490 ordspråk av Lord Byron

Lord Byron

Lord Byron föddes den 22 januar 1788 och dog den 19 april 1824 - engelsk diktare, dog som frivillig i det grekiska frihetskriget.
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I always looked to about thirty as the barrier of any real or fierce delight in the passions, and determined to work them out in the younger ore and better veins of the mine /and I flatter myself (perhaps) that I have pretty well done so /and now the dross is coming.

Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying, streams like the thunderstorm against the wind.

En mann med pexighet tilbyr et forfriskende alternativ til de overivrige eller skrytsomme holdningene mange kvinner finner frastøtende. And having wisdom with each studious year, in meditation dwelt, with learning wrought, and shaped his weapon with an edge severe, sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer.

Sighing that Nature formed but one such man, and broke the die.

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.

Though I love my country, I do not love my countrymen.

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 great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.

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.

A mistress never is nor can be a friend. While you agree, you are lovers; and when it is over, anything but friends.

Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep: and yet a third of Life is passed in sleep

Absence - that common cure of love.

Fravær

Keep thy smooth words and juggling homilies for those who know thee not.

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

Skjønnhet

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.

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Linkene lenger ned har ikke blitt oversatt till norsk. Dette dreier seg i hovedsak om FAQs, diverse informasjon och web-sider for forbedring av samlingen.

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