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Danh ngôn của Lord Byron (Sứ mệnh: 6)

Adversity is the first path to truth.
'Tis very certain the desire of life prolongs it.
I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all.
I love not man the less, but Nature more.
Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.
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.
A celebrity is one who is known to many persons he is glad he doesn't know.
Men think highly of those who rise rapidly in the world; whereas nothing rises quicker than dust, straw, and feathers.
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.
A man of eighty has outlived probably three new schools of painting, two of architecture and poetry and a hundred in dress.
Absence - that common cure of love.
The dew of compassion is a tear.
There is no instinct like that of the heart.
The 'good old times' - all times when old are good.
A woman should never be seen eating or drinking, unless it be lobster salad and Champagne, the only true feminine and becoming viands.
Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.
Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone.
Who loves, raves.
Fame is the thirst of youth.
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.
Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; the best of life is but intoxication.
America is a model of force and freedom and moderation - with all the coarseness and rudeness of its people.
There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion.
I am about to be married, and am of course in all the misery of a man in pursuit of happiness.
All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin.
This is the patent age of new inventions for killing bodies, and for saving souls. All propagated with the best intentions.
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.
Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, there is no sterner moralist than pleasure.
We are all selfish and I no more trust myself than others with a good motive.
I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone.
Opinions are made to be changed - or how is truth to be got at?
Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.
The busy have no time for tears.
Truth is always strange, stranger than fiction.
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.
Friendship is Love without his wings!
Society is now one polished horde, formed of two mighty tries, the Bores and Bored.
Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.
For truth is always strange; stranger than fiction.
Man is born passionate of body, but with an innate though secret tendency to the love of Good in his main-spring of Mind. But God help us all! It is at present a sad jar of atoms.
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.
For what were all these country patriots born? To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn?
If I am fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom.
Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure; men love in haste but they detest at leisure.
The best prophet of the future is the past.
There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in 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.
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.
Smiles form the channels of a future tear.
Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!
The heart will break, but broken live on.
Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.
The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.
Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.
Women hate everything which strips off the tinsel of sentiment, and they are right, or it would rob them of their weapons.
What should I have known or written had I been a quiet, mercantile politician or a lord in waiting? A man must travel, and turmoil, or there is no existence.