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I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.
Lord Byron
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Lord Byron
Age: 36 †
Born: 1788
Born: January 22
Died: 1824
Died: April 19
Autobiographer
Baron Byron
Diarist
Librettist
Lyricist
Military Personnel
Playwright
Poet
Politician
Translator
Writer
London
England
George Gordon Byron
George Gordon Byron
6th Baron Byron
Noel Byron
Xhorxh Bajroni
Bajron
George Gordon
Jerzy Gordon Byron
Pai-lun
Baron Byron George Gordon Byron
6th Baron Byron George Gordon Noel
Byron
George Gordon Byron
Baron Byron
6th Baron Byron George Gordon Byron
George Gordon Noël Byron Byron
Bayrěn
Payrěn
George Gordon By
May
Fancying
Great
Damned
Mind
Atheist
Believe
Atheism
Mere
Christianity
Pleasure
Literature
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Thy decay's still impregnate with divinity.
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Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave.
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It has been said that the immortality of the soul is a grand peut-tre -but still it is a grand one. Everybody clings to it -the stupidest, and dullest, and wickedest of human bipeds is still persuaded that he is immortal.
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Be hypocritical, be cautious, be not what you seem but always what you see.
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Come what may, I have been blest.
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I am acquainted with no immaterial sensuality so delightful as good acting.
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Retirement accords with the tone of my mind I will not descend to a world I despise.
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The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space.
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Man's conscience is the oracle of God.
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He makes a solitude, and calls it - peace!
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My altars are the mountains and the ocean.
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Every day confirms my opinion on the superiority of a vicious life, and if Virtue is not its own reward, I don't know any other stipend annexed to it.
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May Moorland weavers boast Pindaric skill, And tailors' lays be longer than their bill! While punctual beaux reward the grateful notes, And pay for poems--when they pay for coats.
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Above or Love, Hope, Hate or Fear, It lives all passionless and pure: An age shall fleet like earthly year Its years in moments shall endure. Away, away, without a wing, O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly A nameless and eternal thing, Forgetting what it was to die.
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The place is very well and quiet and the children only scream in a low voice.
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We have fools in all sects, and impostors in most why should I believe mysteries no one can understand, because written by men who chose to mistake madness for inspiration and style themselves Evangelicals?
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I speak not of men's creeds—they rest between Man and his Maker.
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I am about to be married, and am of course in all the misery of a man in pursuit of happiness.
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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, Nor coined my cheek to smiles,-nor cried aloud In worship of an echo.
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'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come.
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