“Don’t like the man as well as I like his poetry — for I do like Byron’s poetry very much. It thrills some chords in my being as no other poet can do. Byron is out of fashion — but he is immortal for all that. Passion is always immortal and he touched too poignantly all its notes, of spirit as well as sense, ever to be forgotten. But his letters make a disagreeable impression on me. They give a sense of unreality and posing. And his life — what a series of tragedies it was! For himself and the women entangled in it. He was a being of storm-cloud and lightning flash — beautiful, ruinous, transient.”