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This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall Lord of himself, though not of lands, And leaving nothing, yet hath all.
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
Lord
Freed
Though
Lands
Hope
Bands
Fear
Hath
Fall
Rise
Nothing
Leaving
Men
Band
Land
Servile
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The world is a bundle of hay, Mankind are the asses that pull, Each tugs in a different way And the greatest of all is John Bull!
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A thirst for gold, The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm The meanest hearts.
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All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.
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And I would hear yet once before I perish The voice which was my music... Speak to me!
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Curiosity kills itself and love is only curiosity, as is proved by its end.
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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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Man's conscience is the oracle of God.
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I suppose we shall soon travel by air-vessels make air instead of sea voyages and at length find our way to the moon, in spite of the want of atmosphere.
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We are all the fools of time and terror: Days Steal on us and steal from us yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.
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But mighty Nature bounds as from her birth The sun is in the heavens, and life on earth: Flowers in the valley, splendor in the beam, Health on the gale, and freshness in the stream.
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Tis an old lesson time approves it true, And those who know it best, deplore it most When all is won that all desire to woo, The paltry prize is hardly worth the cost.
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I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law.
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The truly brave are soft of heart and eyes, and feel for what their duty bids them do.
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The heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old!-- The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns.
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Religion-freedom-vengeance-what you will, A word's enough to raise mankind to kill.
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There is something to me very softening in the presence of a woman, some strange influence, even if one is not in love with them, which I cannot at all account for, having no very high opinion of the sex. But yet, I always feel in better humor with myself and every thing else, if there is a woman within ken.
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By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see For one who hath no friend, no brother there.
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Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead? Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some less majestic, less beloved head?
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If from society we learn to live, solitude should teach us how to die.
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Our life is two fold Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality.
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