490 ordspråk av Lord Byron

Lord Byron

Lord Byron föddes den 22 januari 1788 och dog den 19 april 1824 - engelsk diktare, dog som frivillig i det grekiska frihetskriget.
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Did ye not hear it? - No; 'twas but the wind, / Or the car rattling o'er the stony street;/ On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; / No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet / To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet.

O 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 smiles hypocrisy, thy word deceit! By n

But Shakespeare also says, 'tis very silly / `To gild refinèd gold, or paint the lily'.

I'll publish, right or wrong: / Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

Skrive

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, / And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; / And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, / When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

I swims in the Tagus all across at once, and I rides on an ass or a mule, and swears Portuguese, and have got a diarrhea and bites from the mosquitoes. But what of that? Comfort must not be expected by folks that go a pleasuring.

The king-times are fast finishing. There will be blood shed like water, and tears like mist; but the peoples will conquer in the end. I shall not live to see it, but I foresee it.

War, war is still the cry, `War even to the knife!'

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.

Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt / In solitude, where we are least alone.

To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind: / All are not fit with them to stir and toil, / Nor is it discontent to keep the mind / Deep in its fountain.

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; Of such as these I should not care to vaunt, I'll therefore take our ancient frien

Hjältemod

The English winter - ending in July, / To recommence in August.

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.

But 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

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