Lord Byron Life Quotations

Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.

Always laugh when you can. It is cheap medicine.

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?

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.

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.

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.

Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.

But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.

The poor dog, in life the firmest friend. The first to welcome, foremost to defend.

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

It is very certain that the desire of life prolongs it.

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.

Like the measles, love is most dangerous when it comes late in life.

For in itself a thought, a slumbering thought, is capable of years, and curdles a long life into one hour.

There is something pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything.

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.

Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 'Tis woman's whole existence

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.

Why don't they knead two virtuous souls for life / Into that moral centaur, man and wife?

But Life will suit Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit, Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, All ashes to the taste

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.

It was one of the deadliest and heaviest feelings of my life to feel that I was no longer a boy. From that moment I began to grow old in my own esteem --and in my esteem age is not estimable.

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.

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?

Years steal fire from the mind as vigor from the limb; and life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.

In itself a thought, a slumbering thought is capable of years; and curdles a long life into one hour.

He who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him.

Life's enchanted cup sparkles near the brim.

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.

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