When one subtracts from life infancy (which is vegetation), sleep, eating and swilling, buttoning and unbuttoning — how much remains of downright existence? The summer of a dormouse. – Lord Byron
Out of chaos God made a world, and out of high passions comes a people. – Lord Byron
Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep. – Lord Byron
Your letter of excuses has arrived. I receive the letter but do not admit the excuses except in courtesy, as when a man treads on your toes and begs your pardon — the pardon is granted, but the joint aches, especially if there is a corn upon it. – Lord Byron