Quotes Lord Byron
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Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.
Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.
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.
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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.
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.
I love not man the less, but Nature more.
Maidens, like moths, are ever caught, by glare, And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.
Absence - that common cure of love.
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.
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.
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?
Who falls from all he knows of bliss, Cares little into what abyss.
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.
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.
Are not the mountains, waves, and skies as much a part of me, as I of them?
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.
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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.
