Zitate von Lord George Gordon Byron
Ein bekanntes Zitat von Lord George Gordon Byron:
Es ist viel leichter, für die Frau, die man liebt, zu sterben, als mit ihr zu leben.
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, 2 Monate, 7 Tage oder 86.264 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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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.
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But Shakespeare also says, 'tis very silly 'To gild refinèd gold, or paint the lily.'
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But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling, like dew, upon a thought produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think.
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But-Oh! ye lords of ladies intellectual, Inform us truly, have they not hen-pecked you all?
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Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away.
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Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded That all the Apostles would have done as they did.
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Cold is the heart, fair Greece! that looks on thee, Nor feels as lovers o'er the dust they loved; Dull is the eye that will not weep to see Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines removed By British hands.
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Dark Sappho! could not verse immortal save That breast imbued with such immortal fire? Could she not live who life eternal gave?
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Dark-heaving; - boundless, endless, and sublime - The image of eternity.
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Dear Doctor, I have read your play, / Which is a good one in its way,- / Purges the eyes and moves the bowels, / And drenches handkerchiefs like towels.
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Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.
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Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells, Lonely and lost to light for evermore, Save when to thine my heart responsive swells, Then trembles into silence as before.
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Did'st ever see a gondola? . . . It glides along the water looking blackly, Just like a coffin clapt in a canoe.
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Dreading that climax of all human ills, The inflammation of his weekly bills.
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Dusky like night, but night with all her stars, Or cavern sparkling with its native spars; With eyes that were a language and a spell, A form like Aphrodite's in her shell, With all her loves around her on the deep, Voluptuous as the first approach of sleep.
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Each breeze from foggy mount and marshy plain Dilutes with drivel every drizzly brain, Till, burst at length, each wat'ry head o'erflows, Foul as their soil, and frigid as their snows.
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Each country Book-club bows the knee to Baal, And, hurling lawful Genius from the throne, Erects a shrine and idol of its own.
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Eternal spirit of the chainless mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art.
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Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!
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Fame is the thirst of youth.