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Lord Byron

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Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.



Though sages may pour out their wisdom’s treasure, there is no sterner moralist than pleasure.



Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.



I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all.



I am about to be married, and am of course in all the misery of a man in pursuit of happiness.



Truth is always strange, stranger than fiction.



For truth is always strange stranger than fiction.



But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.



Opinions are made to be changed - or how is truth to be got at?



Adversity is the first path to truth.



We are all selfish and I no more trust myself than others with a good motive.



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.



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.



There’s naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion.



I have no consistency, except in politics and that probably arises from my indifference to the subject altogether.



A man of eighty has outlived probably three new schools of painting, two of architecture and poetry and a hundred in dress.



Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!



I love not man the less, but Nature more.



As long as I retain my feeling and my passion for Nature, I can partly soften or subdue my other passions and resist or endure those of others.



The heart will break, but broken live on.



Opinions are made to be changed - or how is truth to be got at?



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.



This is the patent age of new inventions for killing bodies, and for saving souls. All propagated with the best intentions.



Man, being reasonable, must get drunk the best of life is but intoxication.



The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.



A man of eighty has outlived probably three new schools of painting, two of architecture and poetry and a hundred in dress.



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.



Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone.



I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone.