#george byron

[kaleb-is-definitely-sane]

"You're 17, what are you going to do with your life?" I'm gonna write poetry in my room, try to get published, kill myself with arsenic, and be worshipped like some kind of Romantic Messiah a hundred years later when a bunch of high and alcoholic teenagers start a cult around me.

[lunamarish]

Perché la spada consuma il fodero, / e l’anima il petto, / e il cuore deve prender fiato, / e l’amore anche ha bisogno di riposo.

George Gordon Byron

[si-monik-7]

Czym w końcu jest kłamstwo?

Prawdą w masce.

[canesenzafissadimora]

Tutte le tragedie finiscono con la morte, tutte le commedie con un matrimonio.

[sarnie-for-varney]

"You cannot resist hurting him."

...

"People like Polidori live for such treatment... and would die for want of it."

- Alice Krige (Mary Shelley) and Phillip Anglim (Lord Byron) in Haunted Summer (1988)

[letterboxd-loggd]

Gold Dust Gertie (1931) Lloyd Bacon

October 13th 2024

[ukdamo]

Farewell To Malta

George Byron

Adieu, ye joys of La Valette! Adieu, sirocco, sun, and sweat! Adieu, thou palace rarely enter’d! Adieu, ye mansions where I’ve ventured! Adieu, ye cursed streets of stairs! (How surely he who mounts you swears!) Adieu, ye merchants often failing! Adieu, thou mob for ever railing! Adieu, ye packets without letters! Adieu, ye fools who ape your betters! Adieu, thou damned’st quarantine, That gave me fever, and the spleen! Adieu, that stage which makes us yawn, Sirs, Adieu, his Excellency’s dancers! Adieu to Peter–whom no fault’s in, But could not teach a colonel waltzing; Adieu, ye females fraught with graces! Adieu, red coats, and redder faces! Adieu, the supercilious air Of all that strut ‘en militaire’! I go–but God knows when, or why, To smoky towns and cloudy sky, To things (the honest truth to say) As bad–but in a different way.

Farewell to these, but not adieu, Triumphant sons of truest blue! While either Adriatic shore, And fallen chiefs, and fleets no more, And nightly smiles, and daily dinners, Proclaim you war and woman’s winners. Pardon my Muse, who apt to prate is, And take my rhyme–because ’tis ‘gratis.’

And now I’ve got to Mrs. Fraser, Perhaps you think I mean to praise her­ And were I vain enough to think My praise was worth this drop of ink, A line–or two–were no hard matter, As here, indeed, I need not flatter: But she must be content to shine In better praises than in mine, With lively air, and open heart, And fashion’s ease, without its art; Her hours can gaily glide along, Nor ask the aid of idle song.

And now, O Malta! since thou’st got us, Thou little military hothouse! I’ll not offend with words uncivil, And wish thee rudely at the Devil, But only stare from out my casement, And ask, for what is such a place meant? Then, in my solitary nook, Return to scribbling, or a book, Or take my physic while I’m able (Two spoonfuls hourly by the label), Prefer my nightcap to my beaver, And bless the gods I’ve got a fever.

May 26, 1811.

[luminouslumity]

The Messy Life of Chaos Bisexual Lord Byron

Lord Byron has been dead for two hundred slutty, slutty years!

[atomic-chronoscaph]

The Road Warrior (1981)

[thebellekeys]

manwhore. bisexual. incest. eating disorder. poet. cheater. aristocrat. bipolar. celebrity. single dad of bastards. died in a war.

lord byron, you are my dream.

[humanoidhistory]

The War of the Worlds opened on this day in 1953.

[vesseloftherevolution]

So, for George IV's coronation, it's a (hopefully) well known fact that he made everyone dress up in mock Tudor clothing, which is frankly hilarious due to how badly wrong they got it. And some of you may know that there's a glorious picture of the Duke of Wellington wearing said costume:

Poor Wellington... he looks so cross.

Now. I have been reading Fiona MacCarthy's biography of Byron, and it decided to punch me with an unexpected paragraph this evening:

We could have had LORD BYRON wandering around in Mock Tudor, which he'd love. And moreover, we could have had this as the one time Byron and Wellington met.

[canesenzafissadimora]

Eppoi vi furon sospiri, tanto più profondi perché repressi, e occhiate furtive, tanto più dolci perché furate;e rossori cocenti, sebbene non vi fosse peccato!

[perfectfeelings]

Friendship is love without his wings.

Lord George Gordon Byron

[thebisexualwreckoning]

"average bisexual cheats on their partners within every monogamous relationship" factoid actually just a statistical error. average bisexual is just like every other sexual identity and not more likely than a straight or gay person to cheat on their partner within a monogamous relationship. Lord Byron, who lives in victorian* england & cheats on 10,000 partners each day, is an outlier adn should not have been counted

*edit: Been made aware that lord byron actually lived in regency england. so sorry for my fuckup. im going to bed

[apoemaday]

There Is Pleasure in the Pathless Wood

by George Gordon Byron

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean -- roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin -- his control Stops with the shore; -- upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own, When for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.

His steps are not upon thy paths, -- thy fields Are not a spoil for him, -- thou dost arise And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields For earth’s destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth: -- there let him lay.