For I am a weed,
More quotes by Lord Byron
How my soul hates This language,
Which makes life itself a lie,
Flattering dust with eternity.
For freedom's battle, once begun,
Bequeath'd by bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled oft, is ever won.
She was his life,
The ocean to the river of his thoughts,
Which terminated all.
There 's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away.
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We may not have chosen the time, but the time has chosen us.
“Destiny,” said John. “The ghastliest word a man can speak.”
Attribution
Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: Lord Byron (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.