Lord Byron

The mind can make Substance, and people planets of its own With beings brighter than have been, and give A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh

To have joy one must share it. Happiness was born a twin.

Now I shall go to sleep. Goodnight.

I'll publish right or wrong. Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.

Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying, Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind.

Egeria! sweet creation of some heart Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast.

Tully was not so eloquent as thou, Thou nameless column with the buried base.

He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow; He who surpasses or subdues mankind Must look down on the hate of those below.

Since Eve ate the apple, much depends on dinner.