Lord Byron

Sincerity may be humble but she cannot be servile.

Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure; men love in haste but they detest at leisure.

You gave me the key to your heart, my love, then why did you make me knock?

Oh who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried.

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.

This is the age of oddities let loose.

Bread has been made (indifferent) from potatoes;_x000D_ _x000D_ And galvanism has set some corpses grinning,_x000D_ _x000D_ But has not answer'd like the apparatus_x000D_ _x000D_ Of the Humane Society's beginning,_x000D_ _x000D_ By which men are unsuffocated gratis:_x000D_ _x000D_ What wondrous new machines have late been spinning.

Man's conscience is the oracle of God.

Now what I love in women is, they won't Or can't do otherwise than lie, but do it. So well, the very truth seems falsehood to it.

Muse of the many twinkling feet, whose charms are now extending up from legs to arms.

Our life is two fold Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality.

Alas! how deeply painful is all payment!

Dreading that climax of all human ills the inflammation of his weekly bills.

So for a good old-gentlemanly vice, I think I must take up with avarice.

Constancy... that small change of love, which people exact so rigidly, receive in such counterfeit coin, and repay in baser metal.

Curiosity kills itself; and love is only curiosity, as is proved by its end.

But as to women, who can penetrate the real sufferings of their she condition? Man's very sympathy with their estate has much of selfishness and more suspicion. Their love, their virtue, beauty, education, but form good housekeepers, to breed a nation.

If from society we learn to live, solitude should teach us how to die.

Like other parties of the kind, it was first silent, then talky, then argumentative, then disputatious, then unintelligible, then altogether, then inarticulate, and then drunk. When we had reached the last step of this glorious ladder, it was difficult to get down again without stumbling.

A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded.

Tyranny is for the worst of treasons.