Lord Byron Time Quotations

I shall soon be six-and-twenty. Is there anything in the future that can possibly console us for not being always twenty-five?

The 'good old times' - all times when old are good.

What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page, And be alone on earth, as I am now.

It is odd but agitation or contest of any kind gives a rebound to my spirits and sets me up for a time.

My time has been passed viciously and agreeably; at thirty-one so few years, months, days, hours, or minutes remain that Carpe Diem 'is not enough. I have been obliged to crop even the seconds-for who can trust to tomorrow?'

My time has been passed viciously and agreeably; at thirty-one so few years months days hours or minutes remain that ''Carpe Diem'' is not enough. I have been obliged to crop even the seconds -- for who can trust to tomorrow?

Tis melancholy, and a fearful sign Of human frailty, folly, also crime, That love and marriage rarely can combine, Although they both are born in the same clime; Marriage from love, like vinegar from wine - A sad, sour, sober beverage - by time Is s

I've stood upon Achilles' tomb, And heard Troy doubted: time will doubt of Rome

A man must serve his time to every trade / Save censure - critics all are ready made. / Take hackneyed jokes from Miller, got by rote,/ With just enough of learning to misquote.

A man must serve his time to every trade: Save Censure- Critics all are ready made

Oh Time! the beautifier of the dead, adorer of the ruin, comforter and only healer when the heart hath bled... Time, the avenger!

But time strips our illusions of their hue, And one by one in turn, some grand mistake Casts off its bright skin yearly like the snake

The busy have no time for tears.

There are some feelings time cannot benumb, Nor torture shake.

Think'st thou existence doth depend on time? It doth; but actions are our epochs.

No hand can make the clock strike for me the hours that are passed.

We are all the fools of time and terror: Days Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.