Maxioms by Lord Byron
Hatred is the madness of the heart.
Hatred is the madness of the heart.
It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us. A year impairs, read more
It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us. A year impairs, a luster obliterates. There is little distinct left without an effort of memory, then indeed the lights are rekindled for a moment -- but who can be sure that the Imagination is not the torch-bearer?
Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure.
Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure.
Her great merit is finding out mine -- there is nothing so amiable as discernment.
Her great merit is finding out mine -- there is nothing so amiable as discernment.
Who surpasses or subdues mankind, must look down on the hate of those below.
Who surpasses or subdues mankind, must look down on the hate of those below.
