None Are So Desolate But Something Dear, Dearer Than Self, Possesses Or Possess'd A Thought, And Claims The Homage Of A Tear.

The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 6...
Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 109...
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.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 26...
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 2...
Coop'd in their winged, sea-girt citadel.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 28...
Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 2...
Land of lost gods and godlike men.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 85...
Where'er we tread, 't is haunted, holy ground.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 88...
Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 88...