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Bartlett's Familiar Quotations

A Collection of Passages, Phrases, and Proverbs Traced to Their Sources in Ancient and Modern Literature


The following 99 quotes match your criteria:


Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Farewell! if ever fondest prayer
  For other’s weal avail’d on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,
  But waft thy name beyond the sky.
Farewell! if ever fondest Prayer.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
I only know we loved in vain;
  I only feel—farewell! farewell!
Farewell! if ever fondest Prayer.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
When we two parted
  In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
  To sever for years.
When we Two parted.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 6.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
’T is pleasant, sure, to see one’s name in print;
A book ’s a book, although there ’s nothing in ’t.
English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 51.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
With just enough of learning to misquote.
English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 66.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
As soon
Seek roses in December, ice in June;
Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff;
Believe a woman or an epitaph,
Or any other thing that ’s false, before
You trust in critics.
English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 75.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Perverts the Prophets and purloins the Psalms.
English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 326.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Oh, Amos Cottle! Phœbus! what a name!
English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 399.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
So the struck eagle, stretch’d upon the plain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
View’d his own feather on the fatal dart,
And wing’d the shaft that quiver’d in his heart.
English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 826.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Yet truth will sometimes lend her noblest fires,
And decorate the verse herself inspires:
This fact, in virtue’s name, let Crabbe attest,—
Though Nature’s sternest painter, yet the best.
English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 839.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Maid of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh give me back my heart!
Maid of Athens.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Had sigh’d to many, though he loved but one.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 5.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 7.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,
And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 9.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 10.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Might shake the saintship of an anchorite.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 11.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Adieu! adieu! my native shore
Fades o’er the waters blue.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 13.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
My native land, good night!
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 13.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
O Christ! it is a goodly sight to see
What Heaven hath done for this delicious land.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 15.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 20.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see
For one who hath no friend, no brother there.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 40.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Still from the fount of joy’s delicious springs
Some bitter o’er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 82.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
War, war is still the cry,—“war even to the knife!”
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 86.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto ii. Stanza 2.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
A schoolboy’s tale, the wonder of an hour!
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto ii. Stanza 2.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto ii. Stanza 2.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto ii. Stanza 6.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Ah, happy years! once more who would not be a boy?
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto ii. Stanza 23.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
None are so desolate but something dear,
Dearer than self, possesses or possess’d
A thought, and claims the homage of a tear.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto ii. Stanza 24.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
But ’midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men,
To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess,
And roam along, the world’s tired denizen,
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto ii. Stanza 26.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Coop’d in their winged, sea-girt citadel.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto ii. Stanza 28.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth!
Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto ii. Stanza 73.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Hereditary bondsmen! know ye not,
Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow?
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto ii. Stanza 76.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
A thousand years scarce serve to form a state:
An hour may lay it in the dust.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto ii. Stanza 84.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Land of lost gods and godlike men.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto ii. Stanza 85.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Where’er we tread, ’t is haunted, holy ground.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto ii. Stanza 88.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Age shakes Athena’s tower, but spares gray Marathon.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto ii. Stanza 88.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 1.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
That knows his rider.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 2.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
I am as a weed
Flung from the rock, on Ocean’s foam to sail
Where’er the surge may sweep, the tempest’s breath prevail.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 2.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
He who grown aged in this world of woe,
In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life,
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 5.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Years steal
Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb,
And life’s enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 8.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium’s capital had gather’d then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men.
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with i
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 21.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!
Did ye not hear it?—No! ’t was but the wind,
Or the car rattling o’er the stony street.
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleas
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 22.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
He rush’d into the field, and foremost fighting fell.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 23.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
And there was mounting in hot haste.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 25.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Or whispering with white lips, “The foe! They come! they come!”
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 25.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Grieving, if aught inanimate e’er grieves,
Over the unreturning brave.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 27.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Battle’s magnificently stern array.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 28.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 32.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 42.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find
The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow;
He who surpasses or subdues mankind
Must look down on the hate of those below.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 45.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
All tenantless, save to the crannying wind.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 47.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
The castled crag of Drachenfels
Frowns o’er the wide and winding Rhine.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 55.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
He had kept
The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o’er him wept.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 57.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
But there are wanderers o’er Eternity
Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor’d ne’er shall be.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 70.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 71.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
I live not in myself, but I become
Portion of that around me;
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 72.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing
To waft me from distraction.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 85.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
On the ear
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 86.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
All is concentr’d in a life intense,
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost,
But hath a part of being.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 89.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
In solitude, where we are least alone.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 90.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
The sky is changed,—and such a change! O night
And storm and darkness! ye are wondrous strong,
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
Of a dark eye in woman! Far along,
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among,
Leaps the live
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 92.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Exhausting thought,
And hiving wisdom with each studious year.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 107.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 107.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
I have not loved the world, nor the world me.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 113.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
I stood
Among them, but not of them; in a shroud
Of thoughts which were not their thoughts.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 113.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs,
A palace and a prison on each hand.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 1.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 1.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 3.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
The thorns which I have reap’d are of the tree
I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed.
I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 10.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Oh for one hour of blind old Dandolo,
The octogenarian chief, Byzantium’s conquering foe!
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 12.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
There are some feelings time cannot benumb,
Nor torture shake.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 19.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 23.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
The cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew,
The mourn’d, the loved, the lost,—too many, yet how few!
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 24.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Parting day
Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues
With a new colour as it gasps away,
The last still loveliest, till—’t is gone, and all is gray.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 29.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
The Ariosto of the North.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 40.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Italia! O Italia! thou who hast
The fatal gift of beauty.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 42.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Fills
The air around with beauty.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 49.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Let these describe the undescribable.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 53.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
The starry Galileo with his woes.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 54.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Ungrateful Florence! Dante sleeps afar,
Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 57.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
The poetry of speech.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 58.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
The hell of waters! where they howl and hiss,
And boil in endless torture.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 69.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Then farewell Horace, whom I hated so,—
Not for thy faults, but mine.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 77.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
O Rome! my country! city of the soul!
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 78.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
The Niobe of nations! there she stands.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 79.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying,
Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 98.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Heaven gives its favourites—early death.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 102.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
History, with all her volumes vast,
Hath but one page.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 108.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Man!
Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 109.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Tully was not so eloquent as thou,
Thou nameless column with the buried base.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 110.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Egeria! sweet creation of some heart
Which found no mortal resting-place so fair
As thine ideal breast.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 115.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
The nympholepsy of some fond despair.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 115.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 115.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
Alas! our young affections run to waste,
Or water but the desert.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 120.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
I see before me the gladiator lie.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 140.

Author: George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron
There were his young barbarians all at play;
There was their Dacian mother: he, their sire,
Butcher’d to make a Roman holiday!
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 141.



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