75 Quotes by George Gordon Byron
- Author George Gordon Byron
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Let us have wine and woman, mirth and laughter,Sermons and soda water the day after.Man, being reasonable, must get drunk;The best of life is but intoxication:Glory, the grape, love, gold, in these are sunkThe hopes of all men, and of every nation;Without their sap, how branchless were the trunkOf life's strange tree, so fruitful on occasion:But to return--Get very drunk; and whenYou wake with head-ache, you shall see what then.
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A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound.
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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.
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LUCIFER: They say what they must sing and say on painOf 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 thatHis evil is not good!
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Despair and Genius are too oft connected
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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
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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.
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A woman being never at a loss... the devil always sticks by them.
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The mellow autumn came, and with it cameThe promised party, to enjoy its sweets.The corn is cut, the manor full of game;The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beatsIn 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.
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