Lord Byron

A pretty woman is a welcome guest.

On with the dance! Let joy be undefined!

In the desert a fountain is springing,
In the wide waste there still is a tree,
And a bird in the solitude singing,
Which speaks to my spirit of thee.

Opinions are made to be changed - or how is the truth to be got at.

Italia! Oh Italia! thou who hast The fatal gift of beauty

Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; The best of life is but intoxication.

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.

Always laugh when you can. It is cheap medicine.

I'll publish right or wrong. Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

All who would win joy, must share it; happiness was born a twin.

Society is now one polished horde, --- Formed of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored.

Sweet is revenge - especially to women.

Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure; Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.

What men call gallantry and gods adultery Is much more common where the climate's sultry.

Goodnight

With just enough of learning to misquote.

For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause for breath,
And love itself have rest.

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!

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 our waking toils,
They do divide our being.

[Poetry] is the lava of the imagination whose eruption prevents an earthquake.

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