All Is Concentr'd In A Life Intense, Where Not A Beam, Nor Air, Nor Leaf Is Lost, But Hath A Part Of Being.

I have not loved the world, nor the world me.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 113...
In solitude, where we are least alone.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 90...
All tenantless, save to the crannying wind.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 47...
There are some feelings time cannot benumb, Nor torture shake.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 19...
If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto i, Stanza 7...
History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 108...
Fills The air around with beauty.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 49...
Land of lost gods and godlike men.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 85...
And there was mounting in hot haste.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 25...