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All human history attests That happiness for man, - the hungry sinner! - Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner. ~Lord Byron, Don Juan, Canto XIII, stanza 99
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
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London
England
George Gordon Byron
George Gordon Byron
6th Baron Byron
Noel Byron
Xhorxh Bajroni
Bajron
George Gordon
Jerzy Gordon Byron
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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
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George Gordon By
Happiness
Apples
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More quotes by Lord Byron
There are some feelings time cannot benumb, Nor torture shake.
Lord Byron
Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.
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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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Absence - that common cure of love.
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I can't but say it is an awkward sight To see one's native land receding through The growing waters it unmans one quite, Especially when life is rather new.
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The premises are so delightfully extensive, that two people might live together without ever seeing, hearing or meeting.
Lord Byron
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.
Lord Byron
I am always most religious upon a sunshiny day.
Lord Byron
Land of lost gods and godlike men.
Lord Byron
None are so desolate but something dear, Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd A thought, and claims the homage of a tear.
Lord Byron
Curiosity kills itself and love is only curiosity, as is proved by its end.
Lord Byron
Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, He would have written sonnets all his life?.
Lord Byron
The poetry of speech.
Lord Byron
Switzerland is a curst, selfish, swinish country of brutes, placed in the most romantic region of the world.
Lord Byron
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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The simple Wordsworth . . . / Who, both by precept and example, shows / That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose.
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Friendship is Love without his wings!
Lord Byron
But as to women, who can penetrate the real sufferings of their she condition? Man's very sympathy with their estate has much of selfishness and more suspicion. Their love, their virtue, beauty, education, but form good housekeepers, to breed a nation.
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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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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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