Zitate von Lord George Gordon Byron
Ein bekanntes Zitat von Lord George Gordon Byron:
Ich verabscheue den Anblick von Kindern so sehr, daß mich die Persönlichkeit von König Herodes stets besonders beeindruckt hat.
Informationen über Lord George Gordon Byron
Poet, "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage", "Cain", "Lara", galt außerhalb Englands als "schillernde Persönlichkeit" mit großem Einfluß (England, 1788 - 1824).
Lord George Gordon Byron · Geburtsdatum · Sterbedatum
Lord George Gordon Byron wäre heute 236 Jahre, 9 Monate, 16 Tage oder 86.487 Tage alt.
Geboren am 22.01.1788 in London
Gestorben am 19.04.1824 in Missolunghi
Sternzeichen: ♒ Wassermann
Unbekannt
Weitere 343 Zitate von Lord George Gordon Byron
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All who would win joy, must share it; happiness was born a twin.
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And as the he knew not what to say, he swore.
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And Coleridge, too, has lately taken wing, But, like a hawk encumbered with his hood, Explaining metaphysics to the nation- I wish he would explain his explanation.
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And glory, like the phoenix midst her fires, Exhales her odours, blazes, and expires.
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And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 'Tis that I may not weep.
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And is this blood, then, formed but to be shed? Can every element our elements mar? And air-earth-water-fire live-and we dead? We, whose minds comprehend all things?
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And she for him had given Her all on earth, and more than all in heaven!
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And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, / When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
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And thus they form a group that's quite antique, Half naked, loving, natural, and Greek.
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And when the gorgeous coffin was laid low, It seemed the mockery of hell to fold The rottenness of eighty years in gold.
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And when the tumult dwindled to a calm, I left him practising the hundredth psalm.
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And when we think we lead, we are most led.
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And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but The truth in masquerade.
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As he drew near, he gazed upon the gate Ne'er to be entered more by him or Sin, With such a glance of supernatural hate, As made Saint Peter wish himself within; He pattered with his keys at a great rate, And sweated through his apostolic skin: Of course his perspiration was but ichor, Or some such other spiritual liquor.
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Ave Maria! 'tis the hour of prayer! Ave Maria! 'tis the hour of love!
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Be warm, but pure; be amorous, but be chaste.
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Beside the jutting rock the few appeared, Like the last remnant of the red-deer's herd; Their eyes were feverish, and their aspect worn, But still the hunter's blood was on their horn, A little stream came tumbling from the height, And straggling into ocean as it might, Its bounding crystal frolicked in the ray, And gushed from cliff to crag with saltless spray . . . To this young spring they rushed, - all feelings first Absorbed in passion's and in nature's thirst,- Drank as they do whodrink their last, and threw Their arms aside to revel in its dew; Cooled their scorched throats, and washed the gory stains From wounds whose only bandage might be chains.
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Between two worlds life hovers like a star, 'Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge. How little do we know that which we are! How less what we may be!
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Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred, Promoted thence to deck her mistress' head.
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But I have lived, and have not lived in vain: My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire, And my frame perish even in conquering pain; But there is that within me which shall tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire.