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Knowledge is not happiness, and science But an exchange of ignorance for that Which is another kind of ignorance.
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
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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
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Ignorance
Knowledge
Happiness
Science
Another
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Exchange
Ignorant
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Oh who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried.
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Absence - that common cure of love.
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Socrates said, our only knowledge was To know that nothing could be known a pleasant Science enough, which levels to an ass Each Man of Wisdom, future, past, or present. Newton, (that Proverb of the Mind,) alas! Declared, with all his grand discoveries recent, That he himself felt only like a youth Picking up shells by the great Ocean-Truth.
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I am acquainted with no immaterial sensuality so delightful as good acting.
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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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For through the South the custom still commands The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands.
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All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin.
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Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure.
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And those who saw, it did surprise, Such drops could fall from human eyes.
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Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave.
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Of religion I know nothing -- at least, in its favor.
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Send me no more reviews of any kind. I will read no more of evil or good in that line. Walter Scott has not read a review of himself for thirteen years .
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Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.
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So sweet the blush of bashfulness, E'en pity scarce can wish it less!
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Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till-'t is gone, and all is gray.
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No words suffice the secret soul to show, For truth denies all eloquence to woe.
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She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes.
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The place is very well and quiet and the children only scream in a low voice.
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Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, sermons and soda water the day after.
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