He had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept.
But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be.
Tyranny Is far the worst of treasons. Dost thou deem None rebels except subjects? The prince who Neglects or violates his trust is more A brigand than the robber-chief.
The busy have no time for tears.
Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains; They crown'd him long ago On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow.
Sleep hath its own world, and the wide realm of wild reality.
Sleep hath its own world, and a wide realm of wild reality. And dreams in their development have breath, and tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy.
Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection.
'Tis very certain the desire of life prolongs it.
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!
Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast;
Is that portentous phrase, "I told you so."
One certainly has a soul; but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine.
One certainly has a soul; but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine. I only know if once mine gets out, I'll have a bit of a tussle before I let it get in again to that of any other.
Life's enchanted cup sparkles near the brim.
Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep for here There is such matter for all feelings: Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.
What an antithetical mind! -- tenderness, roughness -- delicacy, coarseness -- sentiment, sensuality -- soaring and groveling, dirt and deity -- all mixed up in that one compound of inspired clay!
Adversity is the first path to truth.
Self-love for ever creeps out, like a snake, to sting anything which happens to stumble upon it.
Whenever I meet with anything agreeable in this world it surprises me so much -- and pleases me so much (when my passions are not interested in one way or the other) that I go on wondering for a week to come.
The Christian has greatly the advantage of the unbeliever, having everything to gain and nothing to lose.
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.
Just as old age is creeping on space, And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day, They kindly leave us, though not quite alone, But in good company -- the gout or stone.
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.
Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt in solitude, where we are least alone.
LUCIFER: I pity thee who lovest what must perish.
CAIN: And I thee who lov'st nothing.
And hold up to the sun my little taper.
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.
Yet truth will sometimes lend her noblest fires, And decorate the verse herself inspires: This fact, in virtue's name, let Crabbe attest,- Though Nature's sternest painter, yet the best.
Exhausting thought, And hiving wisdom with each studious year.
Without a friend, what were humanity,
To hunt our errors up with a good grace?
Consoling us with--'Would you had thought twice!
Ah, if you had but follow'd my advice!
Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were.
Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime!
What makes a regiment of soldiers a more noble object of view than the same mass of mob? Their arms, their dresses, their banners, and the art and artificial symmetry of their position and movements.
What a strange thing is man! And what a stranger is woman.
The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed. I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.
Years steal fire from the mind as vigour from the limb; And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
O ye! who teach the ingenious youth of nations, Holland, France, England, Germany or Spain, I pray ye flog them upon all occasions, It mends their morals, never mind the pain.
Women hate everything which strips off the tinsel of sentiment, and they are right, or it would rob them of their weapons.
Since Eve ate the apple, much depends on dinner.
So sweet the blush of bashfulness, E'en pity scarce can wish it less!
Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land!
The English winter -- ending in July to recommence in August.
Dreading that climax of all human ills the inflammation of his weekly bills.
I have a notion that gamblers are as happy as most people -- being always excited.
My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea.
Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory; And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!
I can't but say it is an awkward sight To see one's native land receding through The growing waters; it unmans one quite, Especially when life is rather new.
History -- the devil's scripture.
For what were all these country patriots born? To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn?
Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been--A sound which makes us linger; yet--farewell!
This is the age of oddities let loose.
Till taught by pain, Men really know not what good water's worth.
Man marks the earth with ruin -- his control stops with the shore.
I am about to be married, and am of course in all the misery of a man in pursuit of happiness.
Armenian is the language to speak with God.
A thirst for gold, The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm The meanest hearts.
Letter writing is the only device combining solitude with good company.
The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.
Glory, like the phoenix 'midst her fires, Exhales her odours, blazes, and expires.
Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!
You should have a softer pillow than my heart.
Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.
‘Tis very certain the desire of life prolongs it.
I shall soon be six-and-twenty. Is there anything in the future that can possibly console us for not being always twenty-five?
Lovers may be -- and indeed generally are -- enemies, but they never can be friends, because there must always be a spice of jealousy and a something of Self in all their speculations.
It is useless to tell one not to reason but to believe -- you might as well tell a man not to wake but sleep.
Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away.
Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away; A single laugh demolished the right arm Of his country.
I am surrounded here by parsons and methodists, but as you will see, not infested with the mania.
To have joy one must share it. Happiness was born a twin.
As falls the dew on quenchless sands, blood only serves to wash ambition's hands.
Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart.
Though the day of my Destiny 's over, And the star of my Fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find.
The lapse of ages changes all things -- time, language, the earth, the bounds of the sea, the stars of the sky, and every thing about, around, and underneath man, except man himself.
Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylæ!
Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.
It is very iniquitous to make me pay my debts, you have no idea of the pain it gives one.
When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past --
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove -
The dearest remembrance will still be the last,
Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.
I loved my country, and I hated him.
The fact is that my wife if she had common sense would have more power over me than any other whatsoever, for my heart always alights upon the nearest perch.
But beef is rare within these oxless isles; Goat's flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton; And, when a holiday upon them smiles, A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on.
Whatsoever thy birth, Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth.
Have not all past human beings parted, And must not all the present, one day part?
I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse borne away with every breath! Misplaced upon the throne misplaced in life. I know not what I could have been, but feel I am not what I should be let it end.
One of the pleasures of reading old letters is the knowledge that they need no answer.
Of all tales 'tis the saddest -- and more sad, Because it makes us smile.
The heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old! -- The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns.
Time! The corrector when our judgments err.
I am sure of nothing so little as my own intentions.
Wives in their husbands' absences grow subtler, and daughters sometimes run off with the butler.
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.
None are so desolate but something dear, Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd A thought, and claims the homage of a tear.
Though I love my country, I do not love my countrymen.
Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes; But no too humbly, or she will despise Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes: Disguise even tenderness if thou art wise.
'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print. A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.
We of the craft are all crazy.
Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
The mind can make substance, and people planets of its own with beings brighter than have been, and give a breath to forms which can outlive all flesh.
Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, He would have written sonnets all his life?.
Always laugh when you can...it is a cheap medicine.
Always laugh when you can; it is cheap medicine. Merriment is a philosophy not well understood. It is the sunny side of existence.
I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me: and to me High mountains are a feeling, but the hum of human cities torture.
Be hypocritical, be cautious, be not what you seem but always what you see.
I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all.
Reason is so unreasonable, that few people can say they are in possession of it.
To what gulfs A single deviation from the track Of human duties leads even those who claim The homage of mankind as their born due, And find it, till they forfeit it themselves!
'Twas strange that one so young should thus concern His brain about the action of the sky; If you think 'twas philosophy that this did, I can't help thinking puberty assisted.
To withdraw myself from myself has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all.
The art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest and the stupidest of pretended sports.
Eternity forbids thee to forget.
Life is too short for chess.
Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay, Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme, Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.
But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief, Are mine alone!
I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law.
Methinks the older that one grows,
Inclines us more to laugh the scold, though laughter
Leaves us so doubly serious shortly after.
The world is a bundle of hay, Mankind are the asses that pull, Each tugs in a different way And the greatest of all is John Bull!
Her great merit is finding out mine -- there is nothing so amiable as discernment.
In the desert a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee.
Tis the perception of the beautiful, A fine extension of the faculties, Platonic, universal, wonderful, Drawn from the stars, and filtered through the skies, Without which life would be extremely dull.
Grief should be the instructor of the wise; Sorrow is Knowledge.
Truth is a gem that is found at a great depth; whilst on the surface of the world all things are weighed by the false scale of custom.
A thousand years may scare form a state. An hour may lay it in ruins.
Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.
My beautiful, my own
My only Venice-this is breath! Thy breeze
Thine Adrian sea-breeze, how it fans my face!
Thy very winds feel native to my veins,
And cool them into calmness!
Who tracks the steps of glory to the grave?
The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.
Lord of himself; that heritage of woe!
Men think highly of those who rise rapidly in the world; whereas nothing rises quicker than dust, straw, and feathers.
Prolonged endurance tames the bold.
Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.
Romances paint at full length people's wooing. But only give a bust of marriages.
Good but rarely came from good advice.
I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone.
A man of eighty has outlived probably three new schools of painting, two of architecture and poetry and a hundred in dress.
Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.
A drop of ink may make a million think.
Man's conscience is the oracle of God.
The beginning of atonement is the sense of its necessity.
The law of heaven and earth is life for life.
When Bishop Berkeley said "there was no matter." And proved it -- 't was no matter what he said.
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.
Oh! too convincing -- dangerously dear -- In woman's eye the unanswerable tear!
A man must serve his time to every trade, Save censure-critics all are ready made. Take hackney'd jokes from Miller, got by rote With just enough learning to misquote.
Nothing can confound a wise man more than laughter from a dunce.
Be warm, be pure, be amorous, but be chaste.
For pleasures past I do not grieve, nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave nothing that claims a tear.
I would rather have a nod from an American, than a snuff-box from an emperor.
By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see For one who hath no friend, no brother there.
We have fools in all sects, and impostors in most; why should I believe mysteries no one can understand, because written by men who chose to mistake madness for inspiration and style themselves Evangelicals?
I am as comfortless as a pilgrim with peas in his shoes -- and as cold as Charity, Chastity or any other Virtue.
A woman should never be seen eating or drinking, unless it be lobster salad and Champagne, the only true feminine and becoming viands.
I have imbibed such a love for money that I keep some sequins in a drawer to count, and cry over them once a week.
I have no consistency, except in politics; and that probably arises from my indifference to the subject altogether.
So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, View'd his own feather on the fatal dart, And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart.
Folly loves the martyrdom of fame.
Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead? Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some less majestic, less beloved head?
Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
Eat, drink and love… the rest is not worth a nickel.
Such is your cold coquette, who can't say "No," And won't say "Yes," and keeps you on and off-ing On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow, Then sees your heart wreck'd, with an inward scoffing.
And, after all, what is lie? 'Tis but the truth in masquerade.
Here's a sigh to those who love me,And a smile to those who hate;And, whatever sky's above me,Here's a heart for every fate.
And angling too, that solitary vice, What Izaak Walton sings or says: The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it.
Let not his mode of raising cash seem strange,
Although he fleeced the flags of every nation,
For into a prime minister but change
His title, and 'tis nothing but taxation.
Why do they call me misanthrope? Because They hate me, not I them.
For in itself a thought, a slumbering thought, is capable of years, and curdles a long life into one hour.
If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad.
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.
What men call gallantry, and gods adultery, is much more common where the climate's sultry.
I cannot help thinking that the menace of Hell makes as many devils as the severe penal codes of inhuman humanity make villains.
In secret we met -- In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? -- With silence and tears.
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; The earth is but the music of the spheres.
Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.
Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure; Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.
This is to be mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.
What a strange thing man is; and what a stranger thing woman.
Grief is fantastical, and loves the dead, And the apparel of the grave.
Bologna is celebrated for producing popes, painters, and sausage.
There is music in all things, if men had ears.
No more we meet in yonder bowers Absence has made me prone to roving; But older, firmer hearts than ours, Have found monotony in loving.
In solitude, where we are least alone.
There is pleasure in the pathless woods.
Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded. That all the Apostles would have done as they did.
And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; They have a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being.
Pure friendship's well-feigned blush.
Now I shall go to sleep. Goodnight.
All human history attests That happiness for man, -- the hungry sinner! -- Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner. ~Lord Byron, Don Juan, Canto XIII, stanza 99.
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.
Out of chaos God made a world, and out of high passions comes a people.
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.
And the commencement of atonement is the sense of its necessity.
Physicians mend or end us, Secundum artem; but although we sneer -- In health -- when ill we call them to attend us, Without the least propensity to jeer.
If we must have a tyrant, let him at least be a gentleman who has been bred to the business, and let us fall by the axe and not by the butcher's cleaver.
Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, sermons and soda water the day after.
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.
Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; the best of life is but intoxication.
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.
I only know we loved in vain; I only feel-farewell! farewell!
Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave, Then some leap'd overboard with fearful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave.
Friendship is Love without his wings!
It is the lava of the imagination whose eruption prevents an earthquake.
I will keep no further journal of that same hesternal torch‐light ; and, to prevent me from returning, like a dog, to the vomit of memory, I tear out the remaining leaves of this volume.
While common men grow ignorantly old,
The lawyer's brief is like the surgeon's knife,
Dissecting the whole inside of a question,
And with it all the process of digestion.
It is odd but agitation or contest of any kind gives a rebound to my spirits and sets me up for a time.
This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And leaving nothing, yet hath all.
If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.
Well, well, the world must turn upon its axis, And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails, And live and die, make love and pay our taxes, And as the veering winds shift, shift our sails.
It is very certain that the desire of life prolongs it.
All tragedies are finished by a death, All comedies are ended by a marriage.
Sometimes we are less unhappy in being deceived by those we love, than in being undeceived by them.
Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach Who please, the more because they preach in vain.
What exile from himself can flee? To zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life -- the demon Thought.
Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year.
Merely innocent flirtation, Not quite adultery, but adulteration.
For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust
In one fond breast, to which his own would melt,
And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt.
Keep thy smooth words and juggling homilies for those who know thee not.
I've seen your stormy seas and stormy women, And pity lovers rather more than seamen.
Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, there is no sterner moralist than pleasure.
On the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar.
Oh, nature's noblest gift, my grey goose quill, Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will, Torn from the parent bird to form a pen, That mighty instrument of little men.
I do detest everything which is not perfectly mutual.
Think not I am what I appear.
And I would hear yet once before I perish The voice which was my music... Speak to me!
A quiet conscience makes one so serene.
He learned the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, And how to scale a fortress -- or a nunnery.
He scratched his ear, the infallible resource to which embarrassed people have recourse.
I love not man the less, but Nature more.
Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.
So much alarmed that she is quite alarming.
He who is only just is cruel. Who on earth could live were all judged justly?
A legal broom's a moral chimney-sweeper, And that's the reason he himself's so dirty.
Frienship is eros...without wings.
The reason that adulation is not displeasing is that, though untrue, it shows one to be of consequence enough, in one way or other, to induce people to lie.
In England the only homage which they pay to Virtue -- is hypocrisy.
Switzerland is a curst, selfish, swinish country of brutes, placed in the most romantic region of the world.
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean.
This sort of adoration of the real is but a heightening of the beau ideal.
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.
A sort of hostile transaction, very necessary to keep the world going, but by no means a sinecure to the parties concerned.
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.
There is no traitor like him whose domestic treason plants the poniard within the breast that trusted to his truth.
America is a model of force and freedom and moderation -- with all the coarseness and rudeness of its people.
I deny nothing, but doubt everything.
O Gold! I still prefer thee unto paper, which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour.
And life 's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
We are all selfish and I no more trust myself than others with a good motive.
My turn of mind is so given to taking things in the absurd point of view, that it breaks out in spite of me every now and then.
There is no instinct like that of the heart.
Good work and joyous play go hand in hand. When play stops, old age begins. Play keeps you from taking life too seriously.
Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.
The very best of vineyards is the cellar.
Let none think to fly the danger for soon or late love is his own avenger.
I am ashes where once I was fire.
Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; And when Rome falls -- the World.
A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound.
All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.
Champagne with its foaming whirls As white as Cleopatra's pearls.