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.
Society is now one polished horde, formed of two mighty tries, the Bores and Bored.
Interpretation
What this quote means
This quote suggests that society has become a homogeneous group divided into two types of people: those who are dull (the Bores) and those who are weary of them (the Bored).
Lord Byron's quote reflects his critical view of society, indicating that it has evolved into a singular entity characterized by a lack of vibrancy and engagement. The 'Bores' represent individuals who lack excitement or originality, while the 'Bored' refers to those who are disinterested and weary of the monotony around them. This division highlights a societal malaise where real connection and creativity are stifled, leading to a cycle of ennui.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
In a discussion on modern societal dynamics, one could say, 'As Lord Byron puts it, society is now one polished horde, formed of two mighty tries, the Bores and Bored.'
More from Lord Byron
All quotes βIt is the lava of the imagination whose eruption prevents an earthquake.
For what were all these country patriots born? To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn?
Absence - that common cure of love.
Her great merit is finding out mine; there is nothing so amiable as discernment.
But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
Similar quotes
Gifts, believe me, captivate both men and Gods, Jupiter himself was won over and appeased by gifts.
Everyone has to find what is right for them, and it is different for everyone. Eating for me is how you proclaim your beliefs three times a day. That is why all religions have rules about eating. Three times a day, I remind myself that I value life and do not want to cause pain to or kill other living beings. That is why I eat the way I do.
I do not bring forgiveness with me, nor forgetfulness. The only ones who can forgive are dead; the living have no right to forget.
Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village. downtown Manhattan, clear winter noon, and I've been up all night, talking, talking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray Charles blues shout blind on the phonograph
Whenever I hear some bigmouth in Washington or the Christian heartland banging on about the evils of sodomy or whatever, I mentally enter his name in my notebook and contentedly set my watch. Sooner rather than later, he will be discovered down on his weary and well-worn old knees in some dreary motel or latrine, with an expired Visa card, having tried to pay well over the odds to be peed upon by some Apache transvestite.
Stillness is the altar of spirit.