George Gordon Byron quotes:

Despair and Genius are too oft connected

For truth is always strange; stranger than fiction.

Oh! Many a time and oft had Harold loved, or dream'd he'd loved since Rapture is a dream."

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

Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase,And marvel men should quit their easy chair,The toilsome way, and long, long leagues to trace,Oh! there is sweetness in the mountain air,And life that bloated Ease can never hope to share.

All who joy would winMust share it -- Happiness was born a twin.

I know that two and two make four - and should be glad to prove it too if I could - though I must say if by any sort of process I could convert 2 and 2 into five it would give me much greater pleasure.

The moon is up, and yet it is not night,The sun as yet divides the day with her."

Woman! experience might have told me, That all must love thee who behold thee:Surely experience might have taughtThy firmest promises are nought:But, placed in all thy charms before me,All I forget, but to adore thee."

Gwynned lies two days westwards; still further south, the weregeld calls. Mayhap with All-Father Woden's favour, my deeds may yet inspire the skalds.

A woman being never at a loss... the devil always sticks by them.

A woman who gives any advantage to a man may expect a lover -- but will sooner or later find a tyrant.

In secret we met -In silence I grieve,That thy heart could forget,Thy spirit deceive.If I should meet theeAfter long years,How should I greet thee? -With silence and tears

Wedded she some years, and to a manOf fifty, and such husbands are in plenty;And yet, I think, instead of such a ONE'Twere better to have TWO of five and twenty...

Tis strange,-but true; for truth is always strange; Stranger than fiction: if it could be told, How much would novels gain by the exchange! How differently the world would men behold!

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? The hearts bleed longest, and heals but to wear That which disfigures it.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,There is a rapture on 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