Lord Byron ( 1788 ~ 1824 )
Always laugh when you can. It is cheap medicine.
All tragedies are finished by a death, all comedies by a marriage.
Friendship is Love without his wings.
What men call gallantry and gods adultery Is much more common where the climate's sultry.
All who would win joy, must share it; happiness was born a twin.
Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure; Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.
With just enough of learning to misquote.
I'll publish right or wrong. Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
The drying up a single tear has more of honest fame than shedding seas of gore.
Society is now one polished horde, --- Formed of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored.
What a strange thing man is; and what a stranger thing woman.
How sweet and soothing is this hour of calm! I thank thee, night! for thou has chased away these horrid bodements which, amidst the throng, I could not dissipate; and with the blessing of thy benign and quiet influence now will I to my couch, although to rest is almost wronging such a night as this.
Oh! too convincing - dangerously dear - In woman's eye the unanswerable tear!
The lapse of ages changes all things -- time, language, the earth, the bounds of the sea, the stars of the sky, and every thing "about, around, and underneath" man, except man himself.
Tempted fate will leave the loftiest star.
Who surpasses or subdues mankind, must look down on the hate of those below.
But words are things, and a small drop of ink, falling like dew, upon a thought, produces that which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.
If I am fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom.
History is the devil's scripture
The "good old times" -- all times when old are good.
We are all selfish and I no more trust myself than others with a good motive.
It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us. A year impairs, a luster obliterates. There is little distinct left without an effort of memory, then indeed the lights are rekindled for a moment --but who can be sure that the Imagination is not the torch-bearer?
That low vice, curiosity
I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all.