George Gordon Byron Zitate

seite 7

„Das Herz wird brechen, aber gebrochen weiterleben.“

„Der große Gegenstand des Lebens ist die Empfindung, dass wir existieren, obwohl wir Schmerzen haben.“

„Freundschaft ist Liebe ohne Flügel.“

„Diejenigen, die nicht argumentieren werden, sind Bigots, die nicht argumentieren können, sind Dummköpfe, und die, die es nicht wagen, sind Sklaven.“

„Freundschaft kann, und das tut sie häufig, zu Liebe heranwachsen, aber Liebe wird nie zu Freundschaft abflauen.“

„Was ist Demokratie — eine Aristokratie von Lumpengesindel.“

„Die Jugend welkt, die Liebe macht verdrossen, // Langweilig werden Freund und Parasiten, // Geld bleibt ein Kleinod, das wir gern gewönnen, // Auch wenn wir gar nicht mehr missbrauchen können.“

„Wer Freude genießen will, muss sie teilen. Das Glück wurde als Zwilling geboren.“

„Welche tiefen Wunden sind jemals ohne Narbe verheilt?“

„Denn der Engel des Tod's kam mit Sturmesgewalt, // und blies auf die Feinde verderblich und kalt. // Und es ward nicht der schlafenden Augen mehr wach, // und es hob sich noch einmal ihr Herz und es brach.“

„Der Freiheit Kampf, einmal begonnen, // Vom Vater blutend auf den Sohn vererbt, // Wird immer, wenn auch schwer, gewonnen.“

„Gleichgültigkeit bringt wenigstens kein Leid, // Und Enthusiasmus wird in feinen Kreisen // Einfach Betrunkenheit der Seele heißen.“

„Indes des Lebens dünner Zwirn verschleißt, // Der Erbe lauert, und die Gicht uns beißt.“

„In Venedig ist Tassos Echo bereits verhallt // Und stumm rudert der liedlose Gondoliere.“

„Nun sollte ich schlafen gehen. Gute Nacht.“

„Was geschrieben ist, ist geschrieben!“

„Wie Motten lockt der Glanz die Mädchen an.“

„Ganz bös ist keiner. Lebenskeimend blieb / in seinem Herzen noch ein sanftrer Trieb.“

„Ich habe ein großes Interesse daran, an das Christentum zu glauben, nur weil ich Lust habe, mir vorzustellen, ich könnte verdammt sein.“

„Warum nennen sie mich Misanthrop? Weil sie mich hassen, nicht ich sie.“

„In ihrer ersten Leidenschaft liebt eine Frau ihren Geliebten, in allen anderen ist alles, was sie liebt, Liebe.“

„Ich erwachte eines Morgens und fand mich berühmt.“

„Außerdem riechen sie immer nach Brot und Butter.“

“Sublime tobacco! which from east to west
Cheers the tar's labor or the Turkman's rest.”

“There was a laughing devil in his sneer.”

“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.”

“That which I am, I am; I did not seek
For life, nor did I make myself.”

“So, we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.”

“And to his eye
There was but one beloved face on earth,
And that was shining on him.”

“Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine,
And all, save the spirit of man, is divine?”

“Were't the last drop in the well,
As I gasp'd upon the brink,
Ere my fainting spirit fell
'T is to thee that I would drink.”

“Send me no more reviews of any kind. — I will read no more of evil or good in that line. — Walter Scott has not read a review of himself for thirteen years.”

“Eat, drink, and love; the rest's not worth a fillip.”

“The best of prophets of the future is the past.”

“Tis pleasure, sure, to see one's name in print;
A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.”

“Shrine of the mighty! can it be
That this is all remains of thee?”

“The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle.”

“As the liberty lads o'er the sea
Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood,
So we, boys, we
Shall die fighting or live free,
And down with all kings but King Ludd!”

“It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the hour when lovers' vows
Seem sweet in every whisper'd word.”

“From my youth upwards
My spirit walk'd not with the souls of men,
Nor look'd upon the earth with human eyes;
The thirst of their ambition was not mine,
The aim of their existence was not mine;
My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powers
Made me a stranger.”

“Where may the wearied eye repose
When gazing on the Great;
Where neither guilty glory glows,
Nor despicable state?
Yes — one — the first — the last — the best — The Cincinnatus of the West,
Whom envy dared not hate,
Bequeath'd the name of Washington,
To make man blush there was but one!”

“Whose game was empires and whose stakes were thrones,
Whose table earth, whose dice were human bones.”

“And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!”

“There is no power in holy men,
Nor charm in prayer, nor purifying form
Of penitence, nor outward look, nor fast,
Nor agony—nor, greater than all these,
The innate tortures of that deep despair,
Which is remorse without the fear of hell,
But all in all sufficient to itself
Would make a hell of heaven,—can exorcise
From out the unbounded spirit the quick sense
Of its own sins, wrongs, sufferance, and revenge
Upon itself; there is no future pang
Can deal that justice on the self—condemn'd
He deals on his own soul.”

“To be thus—
Grey-hair'd with anguish, like these blasted pines,
Wrecks of a single winter, barkless, branchless,
A blighted trunk upon a cursed root,
Which but supplies a feeling to decay—
And to be thus, eternally but thus,
Having been otherwise! Now furrow'd o'er
With wrinkles, plough'd by moments, not by years
And hours—all tortured into ages—hours
Which I outlive!—Ye toppling crags of ice!
Ye avalanches, whom a breath draws down
In mountainous o'erwhelming, come and crush me!
I hear ye momently above, beneath,
Crash with a frequent conflict; but ye pass,
And only fall on things that still would live.”

“The dust we tread upon was once alive.”

“She was a form of life and light
That seen, became a part of sight,
And rose, where'er I turn'd mine eye,
The morning-star of memory!
Yes, love indeed is light from heaven;
A spark of that immortal fire
With angels shared, by Alla given,
To lift from earth our low desire.”

“And both were young, and one was beautiful.”

“Because
He is all-powerful, must all-good, too, follow?
I judge but by the fruits—and they are bitter—
Which I must feed on for a fault not mine.”

“By thy cold breast and serpent smile,
By thy unfathom'd gulfs of guile,
By that most seeming virtuous eye,
By thy shut soul's hypocrisy;
By the perfection of thine art
Which pass'd for human thine own heart;
By thy delight in others' pain,
And by thy brotherhood of Cain,
I call upon thee! and compel
Thyself to be thy proper Hell!”

“What say you to such a supper with such a woman?”

“The careful pilot of my proper woe.”