The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations

‘Let there be light! said God, and there was light!’ ‘Let there be blood!’ says man, and there’s a sea!

‘Don Juan’ (1819-24) canto 7, st. 41

That water-land of Dutchmen and of ditches.

‘Don Juan’ (1819-24) canto 10, st. 63

When Bishop Berkeley said ‘there was no matter’, And proved it—’twas no matter what he said.

‘Don Juan’ (1819-24) canto 11, st. 1

And, after all, what is a lie? ’Tis but The truth in masquerade.

‘Don Juan’ (1819-24) canto 11, st. 37

’Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle, Should let itself be snuffed out by an article.

‘Don Juan’ (1819-24) canto 11, st. 60 (on Keats ‘who was killed off by one critique’)

For talk six times with the same single lady, And you may get the wedding dresses ready.

‘Don Juan’ (1819-24) canto 12, st. 59

Merely innocent flirtation,

Not quite adultery, but adulteration.

‘Don Juan’ (1819-24) canto 12, st. 63

Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure; Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.

‘Don Juan’ (1819-24) canto 13, st. 4.

Cervantes smiled Spain’s chivalry away.

‘Don Juan’ (1819-24) canto 13, st. 11

The English winter—ending in July, To recommence in August.

‘Don Juan’ (1819-24) canto 13, st. 42

Society is now one polished horde,

Formed of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored.

‘Don Juan’ (1819-24) canto 13, st. 95

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe, Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast, Is that portentous phrase, ‘I told you so.’

‘Don Juan’ (1819-24) canto 14, st. 50

’Tis strange—but true; for truth is always strange; Stranger than fiction.

‘Don Juan’ (1819-24) canto 14, st. 101

All present life is but an Interjection, An ‘Oh!’ or ‘Ah!’ of joy or misery,

Or a ‘Ha! ha!’ or ‘Bah!’—a yawn, or ‘Pooh!’ Of which perhaps the latter is most true.

‘Don Juan’ (1819-24) canto 15, st. 1

A lovely being, scarcely formed or moulded, A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded.

‘Don Juan’ (1819-24) canto 15, st. 43

’Tis wonderful what fable will not do! ’Tis said it makes reality more bearable: But what’s reality? Who has it’s clue? Philosophy? No; she too much rejects. Religion? Yes; but which of all her sects?

‘Don Juan’ (1819-24) canto 15, st. 89

Between two worlds life hovers like a star, ’Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon’s verge. How little do we know that which we are!

How less what we may be!

‘Don Juan’ (1819-24) canto 15, st. 99

The worlds beyond this world’s perplexing waste Had more of her existence for in her

There was a depth of feeling to embrace Thoughts, boundless, deep, but silent too as space.

‘Don Juan’ (1819-24) canto 16, st. 48

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.

‘The Dream’ (1816) st. 1

I’ll publish, right or wrong:

Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

‘English Bards and Scotch Reviewers’ (1809) l. 5

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.

‘English Bards and Scotch Reviewers’ (1809) l. 63

Each country Book-club bows the knee to Baal, And, hurling lawful Genius from the throne, Erects a shrine and idol of its own.

‘English Bards and Scotch Reviewers’ (1809) l. 138

Who, both by precept and example, shows

Absorbed in passion’s and in nature’s thirst,— Drank as they do who drink their last, and threw Their arms aside to revel in its dew;

Cooled their scorched throats, and washed the gory stains From wounds whose only bandage might be chains.

‘The Island’ (1823) canto 3, st. 3

Friendship is Love without his wings!

‘L’Amitiè est l’amour sans ailes’

Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most Must mourn the deepest o’er the fatal truth, The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.

‘Manfred’ (1817) act 1, sc. 1, l. 10

How beautiful is all this visible world! How glorious in its action and itself!

But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we, Half dust, half deity, alike unfit

To sink or soar, with our mix’d essence make A conflict of its elements, and breathe

The breath of degradation and of pride.

‘Manfred’ (1817) act 1, sc. 2, l. 37

I linger yet with nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness

I learned the language of another world.

‘Manfred’ (1817) act 3, sc. 4, l. 2

Old man! ’tis not so difficult to die.

‘Manfred’ (2nd ed., 1819) act 3, sc. 4, l. 151

You have deeply ventured;

But all must do so who would greatly win.

‘Marino Faliero’ (1821) act 1, sc. 2

’Tis done—but yesterday a King! And armed with Kings to strive— And now thou art a nameless thing: So abject—yet alive!

‘Ode to Napoleon Bonaparte’ (1814) st. 1

The Arbiter of others’ fate A Suppliant for his own!

‘Ode to Napoleon Bonaparte’ (1814) st. 5

The Cincinnatus of the West.

‘Ode to Napoleon Bonaparte’ (1814) st. 19 (of George Washington)

It is not in the storm nor in the strife

We feel benumbed, and wish to be no more, But in the after-silence on the shore,

When all is lost, except a little life.

‘On hearing that Lady Byron was ill’ (published 1832)

My days are in the yellow leaf;

The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone!

‘On This Day I Complete my Thirty-Sixth Year’ (1824).

My hair is grey, but not with years, Nor grew it white

In a single night,

As men’s have grown from sudden fears.

‘The Prisoner of Chillon’ (1816) st. 1

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

‘She Walks in Beauty’ (1815) st. 1

Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred, Promoted thence to deck her mistress’ head.

‘A Sketch from Private Life’ (1816)

Eternal spirit of the chainless mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art.

‘Sonnet on Chillon’ (1816)

So, we’ll go no more a roving So late into the night,

Though the heart be still as loving, And the moon be still as bright.

‘So we’ll go no more a-roving’ (written 1817, published 1830)

Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory;

And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.

‘Stanzas Written on the Road between Florence and Pisa’ November 1821

I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory.

‘Stanzas Written on the Road between Florence and Pisa’ November 1821

There’s not a joy the world can give like that it takes away.

‘Stanzas for Music’ March 1815

I am ashes where once I was fire.

‘To the Countess of Blessington’ (written 1823, published 1830)

Still I can’t contradict, what so oft has been said, ‘Though women are angels, yet wedlock’s the devil.’

‘To Eliza’ (1806)

And when we think we lead, we are most led.

‘The Two Foscari’ (1821) act 2, sc. 1, l. 361

The angels all were singing out of tune, And hoarse with having little else to do, Excepting to wind up the sun and moon, Or curb a runaway young star or two.

‘The Vision of Judgement’ (1822) st. 2

And when the gorgeous coffin was laid low, It seemed the mockery of hell to fold

The rottenness of eighty years in gold.

‘The Vision of Judgement’ (1822) st. 10 (on the burial of George III)

In whom his qualities are reigning still, Except that household virtue, most uncommon, Of constancy to a bad, ugly woman.

‘The Vision of Judgement’ (1822) st. 12

As he drew near, he gazed upon the gate Ne’er to be entered more by him or Sin, With such a glance of supernatural hate, As made Saint Peter wish himself within; He pattered with his keys at a great rate, And sweated through his apostolic skin:

Of course his perspiration was but ichor, Or some such other spiritual liquor.

‘The Vision of Judgement’ (1822) st. 25

Yet still between his Darkness and his Brightness There passed a mutual glance of great politeness.

‘The Vision of Judgement’ (1822) st. 35

Satan met his ancient friend

With more hauteur, as might an old Castilian Poor noble meet a mushroom rich civilian.

‘The Vision of Judgement’ (1822) st. 36

And when the tumult dwindled to a calm,

I left him practising the hundredth psalm.

‘The Vision of Judgement’ (1822) st. 106

When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Colder thy kiss.

‘When we two parted’ (1816)

If I should meet thee After long years,

How should I greet thee?— With silence and tears.

‘When we two parted’ (1816)

The man is mad, Sir, mad, frightful as a Mandrake, and lean as a rutting Stag, and all about a bitch not worth a Bank token.

Referring to the Revd. Robert Bland in a letter to John Cam Hobhouse, 16 November 1811: L. A. Marchand (ed.) ‘Byron’s Letters and Journals’ vol. 2 (1973)

My Princess of Parallelograms.

Referring to Annabella Milbanke, a keen amateur mathematician, in a letter to Lady Melbourne, 18 October 1812: L. A. Marchand (ed.) ‘Byron’s Letters and Journals’ vol. 2 (1973). Byron explains: ‘Her proceedings are quite rectangular, or rather we are two parallel lines prolonged to infinity side by side but never to meet’

We have progressively improved into a less spiritual species of tenderness—but the seal is not yet fixed though the wax is preparing for the impression.

On his relationship with Lady Frances Webster, in a letter to Lady Melbourne, 14 October 1813: L. A. Marchand (ed.) ‘Byron’s Letters and Journals’ vol. 3 (1974)

I by no means rank poetry high in the scale of intelligence—this may look like affectation— but it is my real opinion—it is the lava of the imagination whose eruption prevents an earthquake.

Letter to Annabella Milbanke, 29 November 1813, in L. A. Marchand (ed.) ‘Byron’s Letters and Journals’ vol. 3 (1974)

I prefer the talents of action—of war—of the senate—or even of science—to all the speculations of those mere dreamers of another existence.

Letter to Annabella Milbanke, 29 November 1813, in L. A. Marchand (ed.) ‘Byron’s Letters and Journals’ vol. 3 (1974)

What is hope? nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.

Letter to Thomas Moore, 28 October 1815, in L. A. Marchand (ed.) ‘Byron’s Letters and Journals’ vol. 4 (1975)

Like other parties of the kind, it was first silent, then talky, then argumentative, then disputatious, then unintelligible, then altogethery, then inarticulate, and then drunk.

Letter to Thomas Moore, 31 October 1815, in L. A. Marchand (ed.) ‘Byron’s Letters and Journals’ vol. 4

(1975)

Wordsworth—stupendous genius! damned fool! These poets run about their ponds though they cannot fish.

Fragment of a letter, recorded in the diary of Henry Crabb Robinson, December 1 1816: L. A. Marchand (ed.) ‘Byron’s Letters and Journals’ vol. 5 (1976) p. 13

Love in this part of the world is no sinecure.

Letter to John Murray from Venice, 27 December 1816, in L. A. Marchand (ed.) ‘Byron’s Letters and Journals’ vol. 5 (1976)

I hate things all fiction...there should always be some foundation of fact for the most airy fabric and pure invention is but the talent of a liar.

Letter to John Murray from Venice, April 2 1817, in L. A. Marchand (ed.) ‘Byron’s Letters and Journals’ vol. 5 (1976)

Is it not life, is it not the thing?—Could any man have written it—who has not lived in the world?—and tooled in a post-chaise? in a hackney coach? in a gondola? Against a wall? in a court carriage? in a vis a vis?—on a table?—and under it?

On ‘Don Juan’ in a letter to Douglas Kinnaird, October 26 1819: L. A. Marchand (ed.) ‘Byron’s Letters and Journals’ vol. 6 (1978)

The reading or non-reading a book—will never keep down a single petticoat.

Letter to Richard Hoppner, October 29 1819, in L. A. Marchand (ed.) ‘Byron’s Letters and Journals’ vol. 6 (1978)

Such writing is a sort of mental masturbation—he is always f—gg—g his imagination.—I don’t mean that he is indecent but viciously soliciting his own ideas into a state which is neither poetry nor any thing else but a Bedlam vision produced by raw pork and opium.

On Keats in a letter to John Murray, November 9 1820: L. A. Marchand (ed.) ‘Byron’s Letters and Journals’ vol. 7 (1979)

I awoke one morning and found myself famous.

Referring to the instantaneous success of ‘Childe Harold’, in Thomas Moore ‘Letters and Journals of Lord Byron’ (1830) vol. 1, p. 346

You should have a softer pillow than my heart.

To his wife, who had rested her head on his breast, in E. C. Mayne (ed.) ‘The Life and Letters of Anne Isabella, Lady Noel Byron’ (1929) ch. 11

3.0C

3.1James Branch Cabell 1879-1958

A man possesses nothing certainly save a brief loan of his own body.

‘Jurgen’ (1919) ch. 20

The optimist proclaims that we live in the best of all possible worlds; and the pessimist fears this is true.

‘The Silver Stallion’ (1926) bk. 4, ch. 26

3.2Augustus Caesar

See Augustus (1.118)

3.3Irving Caesar 1895—

Picture you upon my knee, Just tea for two and two for tea.

‘Tea for Two’ (1925 song)

3.4 Julius Caesar c.100-44 B.C.

Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres.

Gaul as a whole is divided into three parts.

‘De Bello Gallico’ bk. 1, sect. 1

Fere libenter homines id quod volunt credunt.

Men are nearly always willing to believe what they wish.

‘De Bello Gallico’ bk. 3, sect. 18

Caesar’s wife must be above suspicion.

Oral tradition based on Plutarch ‘Parallel Lives’ ‘Julius Caesar’ ch. 10, sect. 9

Caesar, when he first went into Gaul, made no scruple to profess ‘That he had rather be first in a village than second at Rome’.

Francis Bacon ‘The Advancement of Learning’ pt. 2, ch. 23, sect. 36, based on Plutarch ‘Parallel Lives’ ‘Julius Caesar’ ch. 11

Thou hast Caesar and his fortune with thee.

Plutarch ‘Parallel Lives’ ‘Julius Caesar’ ch. 38, sect. 3 (translated by T. North, 1579)

The die is cast.

At the crossing of the Rubicon, in Suetonius ‘Lives of the Caesars’ ‘Divus Julius’ sect. 32 (often quoted in Latin ‘Iacta alea est’ but originally spoken in Greek). Plutarch ‘Parallel Lives’ ‘Pompey’ ch. 60, sect. 2

Veni, vidi, vici.

I came, I saw, I conquered.

Inscription displayed in Caesar’s Pontic triumph, according to Suetonius ‘Lives of the Caesars’ ‘Divus Julius’ sect. 37 or, according to Plutarch ‘Parallel Lives’ ‘Julius Caesar’ ch. 50, sect. 2, written in a letter by Caesar, announcing the victory of Zela which concluded the Pontic campaign

Et tu, Brute?

You too Brutus?

Traditional rendering of Suetonius ‘Lives of the Caesars’ ‘Divus Julius’ sect. 82: Some have written that when Marcus Brutus rushed at him, he said in Greek, ‘You too, my child?’.

3.5 John Cage 1912—

I have nothing to say and I am saying it and that is poetry.

‘Lecture on nothing’ (1961)

3.6 James M. Cain 1892-1977

The postman always rings twice.

Title of novel (1934) and play (1936)

3.7 Sir Joseph Cairns 1920—

The betrayal of Ulster, the cynical and entirely undemocratic banishment of its properly elected Parliament and a relegation to the status of a fuzzy wuzzy colony is, I hope, a last betrayal contemplated by Downing Street because it is the last that Ulster will countenance.

Speech on retiring as Lord Mayor of Belfast, 31 May 1972, in ‘Daily Telegraph’ 1 June 1972

3.8 Pedro Calderón de La Barca 1600-81

Aun en sueños

no se pierde el hacer bien.

Even in dreams good works are not wasted.

‘La Vida es Sueño’ (1636) ‘Segunda Jornada’ l. 2146

Què es la vida? Un frenesí. Què es la vida? Una ilusión, una sombra, una ficción,

y el mayor bien es pequeño; que toda la vida es sueño, y los sueños, sueños son.

What is life? a frenzy. What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a fiction. And the greatest good is

of slight worth, as all life is a dream, and dreams are dreams.

‘La Vida es Sueño’ (1636) ‘Segunda Jornada’ l. 2183.

3.9 Caligula (Gaius Julius Caesar Germanicus) A.D. 12-41

Utinam populus Romanus unam cervicem haberet!

Would that the Roman people had but one neck!

In Suetonius ‘Lives of the Caesars’ ‘Gaius Caligula’ sect. 30

3.10 James Callaghan (Baron Callaghan of Cardiff) 1912—

A lie can be half-way around the world before truth has got his boots on.

‘Hansard’ 1 November 1976, col. 976

3.11 Callimachus c.305-c.240 B.C.

I abhor, too, the roaming lover, nor do I drink from every well; I loathe all things held in common.

Epigram 28 in R. Pfeiffer (ed.) ‘Callimachus’ (1949-53)

A great book is like great evil.

Fragment 465 in R. Pfeiffer (ed.) ‘Callimachus’ (1949-53); proverbially reduced to ‘Great book, great evil’