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Quote by Lord Byron

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““That which would not yield, nor could forget, Which, when it least appear'd to melt, Intensely thought, intensely felt: The deepest ice which ever froze Can only o'er the surface close; The living stream lies quick below, And flows--and cannot cease to flow.””

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Self-love for ever creeps out, like a snake, to sting anything which happens to stumble upon it.

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Lord of himself; that heritage of woe!

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Here's a sigh to those who love me,And a smile to those who hate;And, whatever sky's above me,Here's a heart for every fate.

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For most men (till by losing rendered sager), Will back their own opinions by a wager

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