The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations Preface

‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’ (1812-18) canto 3, st. 8
Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends;
Where roll’d the ocean, thereon was his home;
Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends,
He had the passion and the power to roam.
‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’ (1812-18) canto 3, st. 13
The very knowledge that he lived in vain,
That all was over on this side the tomb,
Had made Despair a smilingness assume.
‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’ (1812-18) canto 3, st. 16
He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.
‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’ (1812-18) canto 3, st. 23
The earth is covered thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent,
Rider and horse,—friend, foe,—in one red burial blent!
‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’ (1812-18) canto 3, st. 28
But life will suit
Itself to Sorrow’s most detested fruit,
Like to the apples on the Dead Sea’s shore,
All ashes to the taste.
‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’ (1812-18) canto 3, st. 34
Quiet to quick bosoms is a hell.
‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’ (1812-18) canto 3, st. 42
To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind.
‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’ (1812-18) canto 3, st. 69
I live not in myself, but I become
Portion of that around me; and to me,
High mountains are a feeling, but the hum
Of human cities torture.
‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’ (1812-18) canto 3, st. 72
His love was passion’s essence:—as a tree
On fire by lightning, with ethereal flame
Kindled he was, and blasted.
‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’ (1812-18) canto 3, st. 78
Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer.
‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’ (1812-18) canto 3, st. 107 (of Edward Gibbon)
I have not loved the world, nor the world me;
I have not flattered its rank breath, nor bowed
To its idolatries a patient knee.
‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’ (1812-18) canto 3, st. 113