George Gordon Byron

"If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad."

"Where there is mystery, it is generally supposed there must be evil."

"But words are things, and a small drop of ink,Falling, like dew, upon a thought produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think."

"I do not believe in any religion, I will have nothing to do with immortality. We are miserable enough in this life without speculating upon another."

"A woman who gives any advantage to a man may expect a lover -- but will sooner or later find a tyrant."

"the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, the first to welcome, the foremost to defend."

"A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound."

"If I could always read I should never feel the want of company."

"The light of love, the purity of grace,The mind, the Music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonised the whole —And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!"

"Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, sermons and soda water the day after."

"And yet methinks the older that one grows Inclines us more to laugh than scold, though laughter Leaves us so doubly serious shortly after."

"...methinks the older that one grows, Inclines us more to laugh the scold, though laughter Leaves us so doubly serious shortly after."

"The Dream Lord Byron Our life is twofold; 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,And dreams in their development have breath,And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy;They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts,They take a weight from off waking toils,They do divide our being; they become A portion of ourselves as of our time,And look like heralds of eternity;They pass like spirits of the past -they speak Like sibyls of the future; they have power -The tyranny of pleasure and of pain;They make us what we were not -what they will,And shake us with the vision that's gone by,The dread of vanished shadows -Are they so?Is not the past all shadow? -What are they?Creations of the mind? -The mind can make Substances, and people planets of its own With beings brighter than have been, and give A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh. I would recall a vision which I dreamed Perchance in sleep -for in itself a thought,A slumbering thought, is capable of years,And curdles a long life into one hour.----------Il sogno Lord Byron Duplice è la nostra vita: il Sonno ha il suo proprio mondo,un confine tra le cose chiamate impropriamentemorte e esistenza: il Sonno ha il proprio mondo,e un vasto reame di sfrenata realtà;e nel loro svolgersi i sogni hanno respiro,e lacrime e tormenti e sfiorano la gioia;lasciano un peso sui nostri pensieri da svegli,tolgono un peso dalle nostre fatiche da svegli,dividono il nostro essere; diventanoparte di noi stessi e del nostro tempo,e sembrano gli araldi dell'eternità;passano come fantasmi del passato, parlanocome Sibille dell'avvenire; hanno potere -la tirannia del piacere e del dolore;ci rendono ciò che non fummo, secondo il loro volere,e ci scuotono con dissolte visioni,col terrore di svanite ombre. Ma sono veramente così?Non è forse tutto un'ombra il passato? Cosa sono?Creazioni della mente? La mente sa crearesostanza, e popolare pianeti, di sua fattura,di esseri più splendenti di quelli mai esistiti, e darerespiro e forma che sopravvivono alla carne. Vorrei richiamare una visione che ho sognatoforse nel sonno, poiché in sé un pensiero,un pensiero assopito, racchiude anni,e in un'ora condensa una lunga vita."

"Friendship is love without wings."

"Gwynned lies two days westwards; still further south, the weregeld calls. Mayhap with All-Father Woden's favour, my deeds may yet inspire the skalds."

"The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space."

"I awoke one morning to find myself famous."

"There is something pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything."

"I will keep no further journal of that same hesternal torch‐light ; and, to prevent me from returning, like a dog, to the vomit of memory, I tear out the remaining leaves of this volume..."

"If I do not write to empty my mind, I go mad."