Quote #90
Folly loves the martyrdom of fame.
More from Lord Byron
- When all of genius which can perish dies.
- Who track the steps of glory to the grave.
- And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
- Sighing that Nature formed but one such man, And broke the die, in molding Sheridan.
- For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast.
- And both were young, and one was beautiful.
- The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like …
- And to his eye There was but one beloved face on earth, And that was shining on him.