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Yet I did love thee to the last, As ferverently as thou, Who didst not change through all the past, And canst not alter now.
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
Last
Past
Change
Didst
Love
Canst
Alter
Thou
Thee
Lasts
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Have not all past human beings parted, And must not all the present, one day part?
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It is true from early habit, one must make love mechanically as one swims I was once very fond of both, but now as I never swim unless I tumble into the water, I don't make love till almost obliged.
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A man of eighty has outlived probably three new schools of painting, two of architecture and poetry and a hundred in dress.
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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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Retirement accords with the tone of my mind I will not descend to a world I despise.
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Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, sermons and soda water the day after.
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That famish'd people must be slowly nurst, and fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst.
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Romances I ne'er read like those I have seen.
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Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.
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Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story The days of our youth are the days of our glory And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
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Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair spirit for my minister
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One certainly has a soul but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine.
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Then farewell, Horace whom I hated so, Not for thy faults, but mine.
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Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave, Then some leap'd overboard with fearful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave.
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What should I have known or written had I been a quiet, mercantile politician or a lord in waiting? A man must travel, and turmoil, or there is no existence.
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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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What is fame? The advantage of being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little.
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Jealousy dislikes the world to know it.
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Why I came here, I know not where I shall go it is useless to inquire - in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom?
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