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• Oh, Amos Cottle! Phoebus! what a name!
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, Line 399...
• T is pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print; A book 's a book, although there 's nothing in 't.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, Line 51...
• I'll publish right or wrong. Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, Line 6...
• Perverts the Prophets and purloins the Psalms.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, Line 326...
• With just enough of learning to misquote.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, Line 66...
• 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.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, Line 826...
• 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....
• Virtue could see to do what virtue would By her own radiant light, though sun and moon Were in the flat sea sunk.
  And Wisdom's self Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, Where with her best nurse Contemplation She plumes her feathers and lets grow her wings, That in the various bustle of resort Were all-to ruffled, and sometimes impair'd....
• And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 32...