dream!
Remember thee! Aye, doubt it not.
Thy husband too shall think of thee:
By neither shalt thou be forgot,
Thou false to him, thou fiend to me! ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
798:A Man’s life of any worth is a continual allegory, and very few eyes can see the Mystery of his life—a life like the scriptures, figurative—which such people can no more make out than they can the Hebrew Bible. Lord Byron cuts a figure but he is not figurative—Shakspeare led a life of Allegory: his works are the comments on it ~ John Keats, #NFDB
799:Dull is the eye that will not weep to see- Thy walls defaced thy mouldering shines removed- by british hands, which it had best behoved- to guard those relics ne'er to be restored. Curst be the hour when from their isle they roved,- And once again thy hapless bossom gored- and snatch'd shrinking gods to northern climes abhorred. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
800:The writer harked back to Lord Byron’s maiden speech in the House three years before: “I have been in some of the most oppressed provinces in Turkey, but never, under the most despotic of infidel Governments, did I behold such squalid wretchedness as I have seen since my return in the very heart of a Christian country.” Mrs. ~ Marion Chesney, #NFDB
801:She loved her lord or thought so, but that love Cost her an effort, which is a sad toil, The stone of Sisyphus, if once we move Our feelings ‘gainst the nature of the soil. She had nothing to complain of or reprove, No bickerings, no connubial turmoil; Their union was a model to behold, Serene and noble, conjugal, but cold. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
802:This is the patent-age of new inventions For killing bodies, and for saving souls, All propagated with the best intentions; Sir Humphrey Davy's lantern, by which coals Are safely mined for in the mode he mentions, Tombuctoo travels, voyages to the Poles, Are ways to benefit mankind, as true, Perhaps, as shooting them at Waterloo. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
803:I loved - but those I loved are gone;
Had friends - my early friends are fled:
How cheerless feels the heart alone
When all its former hopes are dead!
Though gay companions o'er the bowl
Dispel awhile the sense of ill;
Though pleasure stirs the maddening soul,
The heart - the heart - is lonely still. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
804:This should have been a noble creature: he/ Hath all the energy which would have made/ A goodly frame of glorious elements,/ Had they been wisely mingled; as it is,/ It is an awful chaos-light and darkness-/ And mind and dust- and passions and pure thoughts,/ Mix'd, and contending without end or order,/ All dormant or destructive/ ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
805:Think'st thou there is no tyranny but that Of blood and chains? The despotism of vice-- The weakness and the wickedness of luxury-- The negligence--the apathy--the evils Of sensual sloth--produces ten thousand tyrants, Whose delegated cruelty surpasses The worst acts of one energetic master, However harsh and hard in his own bearing. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
806:Time and Nemesis will do that which I would not, were it in my power remote or immediate. You will smile at this piece of prophecy - do so, but recollect it: it is justified by all human experience. No one was ever even the involuntary cause of great evils to others, without a requital: I have paid and am paying for mine - so will you. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
807:Man is a carnivorous production, And must have meals, at least one meal a day; He cannot live, like woodcocks, upon suction, But, like the shark and tiger, must have prey; Although his anatomical construction Bears vegetables, in a grumbling way, Your laboring people think beyond all question, Beef, veal, and mutton better for digestion. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
808:For all we know that English people are/ Fed upon beef - I won't say much of beer/ Because 'tis liquor only, and being far/ From this my subject, has no business here;/ We know too, they are very fond of war,/ A pleasure - like all pleasures - rather dear;/ So were the Cretans - from which I infer/ That beef and battle both were owing her ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
809:There is a commonplace book argument,
Which glibly glides from every vulgar tongue
When any dare a new light to present:
'If you are right, then everybody's wrong.'
Suppose the converse of this precedent
So often urged, so loudly and so long:
'If you are wrong, then everybody's right.'
Was ever everybody yet so quite? ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
810:This was an easy matter with a man Oft in the wrong, and never on his guard; And even the wisest, do the best they can, Have moments, hours, and days, so unprepared, That you might 'brain them with their lady's fan;' And sometimes ladies hit exceeding hard, And fans turn into falchions in fair hands, And why and wherefore no one understands. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
811:Who knows whether, when a comet shall approach this globe to destroy it, as it often has been and will be destroyed, men will not tear rocks from their foundations by means of steam, and hurl mountains, as the giants are said to have done, against the flaming mass? - and then we shall have traditions of Titans again, and of wars with Heaven... ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
812:A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping, Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping In sight, then lost amidst the forestry Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy; A huge, dun cupola, like a fools-cap crown On a fool's head - and there is London Town. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
813:The mind which is immortal makes itself
Requital for its good or evil thoughts,
Is its own origin of ill and end,
And its own place and time; its innate sense,
When stripped of this mortality, derives
No colour from the fleeting things without,
But is absorb'd in sufferance or in joy,
Born from the knowledge of its own desert. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
814:But 'why then publish?' There are no rewards Of fame or profit when the world grows weary. I ask in turn why do you play at cards? Why drink? Why read? To make some hour less dreary. It occupies me to turn back regards On what I've seen or pondered, sad or cheery, And what I write I cast upon the stream To swim or sink. I have had at least my dream. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
815:What is the end of Fame? 'tis but to fill A certain portion of uncertain paper: Some liken it to climbing up a hill, Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour: For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their "midnight taper," To have, when the original is dust, A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
816:When Newton saw an apple fall, he found In that slight startle from his contemplation- 'Tis said (for I'll not answer above ground For any sage's creed or calculation)- A mode of proving that the earth turn'd round In a most natural whirl, called 'gravitation'; And this is the sole mortal who could grapple, Since Adam, with a fall, or with an apple. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
817:The mellow autumn came, and with it came The promised party, to enjoy its sweets. The corn is cut, the manor full of game; The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beats In russet jacket;--lynx-like is his aim; Full grows his bag, and wonderful his feats. An, nutbrown partridges! An, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
818:It would be difficult, perhaps, to find the annals of a nation less stained with crimes than those of the Armenians, whose virtues have been those of peace, and their vices those of compulsion. But whatever may have been their destiny and it has been bitter whatever it may be in future, their country must ever be one of the most interesting on the globe. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
819:The poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still the master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth, While man, vain insect hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
820:When people say, "I've told you fifty times," They mean to scold, and very often do; When poets say, "I've written fifty rhymes," They make you dread that they'll recite them too; In gangs of fifty, thieves commit their crimes; At fifty love for love is rare, 't is true, but then, no doubt, it equally as true is, a good deal may be bought for fifty Louis. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
821:This place is the Devil, or at least his principal residence, they call it the University, but any other appellation would have suited it much better, for study is the last pursuit of the society; the Master eats, drinks, and sleeps, the Fellows drink, dispute and pun, the employments of the undergraduates you will probably conjecture without my description. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
822:Sinjin was sitting bare-chested with Petra’s blue feather boa wrapped around his neck and draped over his shoulder. His long dark curls had been teased and sprayed into a sexy mane. Heavy black eyeliner rimmed his eyes. “Am I not gorgeous? I want to snog myself. I’m like a postmodern Lord Byron.” “You put the ironic in Byronic,” Petra quipped. “Well said, luv. ~ Libba Bray, #NFDB
823:I could not tame my nature down; for he
Must serve who fain would sway -- and soothe -- and sue --
And watch all time -- and pry into all place --
And be a living lie -- who would become
A mighty thing amongst the mean, and such
The mass are; I disdained to mingle with
A herd, though to be leader -- and of wolves.
The lion is alone, and so am I. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
824:Here lies interred in the eternity of the past, from whence there is no resurrection for the days - whatever there may be for the dust - the thirty-third year of an ill-spent life, which, after a lingering disease of many months sank into a lethargy, and expired, January 22d, 1821, A.D. leaving a successor inconsolable for the very loss which occasioned its existence. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
825:The mellow autumn came, and with it came
The promised party, to enjoy its sweets.
The corn is cut, the manor full of game;
The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beats
In russet jacket;—lynx-like is his aim;
Full grows his bag, and wonderful his feats.
Ah, nutbrown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants!
And ah, ye poachers!—'Tis no sport for peasants. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
826:Tis strange - but true; for truth is always strange;
Stranger than fiction; if it could be told,
How much would novels gain by the exchange!
How differently the world would men behold!
How oft would vice and virtue places change!
The new world would be nothing to the old,
If some Columbus of the moral seas
Would show mankind their souls' antipodes. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
827:But 'why then publish?' There are no rewards
Of fame or profit when the world grows weary.
I ask in turn why do you play at cards?
Why drink? Why read? To make some hour less dreary.
It occupies me to turn back regards
On what I've seen or pondered, sad or cheery,
And what I write I cast upon the stream
To swim or sink. I have had at least my dream. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
828:He knew himself a villain—but he deem'd
The rest no better than the thing he seem'd;
And scorn'd the best as hypocrites who hid
Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did.
He knew himself detested, but he knew
The hearts that loath'd him, crouch'd and dreaded too.
Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt
From all affection and from all contempt ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
829:And the small ripple spilt upon the beach Scarcely o'erpass'd the cream of your champagne, When o'er the brim the sparkling bumpers reach, That spring-dew of the spirit! the heart's rain! Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach Who please,—the more because they preach in vain,— Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda-water the day after. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
830:He thought about himself, and the whole Earth,
Of Man the wonderful, and of the Stars,
And how the deuce they ever could have birth;
And then he thought of Earthquakes, and of Wars,
How many miles the Moon might have in girth,
Of Air-balloons, and of the many bars
To perfect Knowledge of the boundless Skies;
And then he thought of Donna Julia's eyes. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
831:When people say, "I've told you fifty times," / They mean to scold, and very often do; / When poets say, "I've written fifty rhymes," / They make you dread that they 'II recite them too;
In gangs of fifty, thieves commit their crimes; / At fifty love for love is rare, 't is true, / But then, no doubt, it equally as true is, / A good deal may be bought for fifty Louis. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
832:But I being fond of true philosophy,
Say very often to myself, 'Alas!
All things that have been born were born to die,
And flesh (which Death mows down to hay) is grass;
You've pass'd your youth not so unpleasantly,
And if you had it o'er again—'t would pass—
So thank your stars that matters are no worse,
And read your Bible, sir, and mind your purse. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
833:Between two worlds life hovers like a star,
'Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.
How little do we know that which we are!
How less what we may be! The eternal surge
Of time and tide rolls on, and bears afar
Our bubbles; as the old burst, new emerge,
Lash'd from the foam of ages; while the graves
Of Empires heave but like some passing waves. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
834:CREATED by an eighteen-year-old girl during the freakishly cold, rainy summer of 1816 while on holiday in Switzerland with her married lover, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and two other writers, the poet Lord Byron and John Polidori, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein would become the foundational work for two important new genres of literature—horror and science fiction. ~ Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, #NFDB
835:Are we aware of our obligations to a mob? It is the mob that labor in your fields and serve in your houses - that man your navy, and recruit your army - that have enabled you to defy the world, and can also defy you when neglect and calamity have driven them to despair. You may call the people a mob; but do not forget that a mob too often speaks the sentiments of the people. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
836:So we'll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart still be as loving, And the moon still be as bright. For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul outwears the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest. Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a-roving By the light of the moon. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
837:When a man hath no freedom to fight for at home,
Let him combat for that of his neighbours;
Let him think of the glories of Greece and of Rome,
And get knocked on the head for his labours.
To do good to Mankind is the chivalrous plan,
And is always as nobly requited;
Then battle fro Freedom wherever you can,
And, if not shot or hanged, you'll get knighted. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
838:When we have made our love and gamed our gaming, Drest, voted, shone, and maybe something more; With dandies dined, heard senators declaiming, Seen beauties brought to market by the score, Sad rakes to sadder husbands chastely taming, There’s little left but to be bored or bore. Witness those ci-devant jeunes hommes who stem The stream, nor leave the world which leaveth them. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
839:As to Don Juan, confess that it is the sublime of that there sort of writing; it may be bawdy, but is it not good English? It may be profligate, but is it not life, is it not the thing? Could any man have written it who has not lived in the world? and tooled in a post-chaise? in a hackney coach? in a Gondola? against a wall? in a court carriage? in a vis a vis? on a table? and under it? ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
840:There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men. A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell. But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
841:I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs; A palace and a prison on each hand; I saw from out the wave of her structure's rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand: A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble pines, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
842:They say that Hope is happiness But genuine Love must prize the past; And Mem'ry wakes the thoughts that bless: They rose first -- they set the last. And all that mem'ry loves the most Was once our only hope to be: And all that hope adored and lost Hath melted into memory. Alas! It is delusion all-- The future cheats us from afar: Nor can we be what we recall, Nor dare we think on what we are. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
843: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,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
844:When people say, 'I've told you fifty times,' They mean to scold, and very often do; When poets say, 'I've written fifty rhymes,' They make you dread that they 'll recite them too; In gangs of fifty, thieves commit their crimes; At fifty love for love is rare, 't is true, But then, no doubt, it equally as true is, A good deal may be bought for fifty Louis. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
845:And thus they plod in sluggish misery,
Rotting from sire to son, and age to age,
Proud of their trampled nature, and so die,
Bequeathing their hereditary rage
To the new race of inborn slaves, who wage
War for their chains, and rather than be free,
Bleed gladiator-like, and still engage
Within the same arena where they see
Their fellows fall before, like leaves of the same tree. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
846:I really cannot know whether I am or am not the Genius you are pleased to call me, but I am very willing to put up with the mistake, if it be one. It is a title dearly enough bought by most men, to render it endurable, even when not quite clearly made out, which it never can be till the Posterity, whose decisions are merely dreams to ourselves, has sanctioned or denied it, while it can touch us no further. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
847:You talked about Nietzsche and his tertiary syphilis. Mozart and his uremia. Paul Klee and the scleroderma that shrank his joints and muscles to death. Frida Kahlo and the spina bifida that covered her legs with bleeding sores. Lord Byron and his clubfoot. The Brontë sisters and their tuberculosis. Mark Rothko and his suicide. Flannery O'Connor and her lupus. Inspiration needs disease, injury, madness. ~ Chuck Palahniuk, #NFDB
848:There are two Italies.... The one is the most sublime and lovely contemplation that can be conceived by the imagination of man; the other is the most degraded, disgusting, and odious. What do you think? Young women of rank actually eat - you will never guess what - garlick! Our poor friend Lord Byron is quite corrupted by living among these people, and in fact, is going on in a way not worthy of him. ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, #NFDB
849:But words are things, and a small drop of ink,
Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think;
’T is strange, the shortest letter which man uses
Instead of speech, may form a lasting link
Of ages; to what straits old Time reduces
Frail man, when paper — even a rag like this,
Survives himself, his tomb, and all that’s his. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
850:I have not loved the world, nor the world me, but let us part fair foes; I do believe, though I have found them not, that there may be words which are things, hopes which will not deceive, and virtues which are merciful, or weave snares for the failing: I would also deem o'er others' griefs that some sincerely grieve; that two, or one, are almost what they seem, that goodness is no name, and happiness no dream. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
851:It is by far the most elegant worship, hardly excepting the Greek mythology. What with incense, pictures, statues, altars, shrines, relics, and the real presence, confession, absolution, - there is something sensible to grasp at. Besides, it leaves no possibility of doubt; for those who swallow their Deity, really and truly, in transubstantiation, can hardly find any thing else otherwise than easy of digestion. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
852:Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!
If in your bright leaves we would read the fate
Of men and empires,-'tis to be forgiven,
That in our aspirations to be great,
Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state,
And claim a kindred with you; for ye are
A beauty and a mystery, and create
In us such love and reverence from afar,
That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
853:I have simplified my politics into an utter detestation of all existing governments; and, as it is the shortest and most agreeable and summary feeling imaginable, the first moment of an universal republic would convert me into an advocate for single and uncontradicted despotism. The fact is, riches are power, and poverty is slavery all over the earth, and one sort of establishment is no better, nor worse, for a people than another. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
854: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. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
855:They say that Hope is happiness
But genuine Love must prize the past;
And Mem'ry wakes the thoughts that bless:
They rose first -- they set the last.
And all that mem'ry loves the most
Was once our only hope to be:
And all that hope adored and lost
Hath melted into memory.
Alas! It is delusion all--
The future cheats us from afar:
Nor can we be what we recall,
Nor dare we think on what we are. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
856:The causes that have made me wretched would probably not have discomposed, or, at least, more than discomposed, another. We are all differently organized; and that I feel acutely is no more my fault (though it is my misfortune) than that another feels not, is his. We did not make ourselves, and if the elements of unhappiness abound more in the nature of one man than another, he is but the more entitled to our pity and our forbearance. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
857:Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire, A million scarce would quench desire; Still would I steep my lips in bliss, And dwell an age on every kiss; Nor then my soul should sated be, Still would I kiss and cling to thee: Nought should my kiss from thine dissever, Still would we kiss and kiss for ever; E'en though the numbers did exceed The yellow harvest's countless seed; To part would be a vain endeavour: Could I desist? -ah! never-never. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
858:But first, on earth as vampire sent, Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent, Then ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race. There from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life, Yet loathe the banquet which perforce Must feed thy livid living corse. Thy victims ere they yet expire Shall know the demon for their sire, As cursing thee, thou cursing them, Thy flowers are withered on the stem. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
859:O thou beautiful And unimaginable ether! and Ye multiplying masses of increased And still increasing lights! what are ye? what Is this blue wilderness of interminable Air, where ye roll along, as I have seen The leaves along the limpid streams of Eden? Is your course measur'd for ye? Or do ye Sweep on in your unbounded revelry Through an aerial universe of endless Expansion,--at which my soul aches to think,-- Intoxicated with eternity. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
860:You don't love a woman because she is beautiful, but she is beautiful because you love her. Never underestimate the power of love. The way to love anything is to realize it may be lost. The heart has its reasons that reason does not know at all. Music is love in search of a word. There is 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. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
861: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. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
862: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. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
863:We'll Go No More A-roving
So, we'll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart still be as loving,
And the moon still be as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
864:There is an order
Of mortals on the earth, who do become
Old in their youth, and die ere middle age,
Without the violence of warlike death;
Some perishing of pleasure, some of study,
Some worn with toil, some of mere weariness,
Some of disease, and some insanity,
And some of wither’d or of broken hearts;
For this last is a malady which slays
More than are number’d in the lists of Fate,
Taking all shapes and bearing many names. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
865: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. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
866:I become a transparent eyeball,” wrote Ralph Waldo Emerson in “Nature.” “I am nothing; I see all.” Lord Byron called it “the feeling infinite”; Jack Kerouac, in Desolation Angels, “the one mind of infinity.” The French Catholic priest Charles de Foucauld, who spent fifteen years living in the Sahara Desert, said that in solitude “one empties completely the small house of one’s soul.” Merton wrote that “the true solitary does not seek himself, but loses himself.” This ~ Michael Finkel, #NFDB
867:But first, on earth as vampire sent,
Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent,
Then ghastly haunt thy native place,
And suck the blood of all thy race.
There from thy daughter, sister, wife,
At midnight drain the stream of life,
Yet loathe the banquet which perforce
Must feed thy livid living corse.
Thy victims ere they yet expire
Shall know the demon for their sire,
As cursing thee, thou cursing them,
Thy flowers are withered on the stem. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
868:A Pig's-Eye View Of Literature
The Lives and Times of John Keats,
Percy Bysshe Shelley, and
George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron
Byron and Shelley and Keats
Were a trio of Lyrical treats.
The forehead of Shelley was cluttered with curls,
And Keats never was a descendant of earls,
And Byron walked out with a number of girls,
But it didn't impair the poetical feats
Of Byron and Shelley,
Of Byron and Shelley,
Of Byron and Shelley and Keats.
~ Dorothy Parker,#NFDB
869:Tragedy of childhood. Not infrequently, noble-minded and ambitious men have to endure their harshest struggle in childhood, perhaps by having to assert their characters against a low-minded father, who is devoted to pretense and mendacity, or by living, like Lord Byron, in continual struggle with a childish and wrathful mother. If one has experienced such struggles, for the rest of his life he will never get over knowing who has been in reality his greatest and most dangerous enemy. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche, #NFDB
870:Sublime tobacco! which from east to west, Cheers the tar's labour or the Turkman's rest; Which on the Moslem's ottoman divides His hours, and rivals opium and his brides; Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand, Though not less loved, in Wapping or the Strand: Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe, When tipp'd with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe; Like other charmers wooing the caress, More dazzlingly when daring in full dress; Yet thy true lovers more admire by far Thy naked beauties Give me a cigar! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
871:Too high for common selfishness , he could
At times resign his own for others' good,
But not in pity - not because he ought,
But in some strange perversity of thought,
That swayed him onward with a secred pride
To do what few or none could do beside;
And this same impulse would, in tempting time,
Mislead his spirit equally to crime;
So much he soared beyond, or sank beneath,
The men with whom he felt condemned to breathe
And longed by good or ill to seperate
Himself from all who shared his mortal fate. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
872:The day drags through though storms keep out the sun;
And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on:
Even as a broken mirror, which the glass
In every fragment multiplies; and makes
A thousand images of one that was,
The same, and still the more, the more it breaks;
And thus the heart will do which not forsakes,
Living in shattered guise, and still, and cold,
And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches,
Yet withers on till all without is old,
Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
873:Pray tell me, can you make fast,
After due search, your faith to any question?
Look back o'er ages, ere unto the stake fast
You bind yourself, and call some mode the best one.
Nothing more true than not to trust your senses;
And yet what are your other evidences?
For me, I know nought; nothing I deny,
Admit, reject, contemn; and what know you,
Except perhaps that you were born to die?
And both may after all turn out untrue.
An age may come, Font of Eternity,
When nothing shall be either old or new. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
874:She was like me in lineaments-- her eyes Her hair, her features, all, to the very tone Even of her voice, they said were like to mine; But soften'd all, and temper'd into beauty; She had the same lone thoughts and wanderings, The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mind To comprehend the universe: nor these Alone, but with them gentler powers than mine, Pity, and smiles, and tears-- which I had not; And tenderness-- but that I had for her; Humility-- and that I never had. Her faults were mine-- her virtues were her own-- I loved her, and destroy'd her! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
875:I am, as far as I can tell, about a month behind Lord Byron. In every town we stop at we discover innkeepers, postillions, officials, burghers, potboys, and all kinds and sorts of ladies whose brains still seem somewhat deranged from their brief exposure to his lordship. And though my companions are careful to tell people that I am that dreadful being, an English magician, I am clearly nothing in comparison to an English poet and everywhere I go I enjoy the reputation- quite new to me, I assure you- of the quiet, good Englishman, who makes no noise and is no trouble to any one... ~ Susanna Clarke, #NFDB
876:She was like me in lineaments-- her eyes
Her hair, her features, all, to the very tone
Even of her voice, they said were like to mine;
But soften'd all, and temper'd into beauty;
She had the same lone thoughts and wanderings,
The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mind
To comprehend the universe: nor these
Alone, but with them gentler powers than mine,
Pity, and smiles, and tears-- which I had not;
And tenderness-- but that I had for her;
Humility-- and that I never had.
Her faults were mine-- her virtues were her own--
I loved her, and destroy'd her! ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
877:I have not written for their pleasure... I have never flattered their opinions, nor their pride; nor will I. Neither will I make "Ladies' books" al dilettar le femine e la plebe. I have written from the fulness of my mind, from passion, from impulse, from many sweet motives, but not for their "sweet voices."
I know the precise worth of popular applause, for few scribblers have had more of it; and if I chose to swerve into their paths, I could retain it, or resume it. But I neither love ye, nor fear ye; and though I buy with ye and sell with ye, I will neither eat with ye, drink with ye, nor pray with ye. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
878:Tis long since I beheld that eye
Which gave me bliss or misery;
And I have striven, but in vain,
Never to think of it again:
For though I fly from Albion,
I still can only love but one.
As some lone bird, without a mate,
My weary heart is desolate;
I look around, and cannot trace
One friendly smile or welcome face,
And ev'n in crowds am still alone,
Because I cannot love but one.
And I will cross the whitening foam,
And I will seek a foreign home;
Till I forget a false fair face,
I ne'er shall find a resting-place;
My own dark thoughts I cannot shun,
But ever love, and love but one. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
879:She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all
A heart whose love is innocent! ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
880:They accuse me--Me--the present writer of
The present poem--of--I know not what,--
A tendency to under-rate and scoff
At human power and virtue, and all that;
And this they say in language rather rough.
Good God! I wonder what they would be at!
I say no more than has been said in Dante's
Verse, and by Solomon and by Cervantes;
By Swift, by Machiavel, by Rochefoucault;
By Fenelon, by Luther and by Plato;
By Tillotson, and Wesley, and Rousseau,
Who knew this life was not worth a potato.
'Tis not their fault, nor mine, if this be so--
For my part, I pretend not to be Cato,
Nor even Diogenes.--We live and die,
But which is best, you know no more than I. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
881:She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent! ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
882:Can it be, thought I, that my sole mission on earth is to destroy the hopes of others? Ever since I began to live and act, fate has somehow associated me with the last act of other people's tragedies, as if without me no one could either die or give way to despair! I have been the inevitable character who comes in at the final act, involuntarily playing the detestable role of the hangman or the traitor. What has been fate's object in all this? Has it destined me to be the author of middle-class tragedies and family romances--or a purveyor of tales for, say, the Reader's Library? Who knows? Are there not many who begin life by aspiring to end it like Alexander the Great, or Lord Byron, and yet remain petty civil servants all their lives? ~ Mikhail Lermontov, #NFDB
883:T is sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels,
By blood or ink; 't is sweet to put an end
To strife; 't is sometimes sweet to have our quarrels,
Particularly with a tiresome friend:
Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels;
Dear is the helpless creature we defend
Against the world; and dear the schoolboy spot
We ne'er forget, though there we are forgot.
But sweeter still than this, than these, than all,
Is first and passionate Love—it stands alone,
Like Adam's recollection of his fall;
The Tree of Knowledge has been plucked—all 's known—
And Life yields nothing further to recall
Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown,
No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven
Fire which Prometheus filched for us from Heaven. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
884:Nothing so difficult as a beginning
In poesy, unless perhaps the end;
For oftentimes when Pegasus seems winning
The race, he sprains a wing, and down we tend,
Like Lucifer when hurled from Heaven for sinning;
Our sin the same, and hard as his to mend,
Being Pride, which leads the mind to soar too far,
Till our own weakness shows us what we are.
But Time, which brings all beings to their level,
And sharp Adversity, will teach at last
Man,—and, as we would hope,—perhaps the Devil,
That neither of their intellects are vast:
While Youth's hot wishes in our red veins revel,
We know not this—the blood flows on too fast;
But as the torrent widens towards the Ocean,
We ponder deeply on each past emotion. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
885:The kiss, dear maid ! thy lip has left
Shall never part from mine,
Till happier hours restore the gift
Untainted back to thine.
Thy parting glance, which fondly beams,
An equal love may see:
The tear that from thine eyelid streams
Can weep no change in me.
I ask no pledge to make me blest
In gazing when alone;
Nor one memorial for a breast,
Whose thoughts are all thine own.
Nor need I write --- to tell the tale
My pen were doubly weak:
Oh ! what can idle words avail,
Unless the heart could speak ?
By day or night, in weal or woe,
That heart, no longer free,
Must bear the love it cannot show,
And silent ache for thee. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
886:You said how Michelangelo was a manic-depressive who portrayed himself as a flayed martyr in his painting. Henri Matisse gave up being a lawyer because of appendicitis. Robert Schumann only began composing after his right hand became paralyzed and ended his career as a concert pianist. (...) You talked about Nietzsche and his tertiary syphilis. Mozart and his uremia. Paul Klee and the scleroderma that shrank his joints and muscles to death. Frida Kahlo and the spina bifida that covered her legs with bleeding sores. Lord Byron and his clubfoot. The Bronte sisters and their tuberculosis. Mark Rothko and his suicide. Flannery O’Connor and her lupus. Inspiration needs disease, injury, madness.
“According to Thomas Mann,” Peter said, “‘Great artists are great invalids. ~ Chuck Palahniuk,#NFDB
887:I wasn’t sure whether he was a grad student, poet, actor, stripper, or brilliant combination of all those things. But the man knew Lord Byron, and he knew words. He knew the rise and fall of sentences, the way to pause, the moment to look up, catch our gazes, smile. He knew emphasis and speed, pacing and clarity. He was a prince of poetry, and he had us mesmerized.
Champagne was uncorked and dunked into gleaming silver chalices of ice, then poured into tall, thin glasses while we listened, legs crossed and perched forward in our chairs.
“Is it better if we’re objectifying his body and his brain?” Margot asked, lifting the thin straw in her gin and tonic for a sip.
“I don’t much care,” Mallory said. “He gives good word.”
I couldn’t have put it better myself. ~ Chloe Neill,#NFDB
888:But suppose it past,—suppose one of these men, as I have seen them meagre with famine, sullen with despair, careless of a life which your lordships are perhaps about to value at something less than the price of a stocking-frame ; suppose this man surrounded by those children for whom he is unable to procure bread at the hazard of his existence, about to be torn for ever from a family which he lately supported in peaceful industry, and which it is not his fault than he can no longer so support; suppose this man—and there are ten thousand such from whom you may select your victims,—dragged into court to be tried for this new offence, by this new law,—still there are two things wanting to convict and condemn him, and these are, in my opinion, twelve butchers for a jury, and a Jefferies for a judge! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
889:8.
"For who would trust the seeming sighs
Of wife or paramour?
Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes
We late saw streaming o'er.
For pleasures past I do not grieve,
Nor perils gathering near;
My greatest grief is that I leave
No thing that claims a tear.
9.
"And now I'm in the world alone,
Upon the wide, wide sea:
But why should I for others groan,
When none will sigh for me?
Perchance my dog will whine in vain,
Till fed by stranger hands;
But long ere I come back again,
He'd tear me where he stands.
10.
"With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go
Athwart the foaming brine;
Nor care what land thou bear'st me to,
So not again to mine.
Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves!
And when you fail my sight,
Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves!
My native Land — Good Night! ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
890:When We Two Parted
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. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
891:Smoke was a person with a sense of history. Do you know what I mean?" ...in truth, I DID know what she meant. Da Vinci, Martin Luther King, Jr., Genghis Kahn, Abraham Lincoln, Bette Davis - if you read their definitive biographies, you learned even when they were a month old, cooing in some wobbly crib in the middle of nowhere, they already had something historic about them. The way other kids had baseball, long division, Hot Wheels, and hula hoops, these kids had History and thus tended to be prone to colds, unpopular, sometimes plagued with a physical deformity (Lord Byron's clubfoot, Maugham's severe stutter, for example), which pushed them into exile in their heads. It was there they began to dream of human anatomy, civil rights, conquering Asia, a lost speech and being (within a span of four years) a jezebel, a marked woman, a little fox and an old maid. ~ Marisha Pessl, #NFDB
892:In those days, even in European countries, death had a solemn social importance. It was not regarded as a moment when certain bodily organs ceased to function, but as a dramatic climax, a moment when the soul made its entrance into the next world, passing in full consciousness through a lowly door to an unimaginable scene. Among the watchers there was always the hope that the dying man might reveal something of what he alone could see; that his countenance, if not his lips, would speak, and on his features would fall some light or shadow from beyond. The “Last Words” of great men, Napoleon, Lord Byron, were still printed in gift-books, and the dying murmurs of every common man and woman were listened for and treasured by their neighbors and kinsfolk. These sayings, no matter how unimportant, were given oracular significance and pondered by those who must one day go the same road. ~ Willa Cather, #NFDB
893:In those days, even in European countries, death had a solemn social importance. It was not regarded as a moment when certain bodily organs ceased to function, but as a dramatic climax, a moment when the soul made its entrance into the next world, passing in full consciousness through a lowly door to an unimaginable scene. Among the watchers there was always the hope that the dying man might reveal something of what he alone could see; that his countenance, if not his lips, would speak, and on his features would fall some great light or shadow from beyond. The “Last Words” of great men, Napoleon, Lord Byron, were still printed in gift-books, and the dying murmurs of every common man or woman were listened for and treasured by their neighbours and kinsfolk. These sayings, no matter how unimportant, were given oracular significance and pondered by those who must one day go the same road. ~ Willa Cather, #NFDB
894:…the rising movement of romanticism, with its characteristic idealism, one that tended toward a black-and-white view of the world based on those ideas, preferred for different reasons that women remain untinged by “masculine” traits of learning. Famous romantic writers such as Lord Byron, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and William Hazlitt criticized the bluestockings. …and Hazlitt declared his 'utter aversion to Bluestockingism … I do not care a fig for any woman that knows even what an author means.' Because of the tremendous influence that romanticism gained over the cultural mind-set, the term bluestocking came to be a derogatory term applied to learned, pedantic women, particularly conservative ones. ... Furthermore, learned women did not fit in with the romantic notion of a damsel in distress waiting to be rescued by a knight in shining armor any more than they fit in with the antirevolutionary fear of progress. ~ Karen Swallow Prior, #NFDB
895:Ovde sam veoma srećan jer volim pomorandže i govorim loš latinski s fratrima koji ga razumeju pošto je i njihov takav, i odlazim u društva (s mojim džepnim pištoljima), i preplivavam reku Tažuu jednom mahu, i jašem na magarcu ili mazgi, i psujem na portugalskom, i imam proliv, i komarci su me izujedali. Ali šta to mari ? Ljudi koji krenu na put iz zadovoljstva ne treba da očekuju udobnost.
Kad su Portugalci drski, ja uzviknem carracho! – tu krupnu psovku velike gospode koja zamenjuje naše “prokletstvo”, a kad mi sused nije po volji kažem za njega da je ambra di mierdo. Sa ta dva izraza, i trećim, avra bouro, što znači “nabavi mi magarca”, svi shvataju da sam otmen gospodin i da znam strane jezike. Kako mi putnici veselo živimo! Kad bismo samo imali hrane i džebane! Ali, ozbiljno i tužno, sve je bolje od Engleske, i ja sam se do sada izvanredno zabavljao na ovom putešestviju.
Bajron Frensisu Hodžsonu, Lisabon, 16. Juli 1809. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
896:No one embodied the spirit of the frontier more than Daniel Boone, who faced and defeated countless natural and man-made dangers to literally hand cut the trail west through the wilderness. He marched with then colonel George Washington in the French and Indian War, established one of the most important trading posts in the West, served three terms in the Virginia Assembly, and fought in the Revolution. His exploits made him world famous; he served as the model for James Fenimore Cooper’s Leatherstocking Tales and numerous other pioneer stories. He was so well known and respected that even Lord Byron, in his epic poem Don Juan, wrote, “Of the great names which in our faces stare, The General Boon, back-woodsman of Kentucky, Was happiest amongst mortals anywhere …” And yet he was accused of treason—betraying his country—the most foul of all crimes at the time. What really happened to bring him to that courtroom? And was the verdict reached there correct? ~ Bill O Reilly, #NFDB
897:Have you ever plunged into the immensity of space and time by reading the geological treatises of Cuvier? Borne away on the wings of his genius, have you hovered over the illimitable abyss of the past as if a magician's hand were holding you aloft? As one penetrates from seam to seam, from stratum to stratum and discovers, under the quarries of Montmartre or in the schists of the Urals, those animals whose fossilized remains belong to antediluvian civilizations, the mind is startled to catch a vista of the milliards of years and the millions of peoples which the feeble memory of man and an indestructible divine tradition have forgotten and whose ashes heaped on the surface of our globe, form the two feet of earth which furnish us with bread and flowers. Is not Cuvier the greatest poet of our century? Certainly Lord Byron has expressed in words some aspects of spiritual turmoil; but our immortal natural historian has reconstructed worlds from bleached bones. ~ Honor de Balzac, #NFDB
898:Reality is a very subjective affair. I can only define it as a kind of gradual accumulation of information; and as specialization. If we take a lily, for instance, or any other kind of natural object, a lily is more real to a naturalist than it is to an ordinary person. But it is still more real to a botanist. And yet another stage of reality is reached with that botanist who is a specialist in lilies. You can get nearer and nearer, so to speak, to reality; but you never get near enough because reality is an infinite succession of steps, levels of perception, false bottoms, and hence unquenchable, unattainable. You can know more and more about one thing but you can never know everything about one thing: it’s hopeless. So that we live surrounded by more or less ghostly objects— that machine, there, for instance. It’s a complete ghost to me— I don’t understand a thing about it and, well, it’s a mystery to me, as much of a mystery as it would be to Lord Byron. ~ Vladimir Nabokov, #NFDB
899:XXII. By those, that deepest feel, is ill exprest The indistinctness of the suffering breast; Where thousand thoughts begin to end in one, 1810 Which seeks from all the refuge found in none; No words suffice the secret soul to show, For Truth denies all eloquence to Woe. On Conrad’s stricken soul Exhaustion prest, And Stupor almost lulled it into rest; So feeble now — his mother’s softness crept To those wild eyes, which like an infant’s wept: It was the very weakness of his brain, Which thus confessed without relieving pain. None saw his trickling tears — perchance, if seen, 1820 That useless flood of grief had never been: Nor long they flowed — he dried them to depart, In helpless — hopeless — brokenness of heart: The Sun goes forth, but Conrad’s day is dim: And the night cometh — ne’er to pass from him. There is no darkness like the cloud of mind, On Grief’s vain eye — the blindest of the blind! Which may not — dare not see — but turns aside To blackest shade — nor will endure a guide! ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
900:You are 'the best of cut-throats:'--do not start;
The phrase is Shakespeare's, and not misapplied:--
War's a brain-spattering, windpipe-slitting art,
Unless her cause by Right be sanctified.
If you have acted once a generous part,
The World, not the World's masters, will decide,
And I shall be delighted to learn who,
Save you and yours, have gained by Waterloo?
I am no flatterer--you've supped full of flattery:
They say you like it too--'tis no great wonder:
He whose whole life has been assault and battery,
At last may get a little tired of thunder;
And swallowing eulogy much more than satire, he
May like being praised for every lucky blunder;
Called 'Saviour of the Nations'--not yet saved,
And Europe's Liberator--still enslaved.
I've done. Now go and dine from off the plate
Presented by the Prince of the Brazils,
And send the sentinel before your gate
A slice or two from your luxurious meals:
He fought, but has not fed so well of late... ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
901:Our life is twofold; Sleep hath its own world, a boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence. Sleep hath its own world, and a wide realm of wild reality; and dreams in their development have breath, and tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy. They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, they take a weight off our waking toils. They do divide our being; they become a portion of ourselves as of our time, and look like heralds of eternity. They pass like spirits of the past—they speak like sibyls of the future; they have power— the tyranny of pleasure and of pain. They make us what we were not—what they will, and shake us with the vision that’s gone by, the dread of vanished shadows—Are they so? Is not the past all shadow?—What are they? Creations of the mind?—The mind can make substances, and people planets of their own, with beings brighter than have been, and give a breath to forms which can outlive all flesh. I would recall a vision which I dreamed, perchance in sleep—for in itself a thought, a slumbering thought, is capable of years, and curdles a long life into one hour. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
902:My Dearest Theresa,
I have read this book in your garden, my love, you were absent, or else I could not have read it. It is a favourite book of mine. You will not understand these English words, and others will not understand them, which is the reason I have not scrawled them in Italian. But you will recognize the handwriting of him who passionately loved you, and you will divine that, over a book that was yours, he could only think of love.
In that word, beautiful in all languages, but most so in yours, Amor mio, is comprised my existence here and thereafter. I feel I exist here, and I feel that I shall exist hereafter – to what purpose you will decide; my destiny rests with you, and you are a woman, eighteen years of age, and two out of a convent, I wish you had stayed there, with all my heart, or at least, that I had never met you in your married state.
But all this is too late. I love you, and you love me, at least, you say so, and act as if you did so, which last is a great consolation in all events. But I more than love you, and cannot cease to love you. Think of me, sometimes, when the Alps and ocean divide us, but they never will, unless you wish it. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
903:Abhed, my father had called heredity-"indivisible." There is an old trope in popular culture of the "crazy genius," a mind split between madness and brilliance, oscillating between the two states at the throw of a single switch. But Rajesh had no switch. There was no split or oscillation, no pendulum. The magic and the mania were perfectly contiguous-bordering kingdoms with no passports. They were part of the same whole, indivisible.
"We of the craft are all crazy," Lord Byron, the high priest of crazies, wrote. "Some are affected by gaiety, others by melancholy, but all are more or less touched." Versions of this story have been tool, over and over, with bipolar disease, with some variants of schizophrenia, and with rare cases of autism; all are "more or less touched." It is tempting to romanticize psychotic illness, so let me emphasize that the men and women with these mental disorders experience paralyzing cognitive, social, and psychological disturbances that send gashes of devastation through their lives. But also indubitably, some patients with these syndromes possess exceptional and unusual abilities. The effervescence of bipolar disease has long been linked to extraordinary creativity; at times, the heightened creative impulse is manifest during the throes of mania. ~ Siddhartha Mukherjee,#NFDB
904:Odlazim u inostranstvo; ako bude mogućno krenuću u proleće, ali pre polaska skupljam slike svojih najboljih školskih drugova; imam ih već nekoliko i treba mi još tvoja, inače će moja zbirka biti nepotpuna. Uzeo sam jednog od prvih slikara minijaturista našeg vremena da ih uradi, naravno o mom trošku pošto nikad ne dopuštam da moji poznanici budu izloženi ma i najmanjem izdatku radi zadovoljavanja nekih mojih ćudi. Može ti se učiniti nedelikatno što sam ovo pomenuo, ali kad ti kažem da je jedan naš zajednički prijatelj najpre odbio da pozira za portret verujući da će morati da plati iz svog džepa, uvidećeš da je nužno reći to odmah kako bi se izbegle druge slične greške. Videćemo se blagovremeno i ja ću te odvesti slikaru. Tvoje strpljenje će biti stavljeno na probu nedelju dana, ali molim te oprosti jer je mogućno da će ta slika biti jedino što će mi ostati od našeg negdašnjeg poznanstva i prijateljstva. Sad u ovom trenutku, to može izgledati neozbiljno, ali za nekoliko godina, kad neki od nas već budu mrtvi, a drugi rastavljeni neumitnim okolnostima, za nas će predstavljati izvesno zadovoljstvo to što ćemo u tim slikama živih sačuvati neku predstavu o sebi samima i što ćemo u slikama umrilh videti sve što je ostalo od rasuđivanja, osećanja i svakojakih strasti.
Bajron - pismo Vilijemu Harnesu, marta 1809. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
905:On Reading The Controversy Between Lord Byron And
Mr Bowles
WHETHER a ship's poetic? -- Bowles would own,
If here he dwelt, where Nature is prosaic,
Unpicturesque, unmusical, and where
Nature-reflecting Art is not yet born; -A land without antiquities, with one,
And only one, poor spot of classic ground,
(That on which Cook first landed) -- where, instead
Of heart-communings with ancestral relicks,
Which purge the pride while they exalt the mind,
We've nothing left us but anticipation,
Better (I grant) than utter selfishness,
Yet too o'erweening -- too American;
Where's no past tense, the ign'rant present's all;
Or only great by the All hail, hereafter!
One foot of Future's glass should rest on Past;
Where Hist'ry is not, Prophecy is guess -If here he dwelt, Bowles (I repeat) would own
A ship's the only poetry we see.
For, first, she brings us "news of human kind,"
Of friends and kindred, whom perchance she held
As visitors, that she might be a link,
Connecting the fond fancy of far friendship,
A few short months before, and whom she may
In a few more, perhaps, receive again.
Next is a ship poetic, forasmuch
As in this spireless city and prophane,
She is to my home-wand'ring phantasy,
With her tall anch'ring masts, a three-spir'd minster,
Van-crown'd; her bell our only half-hour chimes.
Lastly, a ship is poetry to me,
Since piously I trust, in no long space,
Her wings will bear me from this prose-dull land.
~ Barron Field,#NFDB
906:Two aspects of thinking in particular are pronounced in both creative and hypomanic thought: fluency, rapidity, and flexibility of thought on the one hand, and the ability to combine ideas or categories of thought in order to form new and original connections on the other. The importance of rapid, fluid, and divergent thought in the creative process has been described by most psychologists and writers who have studied human imagination. The increase in the speed of thinking may exert its influence in different ways. Speed per se, that is, the quantity of thoughts and associations produced in a given period of time, may be enhanced. The increased quantity and speed of thoughts may exert an effect on the qualitative aspects of thought as well; that is, the sheer volume of thought can produce unique ideas and associations. Indeed, Sir Walter Scott, when discussing Byron's mind, commented: "The wheels of a machine to play rapidly must not fit with the utmost exactness else the attrition diminishes the Impetus." The quickness and fire of Byron's mind were not lost on others who knew him. One friend wrote: "The mind of Lord Byron was like a volcano, full of fire and wealth, sometimes calm, often dazzling and playful, but ever threatening. It ran swift as the lightning from one subject to another, and occasionally burst forth in passionate throes of intellect, nearly allied to madness." Byron's mistress, Teresa Guiccoli, noted: "New and striking thoughts followed from him in rapid succession, and the flame of genius lighted up as if winged with wildfire. ~ Kay Redfield Jamison, #NFDB
907:Near this Spot
are deposited the Remains of one
who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
and all the virtues of Man without his Vices.
This praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
if inscribed over human Ashes,
is but a just tribute to the Memory of
Boatswain, a Dog
who was born in Newfoundland May 1803
and died at Newstead Nov. 18th, 1808
When some proud Son of Man returns to Earth,
Unknown to Glory, but upheld by Birth,
The sculptor’s art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below.
When all is done, upon the Tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been.
But the poor Dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his Master’s own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonoured falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the Soul he held on earth –
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power –
Who knows thee well, must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy tongue hypocrisy, thy heart deceit!
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye, who behold perchance this simple urn,
Pass on – it honours none you wish to mourn.
To mark a friend’s remains these stones arise;
I never knew but one -- and here he lies. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
908:FILL THE GOBLET AGAIN A Song Fill the goblet again! for I never before Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its core; Let us drink! — who would not? — since, through life’s varied round, In the goblet alone no deception is found. I have tried in its turn all that life can supply; I have bask’d in the beam of a dark rolling eye; I have loved! — who has not? — but what heart can declare That pleasure existed while passion was there? In the days of my youth, when the heart’s in its spring, And dreams that affection can never take wing, I had friends! — who has not? — but what tongue will avow, That friends, rosy wine! are so faithful as thou? The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange, Friendship shifts with the sunbeam — thou never canst change; Thou grow’st old — who does not? — but on earth what appears, Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its years? Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow, Should a rival bow down to our idol below, We aree jealous! — who is not? — thou hast no such alloy; For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy. Then the season of youth and its vanities past, For refuge we fly to the goblet at last; There we find — do we not? — in the flow of the soul, That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl. When the box of Pandora was opened on earth, And Misery’s triumph commenced over Mirth, Hope was left, — was she not? — but the goblet we kiss, And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss. Long life to the grape! for when summer is flown, The age of our nectar shall gladden our own: We must die — who shall not? — May our sins be forgiven, And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven. ~ Lord Byron, #NFDB
909:Stanzas On The Death Of Lord Byron
He was, and is not! Graecia's trembling shore,
Sighing through all her palmy groves, shall tell
That Harold's pilgrimage at last is o'er—
Mute the impassioned tongue, and tuneful shell,
That erst was wont in noblest strains to swell—
Hush'd the proud shouts that rode Aegaea's wave!
For lo! the great Deliv'rer breathes farewell!
Gives to the world his mem'ry and a grave—
Expiring in the land he only lived to save!
Mourn, Hellas, mourn! and o'er thy widow'd brow,
For aye, the cypress wreath of sorrow twine;
And in thy new-form'd beauty, desolate, throw
The fresh-cull'd flowers on his sepulchral shrine.
Yes! let that heart whose fervour was all thine,
In consecrated urn lamented be!
That generous heart where genius thrill'd divine,
Hath spent its last most glorious throb for thee—
Then sank amid the storm that made thy children free!
Britannia's Poet! Graecia's hero, sleeps!
And Freedom, bending o'er the breathless clay,
Lifts up her voice, and in her anguish weeps!
For us, a night hath clouded o'er our day,
And hush'd the lips that breath'd our fairest lay.
Alas! and must the British lyre resound
A requiem, while the spirit wings away
Of him who on its strings such music found,
And taught its startling chords to give so sweet a sound!
The theme grows sadder — but my soul shall find
A language in those tears! No more — no more!
Soon, 'midst the shriekings of the tossing wind,
The 'dark blue depths' he sang of, shall have bore
Our all of Byron to his native shore!
His grave is thick with voices — to the ear
Murm'ring an awful tale of greatness o'er;
But Memory strives with Death, and lingering near,
Shall consecrate the dust of Harold's lonely bier!
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~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning,#NFDB
910:He was presented to her as Spencer Perceval, the Prime Minister of England. Kassandra stiffened as he bent over her hand. Mercifully, he released her swiftly but then proceeded to speak with exaggerated enunciation as though he presumed “foreign” and “slow” were synonymous.
“I do hope your stay will be pleasant, Your Highness.”
“Thank you, Prime Minister, I am quite assured that it will be. England is a delightful conjunction of seeming conflicts and contradictions, don’t you think?”
Perceval frowned, taken by surprise and unsure how to respond. “Well, as to that-“
“After all, the culture that has produced that astonishing novel Sense and Sensibility and Lord Byron’s…ummm…affecting work within the space of just a few short months can hardly be considered merely a self-aggrandizing island with delusions of empire, can it?”
“I suppose not; that is to say?”
“Do excuse us, Prime Minister,” Alex interjected smoothly. “I am sure you will understand there are so many waiting to meet Her Highness.”
As he guided her toward the next eager greeter, Alex murmured, “Pray do try to remember we are not actually attempting to incite war with England.”
Kassandra shrugged, feeling better since she had set down that vile Perceval. “Didn’t you suspect the Prime Minister of plotting an invasion of Akora just last year?”
Her brother cast her a sharp look. “You weren’t supposed to know about that.”
“For pity’s sake…”
“All right, yes I did, but he was soundly discouraged by the Prince Regent himself. There is no reason to have any further concern in that regard.”
Kassandra did not answer. She had her own thoughts on the subject and was not ye ready to share them.
The introductions continued. Too soon, her head throbbed and the small of her back ached, but she kept her smile firmly in place. When the gong sounded for dinner, she resisted the urge to sag with relief. ~ Josie Litton,#NFDB
911:He was presented to her as Spencer Perceval, the Prime Minister of England. Kassandra stiffened as he bent over her hand. Mercifully, he released her swiftly but then proceeded to speak with exaggerated enunciation as though he presumed “foreign” and “slow” were synonymous.
“I do hope your stay will be pleasant, Your Highness.”
“Thank you, Prime Minister, I am quite assured that it will be. England is a delightful conjunction of seeming conflicts and contradictions, don’t you think?”
Perceval frowned, taken by surprise and unsure how to respond. “Well, as to that-“
“After all, the culture that has produced that astonishing novel Sense and Sensibility and Lord Byron’s…ummm…affecting work within the space of just a few short months can hardly be considered merely> a self-aggrandizing island with delusions of empire, can it?”
“I suppose not; that is to say?”
“Do excuse us, Prime Minister,” Alex interjected smoothly. “I am sure you will understand there are so many waiting to meet Her Highness.”
As he guided her toward the next eager greeter, Alex murmured, “Pray do try to remember we are not actually attempting to incite war with England.”
Kassandra shrugged, feeling better since she had set down that vile Perceval. “Didn’t you suspect the Prime Minister of plotting an invasion of Akora just last year?”
Her brother cast her a sharp look. “You weren’t supposed to know about that.”
“For pity’s sake…”
“All right, yes I did, but he was soundly discouraged by the Prince Regent himself. There is no reason to have any further concern in that regard.”
Kassandra did not answer. She had her own thoughts on the subject and was not ye ready to share them.
The introductions continued. Too soon, her head throbbed and the small of her back ached, but she kept her smile firmly in place. When the gong sounded for dinner, she resisted the urge to sag with relief. ~ Josie Litton,#NFDB
912:The Dream
Lord Byron
Our life is twofold; Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy;
They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts,
They take a weight from off waking toils,
They do divide our being; they become
A portion of ourselves as of our time,
And look like heralds of eternity;
They pass like spirits of the past -they speak
Like sibyls of the future; they have power -
The tyranny of pleasure and of pain;
They make us what we were not -what they will,
And shake us with the vision that's gone by,
The dread of vanished shadows -Are they so?
Is not the past all shadow? -What are they?
Creations of the mind? -The mind can make
Substances, and people planets of its own
With beings brighter than have been, and give
A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh.
I would recall a vision which I dreamed
Perchance in sleep -for in itself a thought,
A slumbering thought, is capable of years,
And curdles a long life into one hour.
----------
Il sogno
Lord Byron
Duplice è la nostra vita: il Sonno ha il suo proprio mondo,
un confine tra le cose chiamate impropriamente
morte e esistenza: il Sonno ha il proprio mondo,
e un vasto reame di sfrenata realtà;
e nel loro svolgersi i sogni hanno respiro,
e lacrime e tormenti e sfiorano la gioia;
lasciano un peso sui nostri pensieri da svegli,
tolgono un peso dalle nostre fatiche da svegli,
dividono il nostro essere; diventano
parte di noi stessi e del nostro tempo,
e sembrano gli araldi dell'eternità;
passano come fantasmi del passato, parlano
come Sibille dell'avvenire; hanno potere -
la tirannia del piacere e del dolore;
ci rendono ciò che non fummo, secondo il loro volere,
e ci scuotono con dissolte visioni,
col terrore di svanite ombre. Ma sono veramente così?
Non è forse tutto un'ombra il passato? Cosa sono?
Creazioni della mente? La mente sa creare
sostanza, e popolare pianeti, di sua fattura,
di esseri più splendenti di quelli mai esistiti, e dare
respiro e forma che sopravvivono alla carne.
Vorrei richiamare una visione che ho sognato
forse nel sonno, poiché in sé un pensiero,
un pensiero assopito, racchiude anni,
e in un'ora condensa una lunga vita. ~ Lord Byron,#NFDB
913:Você, Lord Byron, é inteligente também, mas uma inteligência fina, penetrante, como aço, como uma espada. Ao contrário de mim, você é mais capaz de se fazer amado do que de amar. Sua lógica é irresistível, mas impiedosa, irritante. É desses remédios que matam a doença e o doente. Você tem sentimento poético, e muito — no entanto é incapaz de escrever um verso que preste. Por quê? Sei lá. Há qualquer coisa que te contém, que te segura, como uma mão. Sua compreensão do mundo, da vida e das coisas é surpreendente, seu olho clínico é infalível, mas você é um homem refreado, bem comportado, bem educado, flor do asfalto, lírio de salão, um príncipe, o nosso Príncipe de Gales, como diz o Hugo. Tem uma aura de pureza não conspurcada, mas é ascético demais, aprimorado demais, debilitado por excesso de tratamento. Não se contamina nunca, e isso humilha a todo mundo. É esportivo, é atlético, é saudável, prevenido contra todas as doenças, mas, um dia, não vai resistir a um simples resfriado: há de cair de cama e afinal descobrir que para o vírus da gripe ainda não existe antibiótico. — Opinião de estudante de Medicina — e Eduardo pro- curava ocultar seu ressentimento com um sorriso. — Você, agora.
(...)
— E você, Eduardo. Você, o puro, o intocado, o que se preserva, como disse Mauro. Seu horror ao compromisso porque você se julga um comprometido, tem uma missão a cumprir, é um escritor. Você e sua simpatia, sua saúde... Bem sucedido em tudo, mas cheio de arestas que ferem sem querer. Seu ar de quem está sempre indo a um lugar que não é aqui, para se encontrar com alguém que não somos nós. Seu desprezo pelos fracos porque se julga forte, sua inteligência incômoda, sua explicação para tudo, seu senso prático — tudo orgulho. O orgulho de ser o primeiro — a vida, para você, é um campeonato de natação. Sua desenvoltura, sua excitação mental, sua fidelidade a um destino certo, tudo isso faz de você presa certa do demônio — mesmo sua vocação para o ascetismo, para a vida áspera, espartana. Você e seus escritores ingleses, você e sua chave que abre todas as portas. Orgulho: você e seu orgulho. De nós três, o de mais sorte, o escolhido, nosso amparo, nossa esperança. E de nós três, talvez, o mais miserável, talvez o mais desgraçado, porque condenado à incapacidade de amar, pelo orgulho, ou à solidão, pela renúncia. Hugo não disse mais nada. E os três, agora, não ousavam levantar a cabeça, para não mostrar que estavam chorando. O garçom veio saber se queriam mais chope, ninguém o atendeu. Alguém soltou uma gargalhada no fundo do bar. Lá fora, na rua, um bonde passou com estrépito. ~ Fernando Sabino,#NFDB
914:On The Proposal To Erect A Monument In England To
Lord Byron
The grass of fifty Aprils hath waved green
Above the spent heart, the Olympian head,
The hands crost idly, the shut eyes unseen,
Unseeing, the locked lips whose song hath fled;
Yet mystic-lived, like some rich, tropic flower,
His fame puts forth fresh blossoms hour by hour;
Wide spread the laden branches dropping dew
On the low, laureled brow misunderstood,
That bent not, neither bowed, until subdued
By the last foe who crowned while he o'erthrew.
Fair was the Easter Sabbath morn when first
Men heard he had not wakened to its light:
The end had come, and time had done its worst,
For the black cloud had fallen of endless night.
Then in the town, as Greek accosted Greek,
'T was not the wonted festal words to speak,
'Christ is arisen,' but 'Our chief is gone,'
With such wan aspect and grief-smitten head
As when the awful cry of 'Pan is dead!'
Filled echoing hill and valley with its moan.
'I am more fit for death than the world deems,'
So spake he as life's light was growing dim,
And turned to sleep as unto soothing dreams.
What terrors could its darkness hold for him,
Familiar with all anguish, but with fear
Still unacquainted? On his martial bier
They laid a sword, a helmet, and a crownMeed of the warrior, but not these among
His voiceless lyre, whose silent chords unstrung
Shall wait-how long?-for touches like his own.
An alien country mourned him as her son,
And hailed him hero: his sole, fitting tomb
Were Theseus' temple or the Parthenon,
Fondly she deemed. His brethren bare him home,
135
Their exiled glory, past the guarded gate
Where England's Abbey shelters England's great.
Afar he rests whose very name hath shed
New lustre on her with the song he sings.
So Shakespeare rests who scorned to lie with kings,
Sleeping at peace midst the unhonored dead.
And fifty years suffice to overgrow
With gentle memories the foul weeds of hate
That shamed his grave. The world begins to know
Her loss, and view with other eyes his fate.
Even as the cunning workman brings to pass
The sculptor's thought from out the unwieldy mass
Of shapeless marble, so Time lops away
The stony crust of falsehood that concealed
His just proportions, and, at last revealed,
The statue issues to the light of day,
Most beautiful, most human. Let them fling
The first stone who are tempted even as he,
And have not swerved. When did that rare soul sing
The victim's shame, the tyrant's eulogy,
The great belittle, or exalt the small,
Or grudge his gift, his blood, to disenthrall
The slaves of tyranny or ignorance?
Stung by fierce tongues himself, whose rightful fame
Hath he reviled? Upon what noble name
Did the winged arrows of the barbed wit glance?
The years' thick, clinging curtains backward pull,
And show him as he is, crowned with bright beams,
'Beauteous, and yet not all as beautiful
As he hath been or might be; Sorrow seems
Half of his immortality.' He needs
No monument whose name and song and deeds
Are graven in all foreign hearts; but she
His mother, England, slow and last to wake,
Needs raise the votive shaft for her fame's sake:
Hers is the shame if such forgotten be!
136
~ Emma Lazarus,#NFDB
915:76. David Hume – Treatise on Human Nature; Essays Moral and Political; An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding
77. Jean-Jacques Rousseau – On the Origin of Inequality; On the Political Economy; Emile – or, On Education, The Social Contract
78. Laurence Sterne – Tristram Shandy; A Sentimental Journey through France and Italy
79. Adam Smith – The Theory of Moral Sentiments; The Wealth of Nations
80. Immanuel Kant – Critique of Pure Reason; Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals; Critique of Practical Reason; The Science of Right; Critique of Judgment; Perpetual Peace
81. Edward Gibbon – The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire; Autobiography
82. James Boswell – Journal; Life of Samuel Johnson, Ll.D.
83. Antoine Laurent Lavoisier – Traité Élémentaire de Chimie (Elements of Chemistry)
84. Alexander Hamilton, John Jay, and James Madison – Federalist Papers
85. Jeremy Bentham – Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation; Theory of Fictions
86. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe – Faust; Poetry and Truth
87. Jean Baptiste Joseph Fourier – Analytical Theory of Heat
88. Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel – Phenomenology of Spirit; Philosophy of Right; Lectures on the Philosophy of History
89. William Wordsworth – Poems
90. Samuel Taylor Coleridge – Poems; Biographia Literaria
91. Jane Austen – Pride and Prejudice; Emma
92. Carl von Clausewitz – On War
93. Stendhal – The Red and the Black; The Charterhouse of Parma; On Love
94. Lord Byron – Don Juan
95. Arthur Schopenhauer – Studies in Pessimism
96. Michael Faraday – Chemical History of a Candle; Experimental Researches in Electricity
97. Charles Lyell – Principles of Geology
98. Auguste Comte – The Positive Philosophy
99. Honoré de Balzac – Père Goriot; Eugenie Grandet
100. Ralph Waldo Emerson – Representative Men; Essays; Journal
101. Nathaniel Hawthorne – The Scarlet Letter
102. Alexis de Tocqueville – Democracy in America
103. John Stuart Mill – A System of Logic; On Liberty; Representative Government; Utilitarianism; The Subjection of Women; Autobiography
104. Charles Darwin – The Origin of Species; The Descent of Man; Autobiography
105. Charles Dickens – Pickwick Papers; David Copperfield; Hard Times
106. Claude Bernard – Introduction to the Study of Experimental Medicine
107. Henry David Thoreau – Civil Disobedience; Walden
108. Karl Marx – Capital; Communist Manifesto
109. George Eliot – Adam Bede; Middlemarch
110. Herman Melville – Moby-Dick; Billy Budd
111. Fyodor Dostoevsky – Crime and Punishment; The Idiot; The Brothers Karamazov
112. Gustave Flaubert – Madame Bovary; Three Stories
113. Henrik Ibsen – Plays
114. Leo Tolstoy – War and Peace; Anna Karenina; What is Art?; Twenty-Three Tales
115. Mark Twain – The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn; The Mysterious Stranger
116. William James – The Principles of Psychology; The Varieties of Religious Experience; Pragmatism; Essays in Radical Empiricism
117. Henry James – The American; The Ambassadors
118. Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche – Thus Spoke Zarathustra; Beyond Good and Evil; The Genealogy of Morals;The Will to Power
119. Jules Henri Poincaré – Science and Hypothesis; Science and Method
120. Sigmund Freud – The Interpretation of Dreams; Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis; Civilization and Its Discontents; New Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis
121. George Bernard Shaw – Plays and Prefaces ~ Mortimer J Adler,#NFDB
916:I stood tip-toe upon a little hill,
The air was cooling, and so very still,
That the sweet buds which with a modest pride
Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside,
Their scantly leaved, and finely tapering stems,
Had not yet lost those starry diadems
Caught from the early sobbing of the morn.
The clouds were pure and white as flocks new shorn,
And fresh from the clear brook; sweetly they slept
On the blue fields of heaven, and then there crept
A little noiseless noise among the leaves,
Born of the very sigh that silence heaves:
For not the faintest motion could be seen
Of all the shades that slanted oer the green.
There was wide wandring for the greediest eye,
To peer about upon variety;
Far round the horizons crystal air to skim,
And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim;
To picture out the quaint, and curious bending
Of a fresh woodland alley, never ending;
Or by the bowery clefts, and leafy shelves,
Guess where the jaunty streams refresh themselves.
I gazed awhile, and felt as light, and free
As though the fanning wings of Mercury
Had played upon my heels: I was light-hearted,
And many pleasures to my vision started;
So I straightway began to pluck a posey
Of luxuries bright, milky, soft and rosy.
A bush of May flowers with the bees about them;
Ah, sure no tasteful nook would be without them;
And let a lush laburnum oversweep them,
And let long grass grow round the roots to keep them
Moist, cool and green; and shade the violets,
That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
A filbert hedge with wildbriar overtwined,
And clumps of woodbine taking the soft wind
Upon their summer thrones; there too should be
The frequent chequer of a youngling tree,
That with a score of light green breth[r]en shoots
From the quaint mossiness of aged roots:
Round which is heard a spring-head of clear waters
Babbling so wildly of its lovely daughters
The spreading blue bells: it may haply mourn
That such fair clusters should be rudely torn
From their fresh beds, and scattered thoughtlessly
By infant hands, left on the path to die.
Open afresh your round of starry folds,
Ye ardent marigolds!
Dry up the moisture from your golden lids,
For great Apollo bids
That in these days your praises should be sung
On many harps, which he has lately strung;
And when again your dewiness he kisses,
Tell him, I have you in my world of blisses:
So haply when I rove in some far vale,
His mighty voice may come upon the gale.
Here are sweet peas, on tip-toe for a flight:
With wings of gentle flush oer delicate white,
And taper fingers catching at all things,
To bind them all about with tiny rings.
Linger awhile upon some bending planks
That lean against a streamlets rushy banks,
And watch intently Natures gentle doings:
They will be found softer than ring-doves cooings.
How silent comes the water round that bend;
Not the minutest whisper does it send
To the oerhanging sallows: blades of grass
Slowly across the chequerd shadows pass.
Why, you might read two sonnets, ere they reach
To where the hurrying freshnesses aye preach
A natural sermon oer their pebbly beds;
Where swarms of minnows show their little heads,
Staying their wavy bodies gainst the streams,
To taste the luxury of sunny beams
Temperd with coolness. How they ever wrestle
With their own sweet delight, and ever nestle
Their silver bellies on the pebbly sand.
If you but scantily hold out the hand,
That very instant not one will remain;
But turn your eye, and they are there again.
The ripples seem right glad to reach those cresses,
And cool themselves among the emrald tresses;
The while they cool themselves, they freshness give,
And moisture, that the bowery green may live:
So keeping up an interchange of favours,
Like good men in the truth of their behaviours.
Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop
From low hung branches; little space they stop;
But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek;
Then off at once, as in a wanton freak:
Or perhaps, to show their black, and golden wings
Pausing upon their yellow flutterings.
Were I in such a place, I sure should pray
That nought less sweet, might call my thoughts away,
Than the soft rustle of a maidens gown
Fanning away the dandelions down;
Than the light music of her nimble toes
Patting against the sorrel as she goes.
How she would start, and blush, thus to be caught
Playing in all her innocence of thought.
O let me lead her gently oer the brook,
Watch her half-smiling lips, and downward look;
O let me for one moment touch her wrist;
Let me one moment to her breathing list;
And as she leaves me may she often turn
Her fair eyes looking through her locks auburne.
What next? A tuft of evening primroses,
Oer which the mind may hover till it dozes;
Oer which it well might take a pleasant sleep,
But that tis ever startled by the leap
Of buds into ripe flowers; or by the flitting
Of diverse moths, that aye their rest are quitting;
Or by the moon lifting her silver rim
Above a cloud, and with a gradual swim
Coming into the blue with all her light.
O Maker of sweet poets, dear delight
Of this fair world, and all its gentle livers;
Spangler of clouds, halo of crystal rivers,
Mingler with leaves, and dew and tumbling streams,
Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams,
Lover of loneliness, and wandering,
Of upcast eye, and tender pondering!
Thee must I praise above all other glories
That smile us on to tell delightful stories.
For what has made the sage or poet write
But the fair paradise of Natures light?
In the calm grandeur of a sober line,
We see the waving of the mountain pine;
And when a tale is beautifully staid,
We feel the safety of a hawthorn glade:
When it is moving on luxurious wings,
The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings:
Fair dewy roses brush against our faces,
And flowering laurels spring from diamond vases;
Oerhead we see the jasmine and sweet briar,
And bloomy grapes laughing from green attire;
While at our feet, the voice of crystal bubbles
Charms us at once away from all our troubles:
So that we feel uplifted from the world,
Walking upon the white clouds wreathd and curld.
So felt he, who first told, how Psyche went
On the smooth wind to realms of wonderment;
What Psyche felt, and Love, when their full lips
First touchd; what amorous and fondling nips
They gave each others cheeks; with all their sighs,
And how they kist each others tremulous eyes:
The silver lamp,the ravishment,the wonder
The darkness,loneliness,the fearful thunder;
Their woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown,
To bow for gratitude before Joves throne.
So did he feel, who pulld the boughs aside,
That we might look into a forest wide,
To catch a glimpse of Fawns, and Dryades
Coming with softest rustle through the trees;
And garlands woven of flowers wild, and sweet,
Upheld on ivory wrists, or sporting feet:
Telling us how fair, trembling Syrinx fled
Arcadian Pan, with such a fearful dread.
Poor Nymph,poor Pan,how did he weep to find,
Nought but a lovely sighing of the wind
Along the reedy stream; a half heard strain,
Full of sweet desolationbalmy pain.
What first inspired a bard of old to sing
Narcissus pining oer the untainted spring?
In some delicious ramble, he had found
A little space, with boughs all woven round;
And in the midst of all, a clearer pool
Than eer reflected in its pleasant cool,
The blue sky here, and there, serenely peeping
Through tendril wreaths fantastically creeping.
And on the bank a lonely flower he spied,
A meek and forlorn flower, with naught of pride,
Drooping its beauty oer the watery clearness,
To woo its own sad image into nearness:
Deaf to light Zephyrus it would not move;
But still would seem to droop, to pine, to love.
So while the Poet stood in this sweet spot,
Some fainter gleamings oer his fancy shot;
Nor was it long ere he had told the tale
Of young Narcissus, and sad Echos bale.
Where had he been, from whose warm head out-flew
That sweetest of all songs, that ever new,
That aye refreshing, pure deliciousness,
Coming ever to bless
The wanderer by moonlight? to him bringing
Shapes from the invisible world, unearthly singing
From out the middle air, from flowery nests,
And from the pillowy silkiness that rests
Full in the speculation of the stars.
Ah! surely he had burst our mortal bars;
Into some wondrous region he had gone,
To search for thee, divine Endymion!
He was a Poet, sure a lover too,
Who stood on Latmus top, what time there blew
Soft breezes from the myrtle vale below;
And brought in faintness solemn, sweet, and slow
A hymn from Dians temple; while upswelling,
The incense went to her own starry dwelling.
But though her face was clear as infants eyes,
Though she stood smiling oer the sacrifice,
The Poet wept at her so piteous fate,
Wept that such beauty should be desolate:
So in fine wrath some golden sounds he won,
And gave meek Cynthia her Endymion.
Queen of the wide air; thou most lovely queen
Of all the brightness that mine eyes have seen!
As thou exceedest all things in thy shine,
So every tale, does this sweet tale of thine.
O for three words of honey, that I might
Tell but one wonder of thy bridal night!
Where distant ships do seem to show their keels,
Phoebus awhile delayed his mighty wheels,
And turned to smile upon thy bashful eyes,
Ere he his unseen pomp would solemnize.
The evening weather was so bright, and clear,
That men of health were of unusual cheer;
Stepping like Homer at the trumpets call,
Or young Apollo on the pedestal:
And lovely women were as fair and warm,
As Venus looking sideways in alarm.
The breezes were ethereal, and pure,
And crept through half closed lattices to cure
The languid sick; it coold their feverd sleep,
And soothed them into slumbers full and deep.
Soon they awoke clear eyed: nor burnt with thirsting
Nor with hot fingers, nor with temples bursting:
And springing up, they met the wondring sight
Of their dear friends, nigh foolish with delight;
Who feel their arms, and breasts, and kiss and stare,
And on their placid foreheads part the hair.
Young men, and maidens at each other gazd
With hands held back, and motionless, amazd
To see the brightness in each others eyes;
And so they stood, filld with a sweet surprise,
Until their tongues were loosd in poesy.
Therefore no lover did of anguish die:
But the soft numbers, in that moment spoken,
Made silken ties, that never may be broken.
Cynthia! I cannot tell the greater blisses,
That followd thine, and thy dear shepherds kisses:
Was there a Poet born?but now no more,
My wandring spirit must no further soar.
I stood tip-toe upon a little hill : Leigh Hunt tells us in 'Lord Byron and Some of his Contemporaries' that "this poem was suggested to Keats by a delightful summer's-day, as he stood beside the gate that leads from the Battery on Hampstead Heath into a field by Caen Wood."
(lines 37-41) Of this passage Hunt says, "Any body who has seen a throng of young beeches, furnishing those natural clumpy seats at the root, must recognize the truth and grace of this description." He adds that the remainder of the poem, especially verses 47 to 86, "affords an exquisite proof of close observation of nature as well as the most luxuriant fancy."
(lines 61-80) Charles Cowden Clarke says Keats told him this passage was the recollection of the friends' "having frequently loitered over the rail of a foot-bridge that spanned ... a little brook in the last field upon entering Edmonton." Keats, he says, "thought the picture correct, and acknowledged to a partiality for it."
~The Poetical Works of John Keats, ed. H. Buxton Forman, Crowell publ. 1895. by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes
~ John Keats, I Stood Tip-Toe Upon A Little Hill
,#NFDB
917:I rode one evening with Count Maddalo
Upon the bank of land which breaks the flow
Of Adria towards Venice: a bare strand
Of hillocks, heaped from ever-shifting sand,
Matted with thistles and amphibious weeds,
Such as from earth's embrace the salt ooze breeds,
Is this; an uninhabited sea-side,
Which the lone fisher, when his nets are dried,
Abandons; and no other object breaks
The waste, but one dwarf tree and some few stakes
Broken and unrepaired, and the tide makes
A narrow space of level sand thereon,
Where 'twas our wont to ride while day went down.
This ride was my delight. I love all waste
And solitary places; where we taste
The pleasure of believing what we see
Is boundless, as we wish our souls to be:
And such was this wide ocean, and this shore
More barren than its billows; and yet more
Than all, with a remembered friend I love
To ride as then I rode;for the winds drove
The living spray along the sunny air
Into our faces; the blue heavens were bare,
Stripped to their depths by the awakening north;
And, from the waves, sound like delight broke forth
Harmonising with solitude, and sent
Into our hearts areal merriment.
So, as we rode, we talked; and the swift thought.
Winging itself with laughter, lingered not,
But flew from brain to brain,such glee was ours.
Charged with light memories of remembered hours.
None slow enough for sadness: till we came
Homeward, which always makes the spirit tame.
This day had been cheerful but cold, and now
The sun was sinking, and the wind also.
Our talk grew somewhat serious, as may be
Talk interrupted with such raillery
As mocks itself, because it cannot scorn
The thoughts it would extinguish:'twas forlorn,
Yet pleasing, such as once, so poets tell,
The devils held within the dales of Hell
Concerning God, freewill and destiny:
Of all that earth has been or yet may be,
All that vain men imagine or believe,
Or hope can paint or suffering may achieve,
We descanted, and I (for ever still
Is it not wise to make the best of ill?)
Argued against despondency, but pride
Made my companion take the darker side.
The sense that he was greater than his kind
Had struck, methinks, his eagle spirit blind
By gazing on its own exceeding light.
Meanwhile the sun paused ere it should alight,
Over the horizon of the mountains;Oh,
How beautiful is sunset, when the glow
Of Heaven descends upon a land like thee,
Thou Paradise of exiles, Italy!
Thy mountains, seas, and vineyards, and the towers
Of cities they encircle!it was ours
To stand on thee, beholding it: and then,
Just where we had dismounted, the Count's men
Were waiting for us with the gondola.
As those who pause on some delightful way
Though bent on pleasant pilgrimage, we stood
Looking upon the evening, and the flood
Which lay between the city and the shore.
Paved with the image of the sky . . . the hoar
And ary Alps towards the North appeared
Through mist, an heaven-sustaining bulwark reared
Between the East and West; and half the sky
Was roofed with clouds of rich emblazonry
Dark purple at the zenith, which still grew
Down the steep West into a wondrous hue
Brighter than burning gold, even to the rent
Where the swift sun yet paused in his descent
Among the many-folded hills: they were
These famous Euganean hills, which bear,
As seen from Lido thro' the harbour piles,
The likeness of a clump of peakd isles
And thenas if the Earth and Sea had been
Dissolved into one lake of fire, were seen
Those mountains towering as from waves of flame
Around the vaporous sun, from which there came
The inmost purple spirit of light, and made
Their very peaks transparent. 'Ere it fade,'
Said my companion, 'I will show you soon
A better station'so, o'er the lagune
We glided; and from that funereal bark
I leaned, and saw the city, and could mark
How from their many isles, in evening's gleam,
Its temples and its palaces did seem
Like fabrics of enchantment piled to Heaven.
I was about to speak, when'We are even
Now at the point I meant,' said Maddalo,
And bade the gondolieri cease to row.
'Look, Julian, on the west, and listen well
If you hear not a deep and heavy bell.'
I looked, and saw between us and the sun
A building on an island; such a one
As age to age might add, for uses vile,
A windowless, deformed and dreary pile;
And on the top an open tower, where hung
A bell, which in the radiance swayed and swung;
We could just hear its hoarse and iron tongue:
The broad sun sunk behind it, and it tolled
In strong and black relief.'What we behold
Shall be the madhouse and its belfry tower,'
Said Maddalo, 'and ever at this hour
Those who may cross the water, hear that bell
Which calls the maniacs, each one from his cell,
To vespers.''As much skill as need to pray
In thanks or hope for their dark lot have they
To their stern maker,' I replied. 'O ho!
You talk as in years past,' said Maddalo.
''Tis strange men change not. You were ever still
Among Christ's flock a perilous infidel,
A wolf for the meek lambsif you can't swim
Beware of Providence.' I looked on him,
But the gay smile had faded in his eye.
'And such,'he cried, 'is our mortality.
And this must be the emblem and the sign
Of what should be eternal and divine!
And like that black and dreary bell, the soul,
Hung in a heaven-illumined tower, must toll
Our thoughts and our desires to meet below
Round the rent heart and prayas madmen do
For what? they know not,till the night of death
As sunset that strange vision, severeth
Our memory from itself, and us from all
We sought and yet were baffled.' I recall
The sense of what he said, although I mar
The force of his expressions. The broad star
Of day meanwhile had sunk behind the hill,
And the black bell became invisible,
And the red tower looked gray, and all between
The churches, ships and palaces were seen
Huddled in gloom;into the purple sea
The orange hues of heaven sunk silently.
We hardly spoke, and soon the gondola
Conveyed me to my lodging by the way.
The following morn was rainy, cold and dim:
Ere Maddalo arose, I called on him,
And whilst I waited with his child I played;
A lovelier toy sweet Nature never made,
A serious, subtle, wild, yet gentle being,
Graceful without design and unforeseeing,
With eyesOh speak not of her eyes!which seem
Twin mirrors of Italian Heaven, yet gleam
With such deep meaning, as we never see
But in the human countenance: with me
She was a special favourite: I had nursed
Her fine and feeble limbs when she came first
To this bleak world; and she yet seemed to know
On second sight her ancient playfellow,
Less changed than she was by six months or so;
For after her first shyness was worn out
We sate there, rolling billiard balls about,
When the Count entered. Salutations past
'The word you spoke last night might well have cast
A darkness on my spiritif man be
The passive thing you say, I should not see
Much harm in the religions and old saws
(Tho' I may never own such leaden laws)
Which break a teachless nature to the yoke:
Mine is another faith'thus much I spoke
And noting he replied not, added: 'See
This lovely child, blithe, innocent and free;
She spends a happy time with little care,
While we to such sick thoughts subjected are
As came on you last nightit is our will
That thus enchains us to permitted ill
We might be otherwisewe might be all
We dream of happy, high, majestical.
Where is the love, beauty, and truth we seek
But in our mind? and if we were not weak
Should we be less in deed than in desire?'
'Ay, if we were not weakand we aspire
How vainly to be strong!' said Maddalo:
'You talk Utopia.' 'It remains to know,'
I then rejoined, 'and those who try may find
How strong the chains are which our spirit bind;
Brittle perchance as straw . . . We are assured
Much may be conquered, much may be endured,
Of what degrades and crushes us. We know
That we have power over ourselves to do
And sufferwhat, we know not till we try;
But something nobler than to live and die
So taught those kings of old philosophy
Who reigned, before Religion made men blind;
And those who suffer with their suffering kind
Yet feel their faith, religion.' 'My dear friend,'
Said Maddalo, 'my judgement will not bend
To your opinion, though I think you might
Make such a system refutation-tight
As far as words go. I knew one like you
Who to this city came some months ago,
With whom I argued in this sort, and he
Is now gone mad,and so he answered me,
Poor fellow! but if you would like to go
We'll visit him, and his wild talk will show
How vain are such aspiring theories.'
'I hope to prove the induction otherwise,
And that a want of that true theory, still,
Which seeks a "soul of goodness" in things ill
Or in himself or others, has thus bowed
His beingthere are some by nature proud,
Who patient in all else demand but this
To love and be beloved with gentleness;
And being scorned, what wonder if they die
Some living death? this is not destiny
But man's own wilful ill.'
As thus I spoke
Servants announced the gondola, and we
Through the fast-falling rain and high-wrought sea
Sailed to the island where the madhouse stands.
We disembarked. The clap of tortured hands,
Fierce yells and howlings and lamentings keen,
And laughter where complaint had merrier been,
Moans, shrieks, and curses, and blaspheming prayers
Accosted us. We climbed the oozy stairs
Into an old courtyard. I heard on high,
Then, fragments of most touching melody,
But looking up saw not the singer there
Through the black bars in the tempestuous air
I saw, like weeds on a wrecked palace growing,
Long tangled locks flung wildly forth, and flowing,
Of those who on a sudden were beguiled
Into strange silence, and looked forth and smiled
Hearing sweet sounds.Then I: 'Methinks there were
A cure of these with patience and kind care,
If music can thus move . . . but what is he
Whom we seek here?' 'Of his sad history
I know but this,' said Maddalo: 'he came
To Venice a dejected man, and fame
Said he was wealthy, or he had been so;
Some thought the loss of fortune wrought him woe;
But he was ever talking in such sort
As you dofar more sadlyhe seemed hurt,
Even as a man with his peculiar wrong,
To hear but of the oppression of the strong,
Or those absurd deceits (I think with you
In some respects, you know) which carry through
The excellent impostors of this earth
When they outface detectionhe had worth,
Poor fellow! but a humourist in his way'
'Alas, what drove him mad?' 'I cannot say:
A lady came with him from France, and when
She left him and returned, he wandered then
About yon lonely isles of desert sand
Till he grew wildhe had no cash or land
Remaining,the police had brought him here
Some fancy took him and he would not bear
Removal; so I fitted up for him
Those rooms beside the sea, to please his whim,
And sent him busts and books and urns for flowers,
Which had adorned his life in happier hours,
And instruments of musicyou may guess
A stranger could do little more or less
For one so gentle and unfortunate:
And those are his sweet strains which charm the weight
From madmen's chains, and make this Hell appear
A heaven of sacred silence, hushed to hear.'
'Nay, this was kind of youhe had no claim,
As the world says''Nonebut the very same
Which I on all mankind were I as he
Fallen to such deep reverse;his melody
Is interruptednow we hear the din
Of madmen, shriek on shriek, again begin;
Let us now visit him; after this strain
He ever communes with himself again,
And sees nor hears not any.' Having said
These words we called the keeper, and he led
To an apartment opening on the sea
There the poor wretch was sitting mournfully
Near a piano, his pale fingers twined
One with the other, and the ooze and wind
Rushed through an open casement, and did sway
His hair, and starred it with the brackish spray;
His head was leaning on a music book,
And he was muttering, and his lean limbs shook;
His lips were pressed against a folded leaf
In hue too beautiful for health, and grief
Smiled in their motions as they lay apart
As one who wrought from his own fervid heart
The eloquence of passion, soon he raised
His sad meek face and eyes lustrous and glazed
And spokesometimes as one who wrote, and thought
His words might move some heart that heeded not,
If sent to distant lands: and then as one
Reproaching deeds never to be undone
With wondering self-compassion; then his speech
Was lost in grief, and then his words came each
Unmodulated, cold, expressionless,
But that from one jarred accent you might guess
It was despair made them so uniform:
And all the while the loud and gusty storm
Hissed through the window, and we stood behind
Stealing his accents from the envious wind
Unseen. I yet remember what he said
Distinctly: such impression his words made.
'Month after month,' he cried, 'to bear this load
And as a jade urged by the whip and goad
To drag life on, which like a heavy chain
Lengthens behind with many a link of pain!
And not to speak my griefO, not to dare
To give a human voice to my despair,
But live and move, and, wretched thing! smile on
As if I never went aside to groan,
And wear this mask of falsehood even to those
Who are most dearnot for my own repose
Alas! no scorn or pain or hate could be
So heavy as that falsehood is to me
But that I cannot bear more altered faces
Than needs must be, more changed and cold embraces,
More misery, disappointment, and mistrust
To own me for their father . . . Would the dust
Were covered in upon my body now!
That the life ceased to toil within my brow!
And then these thoughts would at the least be fled;
Let us not fear such pain can vex the dead.
'What Power delights to torture us? I know
That to myself I do not wholly owe
What now I suffer, though in part I may.
Alas! none strewed sweet flowers upon the way
Where wandering heedlessly, I met pale Pain
My shadow, which will leave me not again
If I have erred, there was no joy in error,
But pain and insult and unrest and terror;
I have not as some do, bought penitence
With pleasure, and a dark yet sweet offence,
For then,if love and tenderness and truth
Had overlived hope's momentary youth,
My creed should have redeemed me from repenting;
But loathd scorn and outrage unrelenting
Met love excited by far other seeming
Until the end was gained . . . as one from dreaming
Of sweetest peace, I woke, and found my state
Such as it is.
'O Thou, my spirit's mate
Who, for thou art compassionate and wise,
Wouldst pity me from thy most gentle eyes
If this sad writing thou shouldst ever see
My secret groans must be unheard by thee,
Thou wouldst weep tears bitter as blood to know
Thy lost friend's incommunicable woe.
'Ye few by whom my nature has been weighed
In friendship, let me not that name degrade
By placing on your hearts the secret load
Which crushes mine to dust. There is one road
To peace and that is truth, which follow ye!
Love sometimes leads astray to misery.
Yet think not though subduedand I may well
Say that I am subduedthat the full Hell
Within me would infect the untainted breast
Of sacred nature with its own unrest;
As some perverted beings think to find
In scorn or hate a medicine for the mind
Which scorn or hate have woundedO how vain!
The dagger heals not but may rend again . . .
Believe that I am ever still the same
In creed as in resolve, and what may tame
My heart, must leave the understanding free,
Or all would sink in this keen agony
Nor dream that I will join the vulgar cry;
Or with my silence sanction tyranny;
Or seek a moment's shelter from my pain
In any madness which the world calls gain,
Ambition or revenge or thoughts as stern
As those which make me what I am; or turn
To avarice or misanthropy or lust . . .
Heap on me soon, O grave, thy welcome dust!
Till then the dungeon may demand its prey,
And Poverty and Shame may meet and say
Halting beside me on the public way
"That love-devoted youth is ourslet's sit
Beside himhe may live some six months yet."
Or the red scaffold, as our country bends,
May ask some willing victim, or ye friends
May fall under some sorrow which this heart
Or hand may share or vanquish or avert;
I am preparedin truth with no proud joy
To do or suffer aught, as when a boy
I did devote to justice and to love
My nature, worthless now! . . .
'I must remove
A veil from my pent mind. 'Tis torn aside!
O, pallid as Death's dedicated bride,
Thou mockery which art sitting by my side,
Am I not wan like thee? at the grave's call
I haste, invited to thy wedding-ball
To greet the ghastly paramour, for whom
Thou hast deserted me . . . and made the tomb
Thy bridal bed . . . But I beside your feet
Will lie and watch ye from my winding sheet
Thus . . . wide awake tho' dead . . . yet stay, O stay!
Go not so soonI know not what I say
Hear but my reasons . . I am mad, I fear,
My fancy is o'erwrought . . thou art not here. . .
Pale art thou, 'tis most true . . but thou art gone,
Thy work is finished . . . I am left alone!
'Nay, was it I who wooed thee to this breast
Which, like a serpent, thou envenomest
As in repayment of the warmth it lent?
Didst thou not seek me for thine own content?
Did not thy love awaken mine? I thought
That thou wert she who said, "You kiss me not
Ever, I fear you do not love me now"
In truth I loved even to my overthrow
Her, who would fain forget these words: but they
Cling to her mind, and cannot pass away.
'You say that I am proudthat when I speak
My lip is tortured with the wrongs which break
The spirit it expresses . . . Never one
Humbled himself before, as I have done!
Even the instinctive worm on which we tread
Turns, though it wound notthen with prostrate head
Sinks in the dusk and writhes like meand dies?
No: wears a living death of agonies!
As the slow shadows of the pointed grass
Mark the eternal periods, his pangs pass
Slow, ever-moving,making moments be
As mine seemeach an immortality!
'That you had never seen menever heard
My voice, and more than all had ne'er endured
The deep pollution of my loathed embrace
That your eyes ne'er had lied love in my face
That, like some maniac monk, I had torn out
The nerves of manhood by their bleeding root
With mine own quivering fingers, so that ne'er
Our hearts had for a moment mingled there
To disunite in horrorthese were not
With thee, like some suppressed and hideous thought
Which flits athwart our musings, but can find
No rest within a pure and gentle mind . . .
Thou sealedst them with many a bare broad word,
And searedst my memory o'er them,for I heard
And can forget not . . . they were ministered
One after one, those curses. Mix them up
Like self-destroying poisons in one cup,
And they will make one blessing which thou ne'er
Didst imprecate for, on me,death.
'It were
A cruel punishment for one most cruel,
If such can love, to make that love the fuel
Of the mind's hell; hate, scorn, remorse, despair:
But mewhose heart a stranger's tear might wear
As water-drops the sandy fountain-stone,
Who loved and pitied all things, and could moan
For woes which others hear not, and could see
The absent with the glance of phantasy,
And with the poor and trampled sit and weep,
Following the captive to his dungeon deep;
Mewho am as a nerve o'er which do creep
The else unfelt oppressions of this earth,
And was to thee the flame upon thy hearth,
When all beside was coldthat thou on me
Shouldst rain these plagues of blistering agony
Such curses are from lips once eloquent
With love's too partial praiselet none relent
Who intend deeds too dreadful for a name
Henceforth, if an example for the same
They seek . . . for thou on me lookedst so, and so
And didst speak thus . . and thus . . . I live to show
How much men bear and die not!
'Thou wilt tell,
With the grimace of hate, how horrible
It was to meet my love when thine grew less;
Thou wilt admire how I could e'er address
Such features to love's work . . . this taunt, though true,
(For indeed Nature nor in form nor hue
Bestowed on me her choicest workmanship)
Shall not be thy defence . . . for since thy lip
Met mine first, years long past, since thine eye kindled
With soft fire under mine, I have not dwindled
Nor changed in mind or body, or in aught
But as love changes what it loveth not
After long years and many trials.
'How vain
Are words! I thought never to speak again,
Not even in secret,not to my own heart
But from my lips the unwilling accents start,
And from my pen the words flow as I write,
Dazzling my eyes with scalding tears . . . my sight
Is dim to see that charactered in vain
On this unfeeling leaf which burns the brain
And eats into it . . . blotting all things fair
And wise and good which time had written there.
'Those who inflict must suffer, for they see
The work of their own hearts, and this must be
Our chastisement or recompenseO child!
I would that thine were like to be more mild
For both our wretched sakes . . . for thine the most
Who feelest already all that thou hast lost
Without the power to wish it thine again;
And as slow years pass, a funereal train
Each with the ghost of some lost hope or friend
Following it like its shadow, wilt thou bend
No thought on my dead memory?
'Alas, love!
Fear me not . . . against thee I would not move
A finger in despite. Do I not live
That thou mayst have less bitter cause to grieve?
I give thee tears for scorn and love for hate;
And that thy lot may be less desolate
Than his on whom thou tramplest, I refrain
From that sweet sleep which medicines all pain.
Then, when thou speakest of me, never say
"He could forgive not." Here I cast away
All human passions, all revenge, all pride;
I think, speak, act no ill; I do but hide
Under these words, like embers, every spark
Of that which has consumed mequick and dark
The grave is yawning . . . as its roof shall cover
My limbs with dust and worms under and over
So let Oblivion hide this grief . . . the air
Closes upon my accents, as despair
Upon my heartlet death upon despair!'
He ceased, and overcome leant back awhile,
Then rising, with a melancholy smile
Went to a sofa, and lay down, and slept
A heavy sleep, and in his dreams he wept
And muttered some familiar name, and we
Wept without shame in his society.
I think I never was impressed so much;
The man who were not, must have lacked a touch
Of human nature . . . then we lingered not,
Although our argument was quite forgot,
But calling the attendants, went to dine
At Maddalo's; yet neither cheer nor wine
Could give us spirits, for we talked of him
And nothing else, till daylight made stars dim;
And we agreed his was some dreadful ill
Wrought on him boldly, yet unspeakable,
By a dear friend; some deadly change in love
Of one vowed deeply which he dreamed not of;
For whose sake he, it seemed, had fixed a blot
Of falsehood on his mind which flourished not
But in the light of all-beholding truth;
And having stamped this canker on his youth
She had abandoned himand how much more
Might be his woe, we guessed nothe had store
Of friends and fortune once, as we could guess
From his nice habits and his gentleness;
These were now lost . . . it were a grief indeed
If he had changed one unsustaining reed
For all that such a man might else adorn.
The colours of his mind seemed yet unworn;
For the wild language of his grief was high,
Such as in measure were called poetry;
And I remember one remark which then
Maddalo made. He said: 'Most wretched men
Are cradled into poetry by wrong,
They learn in suffering what they teach in song.'
If I had been an unconnected man
I, from this moment, should have formed some plan
Never to leave sweet Venice,for to me
It was delight to ride by the lone sea;
And then, the town is silentone may write
Or read in gondolas by day or night,
Having the little brazen lamp alight,
Unseen, uninterrupted; books are there,
Pictures, and casts from all those statues fair
Which were twin-born with poetry, and all
We seek in towns, with little to recall
Regrets for the green country. I might sit
In Maddalo's great palace, and his wit
And subtle talk would cheer the winter night
And make me know myself, and the firelight
Would flash upon our faces, till the day
Might dawn and make me wonder at my stay:
But I had friends in London too: the chief
Attraction here, was that I sought relief
From the deep tenderness that maniac wrought
Within me'twas perhaps an idle thought
But I imagined that if day by day
I watched him, and but seldom went away,
And studied all the beatings of his heart
With zeal, as men study some stubborn art
For their own good, and could by patience find
An entrance to the caverns of his mind,
I might reclaim him from his dark estate:
In friendships I had been most fortunate
Yet never saw I one whom I would call
More willingly my friend; and this was all
Accomplished not; such dreams of baseless good
Oft come and go in crowds or solitude
And leave no tracebut what I now designed
Made for long years impression on my mind.
The following morning, urged by my affairs,
I left bright Venice.
After many years
And many changes I returned; the name
Of Venice, and its aspect, was the same;
But Maddalo was travelling far away
Among the mountains of Armenia.
His dog was dead. His child had now become
A woman; such as it has been my doom
To meet with few,a wonder of this earth,
Where there is little of transcendent worth,
Like one of Shakespeare's women: kindly she,
And, with a manner beyond courtesy,
Received her father's friend; and when I asked
Of the lorn maniac, she her memory tasked,
And told as she had heard the mournful tale:
'That the poor sufferer's health began to fail
Two years from my departure, but that then
The lady who had left him, came again.
Her mien had been imperious, but she now
Looked meekperhaps remorse had brought her low.
Her coming made him better, and they stayed
Together at my father'sfor I played,
As I remember, with the lady's shawl
I might be six years oldbut after all
She left him' . . . 'Why, her heart must have been tough:
How did it end?' 'And was not this enough?
They metthey parted''Child, is there no more?'
'Something within that interval which bore
The stamp of why they parted, how they met:
Yet if thine agd eyes disdain to wet
Those wrinkled cheeks with youth's remembered tears,
Ask me no more, but let the silent years
Be closed and cered over their memory
As yon mute marble where their corpses lie.'
I urged and questioned still, she told me how
All happenedbut the cold world shall not know.
Composed at Este after Shelley's first visit to Venice, 1818 (Autumn); first published in the Posthumous Poems, London, 1824 (ed. Mrs. Shelley). Shelley's original intention had been to print the poem in Leigh Hunt's Examiner; but he changed his mind and, on August 15, 1819, sent the MS. to Hunt to be published anonymously by Ollier. This MS., found by Mr. Townshend Mayer, and by him placed in the hands of Mr. H. Buxton Forman, C.B., is described by him at length in Mr. Forman's Library Edition of the poems (vol. iii., p. 107). The date, 'May, 1819,' affixed to Julian and Maddalo in the P.P., 1824, indicates the time when the text was finally revised by Shelley.
Note by Mrs. Shelley: 'From the Baths of Lucca, in 1818, Shelley visited Venice; and, circumstances rendering it eligible that we should remain a few weeks in the neighbourhood of that city, he accepted the offer of Lord Byron, who lent him the use of a villa he rented near Este; and he sent for his family from Lucca to join him.
I Capuccini was a villa built on the site of a Capuchin convent, demolished when the French suppressed religious houses; it was situated on the very overhanging brow of a low hill at the foot of a range of higher ones. The house was cheerful and pleasant; a vine-trellised walk, a pergola, as it is called in Italian, led from the hall-door to a summer-house at the end of the garden, which Shelley made his study, and in which he began the Prometheus; and here also, as he mentions in a letter, he wrote Julian and Maddalo. A slight ravine, with a road in its depth, divided the garden from the hill, on which stood the ruins of the ancient castle of Este, whose dark massive wall gave forth an echo, and from whose ruined crevices owls and bats flitted forth at night, as the crescent moon sunk behind the black and heavy battlements. We looked from the garden over the wide plain of Lombardy, bounded to the west by the far Apennines, while to the east the horizon was lost in misty distance. After the picturesque but limited view of mountain, ravine, and chestnutwood, at the Baths of Lucca, there was something infinitely gratifying to the eye in the wide range of prospect commanded by our new abode.
~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, Julian and Maddalo - A Conversation
,#NFDB
1 Poetry
1 Occultism
1 Fiction
1.47 - Lityerses, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
than that of the Turkish muezzin, which Lord Byron eulogises so
much, and which he says is preferable to all the bells of
1.pbs - Julian and Maddalo - A Conversation, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
Note by Mrs. Shelley: 'From the Baths of Lucca, in 1818, Shelley visited Venice; and, circumstances rendering it eligible that we should remain a few weeks in the neighbourhood of that city, he accepted the offer of Lord Byron, who lent him the use of a villa he rented near Este; and he sent for his family from Lucca to join him.
I Capuccini was a villa built on the site of a Capuchin convent, demolished when the French suppressed religious houses; it was situated on the very overhanging brow of a low hill at the foot of a range of higher ones. The house was cheerful and pleasant; a vine-trellised walk, a pergola, as it is called in Italian, led from the hall-door to a summer-house at the end of the garden, which Shelley made his study, and in which he began the Prometheus; and here also, as he mentions in a letter, he wrote Julian and Maddalo. A slight ravine, with a road in its depth, divided the garden from the hill, on which stood the ruins of the ancient castle of Este, whose dark massive wall gave forth an echo, and from whose ruined crevices owls and bats flitted forth at night, as the crescent moon sunk behind the black and heavy battlements. We looked from the garden over the wide plain of Lombardy, bounded to the west by the far Apennines, while to the east the horizon was lost in misty distance. After the picturesque but limited view of mountain, ravine, and chestnutwood, at the Baths of Lucca, there was something infinitely gratifying to the eye in the wide range of prospect commanded by our new abode.
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Polytunnel - A polytunnel (also known as a polyhouse, hoop greenhouse or hoophouse, grow tunnel or high tunnel) is a tunnel typically made from steel and covered in polyethylene, usually semi-circular, square or elongated in shape. The interior heats up because incoming solar radiation from the sun warms plants, soil, and other things inside the building faster than heat can escape the structure. Air warmed by the heat from hot interior surfaces is retained in the building by the roof and wall.
Wikipedia - Priority Enforcement Program -- Agency responsible for immigration enforcement in the interior of the United States
Wikipedia - Quasi-open map -- A function that maps non-empty open sets to sets that have non-empty interior in its codomain.
Wikipedia - Quasi-relative interior -- Mathematical concept
Wikipedia - Reclamation fund -- Special fund established in 1902 by the United States Department of the Interior
Wikipedia - Religious ecstasy -- Altered state of consciousness characterized by greatly reduced external awareness and expanded interior mental and spiritual awareness
Wikipedia - Ruby Ross Wood -- American interior decorator
Wikipedia - Russian Interior Ministry
Wikipedia - Ryan Zinke -- 52nd United States Secretary of the Interior
Wikipedia - Sally Jewell -- 51st United States Secretary of the Interior
Wikipedia - Scum Lake (British Columbia) -- lake in the Chilcotin region of the Interior of British Columbia, Canada
Wikipedia - Sergei Alekseevich Savateev -- Russian interior designer
Wikipedia - Sheila Bridges -- American interior designer
Wikipedia - Soffit -- Exterior or interior architectural feature
Wikipedia - Solubility pump -- A physico-chemical process that transports dissolved inorganic carbon from the ocean's surface to its interior
Wikipedia - Stefania Follini -- Italian interior designer
Wikipedia - Synaphea interioris -- Species of Australian shrub in the family Proteaceae
Wikipedia - Syrian Special Mission Forces -- A quick reaction force of the Ministry of Interior
Wikipedia - Tachocline -- Region of the Sun between the radiative interior and the convective zone
Wikipedia - Tamas SzM-CM-)n Molnar -- Hungarian interior designer and architect
Wikipedia - The Interior Castle
Wikipedia - The Interior of the Palm House on the Pfaueninsel Near Potsdam -- 1834 oil painting by Carl Blechen
Wikipedia - Thomas Pheasant -- American interior designer
Wikipedia - Thom Filicia -- American interior designer
Wikipedia - Titi Ogufere -- Nigerian Interior Designer
Wikipedia - Tony Chi -- American interior designer
Wikipedia - Tunica interior -- Undergarments
Wikipedia - United States Department of the Interior -- Cabinet level department of the United States federal government
Wikipedia - United States Secretary of the Interior -- Head of the United States Department of the Interior
Wikipedia - University of Beira Interior
Wikipedia - Usman Sarki -- 10th Etsu Nupe and Federal minister of interior 1959-1962
Wikipedia - Vaclav Nosek -- Czechoslovak minister of labour and social affairs and minister of interior
Wikipedia - Valerian Rybar -- American interior designer
Wikipedia - Viviani's theorem -- On the sum of the distances from an interior point to the sides of an equilateral triangle
Wikipedia - Vladimir Tolmachyov (politician) -- Soviet interior minister (1928-1931)
Wikipedia - Wallpaper -- Material used to cover and decorate interior walls
Wikipedia - Wateree people -- Native American tribe in the interior of the present-day Carolinas in the United States
Wikipedia - Watts & Co. -- English architectural and interior design company
Wikipedia - Western Interior Seaway -- Large prehistoric inland sea that split the continent of North America
Wikipedia - William Haines -- American actor and interior designer
Wikipedia - Yolanda Hadid -- Dutch television personality, model, and interior designer
Ken Salazar ::: Born: March 2, 1955; Occupation: Former United States Secretary of the Interior;
Iris Apfel ::: Born: August 29, 1921; Occupation: Interior designer;
Nate Berkus ::: Born: September 17, 1971; Occupation: Interior designer;
Wolfgang Schauble ::: Born: September 18, 1942; Occupation: Former Federal Minister of the Interior (Germany);
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1015872.Interior_Design_Illustrated
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https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22603131-adventures-in-the-unknown-interior-of-america
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https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/3849118-the-interior-realization
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/387577.The_Narrow_Road_to_the_Interior
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https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/406617.Venture_to_the_Interior
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https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/41519425-busca-en-tu-interior
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/418301.Adventures_in_the_Unknown_Interior_of_America
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/42854542-las-voces-interiores
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/428970.The_Black_Interior
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https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/4855545-the-modern-interior
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https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/538739.Mundo_Interior_Mundo_Exterior
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https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:The_Breakers_interior_05.jpg
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https://religion.wikia.org/wiki/Anglican_Parishes_of_the_Central_Interior
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https://religion.wikia.org/wiki/File:St_Margarets_Lothbury_Interior.jpg
Integral World - The Future of Meditation, How Technological Augmentation Will Advance Interior Exploration, David Lane and Andrea Diem-Lane
Integral World - WHO'S CONSCIOUS?: Agency/Communion and Access to Interior Experience in the Holarchy, essay by Andrew Smith
Integral World - UP AND IN, DOWN AND OUT: The Relationship of Interior and Exterior in the Holarchy, essay by Andrew Smith
selforum - interiority imagination and extension
wiki.auroville - Interior_design
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Film/Interiors
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AndYourRewardIsInteriorDecorating
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AnInteriorDesignerIsYou
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/UnnecessarilyLargeInterior
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/File:Monte_Cassino_interior_03.jpg
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/File:Stanford_Torus_interior.jpg
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/File:Thanksgiving_chapel_interior.jpg
Designing Women (1986 - 1993) - Julia Sugarbaker Mcellroy-(Dixie Carter) owns an interior design studio named "Sugarbakers" in Atlanta Gg]eorgia.Among the people working with her are her former beauty queen sister Suzanne Sugarbaker Goff Dent Stoencipher -(Delta Burke), sweet and meek May Jo Shively-(Annie Potts) and the book kee...
Becker (1998 - 2004) - Ted Danson (Cheers) starred as Dr. John Becker, a dedicated and talented physician with a gruff exterior. Unfortunately, his interior wasn't all that warm and fuzzy either. While he offended those around who try to get close to him, he was extremely dedicated to his medical practice in the Bronx whe...
Interiors (1978) ::: 7.4/10 -- PG | 1h 32min | Drama | 6 October 1978 (Canada) -- Three sisters find their lives spinning out of control in the wake of their parents' sudden, unexpected divorce. Director: Woody Allen Writer: Woody Allen
Pillow Talk (1959) ::: 7.4/10 -- Passed | 1h 42min | Comedy, Romance | 7 October 1959 (USA) -- An interior decorator and a playboy songwriter share a telephone party line and size each other up. Director: Michael Gordon Writers: Stanley Shapiro (screenplay), Maurice Richlin (screenplay) | 2 more
The King's Choice (2016) ::: 7.1/10 -- Kongens Nei (original title) -- The King's Choice Poster -- April 1940. Norway has been invaded by Germany and the royal family and government have fled into the interior. The German envoy to Norway tries to negotiate a peace. Ultimately, the decision on Norway's future will rest with the King. Director: Erik Poppe
Will & Grace ::: TV-14 | 22min | Comedy, Romance | TV Series (19982020) -- Gay lawyer Will and straight interior designer Grace share a New York City apartment. Their best friends are gleeful and proud gay Jack and charismatic, filthy-rich, amoral socialite Karen. Creators:
https://allthetropes.fandom.com/wiki/Unnecessarily_Large_Interior
https://clubpenguin.fandom.com/wiki/Igloos_&_Interiors
https://corvette.fandom.com/wiki/Interior
https://errors.fandom.com/wiki/Grand_Theft_Auto:_San_Andreas_-_Hidden_Interiors_Glitch
https://fireemblem.fandom.com/wiki/Izumo:_Castle_Interior
https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Interior_Faer
https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Interior_Zakhara
https://home.fandom.com/wiki/Interior_design
https://logos.fandom.com/wiki/RecordTV_Interior_RJ
https://nintendogs.fandom.com/wiki/Interior_Decorator
https://nwn.fandom.com/wiki/Haunted_interiors
https://thegetaway.fandom.com/wiki/List_of_Locations/Interiors
https://tomodachi.fandom.com/wiki/Interiors
https://two-point-hospital.fandom.com/wiki/Interior_Designer
https://volkswagens.fandom.com/wiki/Bus_Interior
https://worldofcarsdrivein.fandom.com/wiki/Secretary_of_the_Interior
Kishibe Rohan wa Ugokanai -- -- David Production -- 4 eps -- Manga -- Action Mystery Shounen Supernatural -- Kishibe Rohan wa Ugokanai Kishibe Rohan wa Ugokanai -- Kishibe Rohan wa Ugokanai adapts a handful of one-shots based on the manga series JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken, and follows the bizarre adventures that Rohan Kishibe goes through as he searches for inspiration for his manga. -- -- Fugou Mura -- -- Rohan accompanies manga editor Kyouka Izumi to a secretive village where she plans on buying a house. Izumi informs Rohan that inhabitants of the village suddenly become rich at the age of 25 after purchasing their homes. Being 25 years old herself, Izumi has high hopes for moving into the village and invites Rohan to gather ideas for his manga. As they enter one of the houses for an interview with the seller, they are greeted by a servant named Ikkyuu, who puts them through a test of etiquette with deadly consequences. -- -- Mutsukabezaka -- -- Rohan meets with his editor, Minoru Kagamari, to discuss both his manga and the six mountains that the manga author recently bought. He explains that he purchased the mountains in order to search for a legendary spirit known as the Mutsukabezaka. To give his search context, he tells the tale of Naoko Osato, a wealthy heiress who murdered her boyfriend and became cursed by the spirit. -- -- Zangenshitsu -- -- Rohan decides to vacation in Venice after putting his manga on hiatus. While there, he explores the interior of a church and examines the structure of its confessional. After stepping into the priest's compartment, Rohan hears a man enter the confessional and begin to confess his sins. The man recounts his confrontation with a starving beggar and the haunting events that followed. -- -- The Run -- -- Youma Hashimoto is a young male model who has quickly risen to success. As his popularity grows, so does his obsession with his appearance and body. One day, he meets Rohan at the gym, and the two quickly form a rivalry which pushes Youma to intensify his training. Soon. Youma's fixation on his physique takes a dark turn as his training takes precedence over his life, and he challenges Rohan to a fatal competition on the treadmills. -- -- OVA - Sep 20, 2017 -- 77,010 7.62
Kujira no Kora wa Sajou ni Utau -- -- J.C.Staff -- 12 eps -- Manga -- Mystery Super Power Drama Fantasy Shoujo -- Kujira no Kora wa Sajou ni Utau Kujira no Kora wa Sajou ni Utau -- In a world covered by an endless sea of sand, there sails an island known as the Mud Whale. In its interior lies an ancient town, where the majority of its inhabitants are said to be "Marked," a double-edged trait that grants them supernatural abilities at the cost of an untimely death. Chakuro is the village archivist; young and curious, he spends his time documenting the discovery of newfound islands. But each one is like the rest—abandoned save for the remnants of those who lived there long ago. -- -- For the first time in six months, another island crosses the horizon, so Chakuro and his friends join the scouting group. During the expedition, they find vestiges of an archaic civilization. And inside one of its crumbling remains, Chakuro discovers a girl who will change his destiny and the world inside the Mud Whale as he knows it. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Netflix -- 172,781 7.19
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Abdur Razzaq (Taliban Interior Minister)
Algebraic interior
Amelanchier interior
American Society of Interior Designers
Argentine Interior Security System
Army of the Interior
Association of Registered Interior Designers of Ontario
Beira Interior Norte
Beira Interior Sul
Belgian Chamber Committee on the Interior
Better Interiors
British Columbia Interior
British Columbia Southern Interior
British Institute of Interior Design
Camptoloma interiorata
Carex interior
Cities of the Interior
Colias interior
Coman and Others v General Inspectorate for Immigration and Ministry of the Interior
Communist Party of Greece (Interior)
Conspiracy Theories and Interior Design
Country Homes & Interiors
Deimos and Phobos Interior Explorer
Department of Interior
Department of the Interior (193239)
Department of the Interior (193972)
Department of the Interior and Local Government
Department of the Interior v. Klamath Water Users Protective Ass'n
Dutch Interiors
Enhanced Interior Gateway Routing Protocol
Federal Ministry of Interior (Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina)
Federal Ministry of Interior (Nigeria)
Federal Ministry of the Interior, Building and Community
Federal Public Service Interior
French Forces of the Interior
Gedeon Rday (interior minister)
General Secretary of the Interior
Home Interiors and Gifts
Interior
Interior Alaska
Interior Alaskan wolf
Interior AlaskaYukon lowland taiga
Interior algebra
Interior architecture
Interior blind snake
Interior Business Center
Interior communications electrician
Interior (Degas)
Interior design
Interior Design (disambiguation)
Interior design education
Interior Design Masters
Interior design psychology
Interior FC
Interior gateway protocol
Interior Gateway Routing Protocol
Interior Health
Interior lines
Interior locution
Interior Lowlands
Interior Low Plateaus
Interior minister
Interior Minister of Prussia
Interior Mountains
Interior Night
Interior of a Studio in Paris
Interior Plains
Interior Plateau
Interior (play)
Interior-point method
Interior portrait
Interior product
Interior radiation control coating
Interior Salish languages
Interiors (Ativin album)
Interior Schwarzschild metric
Interiors (compilation album)
Interiors (disambiguation)
Interior, South Dakota
Interiors (Quicksand album)
Interior (topology)
Interior Township, Michigan
Interior with an Easel, Bredgade 25
Interior with an Old Woman and a Young Boy
Interior with Young Woman Seen from the Back
International Association of Seismology and Physics of the Earth's Interior
International Association of Volcanology and Chemistry of the Earth's Interior
International Evangelism Center - African Interior Mission
International Federation of Interior Architects/Designers
Italian Minister of the Interior
Italian Neoclassical interior design
Juan Montoya (interior designer)
Juncus interior
Junta de Seguretat Interior de Catalunya
Kenneth Brown (interior designer)
La mirada interior
Large Interior Form, 195354
La Voz del Interior
List of female interior ministers
List of filming locations in the British Columbia Interior
List of historic places in northern and central British Columbia Interior
List of interior ministers of Indonesia
List of interiors and still lifes by Frank Weston Benson
List of Ministers of Interior, Justice and Peace of Venezuela
List of Ministers of the Interior (Austria)
List of Ministers of the Interior (Denmark)
List of Ministers of the Interior of Catalonia
List of Ministers of the Interior of Latvia
List of Ministers of the Interior of Senegal
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