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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Life could not be lived wet, whether it be in rain or tears.
In much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.
Every joy that some experience is paid for by the sorrow of others.
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