Don Juan (Byron)

"In her first passion woman loves her lover: In all the others, all she loves is love."

"'Tis melancholy, and a fearful sign Of human frailty, folly, also crime, That love and marriage rarely can combine, Although they both are born in the same clime; Marriage from love, like vinegar from wine— A sad, sour, sober beverage—by time Is sharpen'd from its high celestial flavour Down to a very homely household savour."

"Romances paint at full length people's wooings, But only give a bust of marriages; For no one cares for matrimonial cooings, There's nothing wrong in a connubial kiss: Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, He would have written sonnets all his life?"

"All tragedies are finish'd by a death, All comedies are ended by a marriage; The future states of both are left to faith."

"Wives in their husbands’ absences grow subtler, And daughters sometimes run off with the butler."

"And as the spot where they appear he nears, Surprised at these unwonted signs of idling, He hears—alas! no music of the spheres, But an unhallow'd, earthly sound of fiddling!"

"A pipe, too, and a drum, and shortly after, A most unoriental roar of laughter."

"Dreading that climax of all human ills, The inflammation of his weekly bills."

"He was the mildest-mannered man That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat: With such true breeding of a gentleman, You never could divine his real thought."

"He enter'd in the house—his home no more, For without hearts there is no home; and felt The solitude of passing his own door Without a welcome."

"The cubless tigress in her jungle raging Is dreadful to the shepherd and the flock; The ocean when its yeasty war is waging Is awful to the vessel near the rock; But violent things will sooner bear assuaging, Their fury being spent by its own shock, Than the stern, single, deep, and wordless ire Of a strong human heart, and in a sire."

"Just as old age is creeping on apace, And clouds come o’er the sunset of our day, They kindly leave us, though not quite alone, But in good company—the gout or stone."

"Yet a fine family is a fine thing (Provided they don't come in after dinner); 'Tis beautiful to see a matron bring Her children up (if nursing them don't thin her)."

"A lady with her daughters or her nieces Shines like a guinea and seven-shilling pieces."

"Her overpowering presence made you feel It would not be idolatry to kneel."

"But Shakespeare also says, 'tis very silly "To gild refinèd gold, or paint the lily.""

"Even good men like to make the public stare."

"But now being lifted into high society, And having pick'd up several odds and ends Of free thoughts in his travels for variety, He deem'd, being in a lone isle, among friends, That, without any danger of a riot, he Might for long lying make himself amends; And, singing as he sung in his warm youth, Agree to a short armistice with truth."

"The isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace, Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set."

"The mountains look on Marathon — And Marathon looks on the sea; And musing there an hour alone, I dream'd that Greece might still be free."

"A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations;—all were his! He counted them at break of day— And when the sun set where were they?"

"And where are they? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now — The heroic bosom beats no more! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine?"

"For what is left the poet here? For Greeks a blush—for Greece a tear."

"Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylae!"

"Fill high the cup with Samian wine!"

"You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one? You have the letters Cadmus gave — Think ye he meant them for a slave?"

"Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, Where nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; There, swan-like, let me sing and die: A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine — Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!"

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

"Milton's the prince of poets—so we say; A little heavy, but no less divine."

"A drowsy frowzy poem, call'd the "Excursion", Writ in a manner which is my aversion."

"We learn from Horace, "Homer sometimes sleeps;" We feel without him: Wordsworth sometimes wakes."

"Ave Maria! 'tis the hour of prayer! Ave Maria! 'tis the hour of love!"

"Some kinder casuists are pleased to say, In nameless print—that I have no devotion; But set those persons down with me to pray, And you shall see who has the properest notion Of getting into heaven the shortest way; My altars are the mountains and the ocean, Earth, air, stars,—all that springs from the great Whole, Who hath produced, and will receive the soul."

"Oh, Hesperus! thou bringest all good things— Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer, To the young bird the parent's brooding wings, The welcome stall to the o'erlabour'd steer; Whate'er of peace about our hearthstone clings, Whate'er our household gods protect of dear, Are gather'd round us by thy look of rest; Thou bring'st the child, too, to the mother's breast."

"Ah, surely nothing dies but something mourns."

"Nothing so difficult as a beginning In poesy, unless perhaps the end."

"While Youth's hot wishes in our red veins revel."

"But as the torrent widens towards the Ocean, We ponder deeply on each past emotion."

"Now my sere Fancy "falls into the yellow Leaf," and Imagination droops her pinion, And the sad truth which hovers o'er my desk Turns what was once romantic to burlesque."

"And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 'Tis that I may not weep."

"Thetis baptized her mortal son in Styx; A mortal mother would on Lethe fix."

"Some have accused me of a strange design Against the creed and morals of the land, And trace it in this poem every line: I don't pretend that I quite understand My own meaning when I would be very fine; But the fact is that I have nothing planned, Unless it were to be a moment merry — A novel word in my vocabulary."

"The precious porcelain of human clay."

"Perhaps the early grave Which men weep over may be meant to save."

"'Whom the gods love die young,' was said of yore, And many deaths do they escape by this."

"And her face so fair Stirr'd with her dream, as rose-leaves with the air."

"It has a strange quick jar upon the ear, That cocking of a pistol, when you know A moment more will bring the sight to bear Upon your person, twelve yards off, or so."

"But after being fired at once or twice, The ear becomes more Irish, and less nice."

"Even to the delicacy of their hand There was resemblance, such as true blood wears."

"The tenor's voice is spoilt by affectation, And for the bass, the beast can only bellow; In fact, he had no singing education, An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow."