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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.
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
Moon
Length
Instead
Spite
Shall
Atmosphere
Find
Suppose
Vessels
Way
Sea
Voyages
Make
Air
Predictions
Travel
Vessel
Soon
Aviation
More quotes by Lord Byron
Think'st thou existence doth depend on time? It doth but actions are our epochs.
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Near this spot are deposited the remains of one who possessed beauty without vanity, strength without insolence, courage without ferocity, and all the virtues of man, without his vices. This praise, which would be unmeaning flattery if inscribed over human ashes, is but a just tribute to the memory of Botswain, a dog.
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I have had, and may have still, a thousand friends, as they are called, in life, who are like one's partners in the waltz of this world -not much remembered when the ball is over.
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Then farewell, Horace whom I hated so, Not for thy faults, but mine.
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The great object of life is Sensation - to feel that we exist - even though in pain - it is this craving void which drives us to gaming - to battle - to travel - to intemperate but keenly felt pursuits of every description whose principal attraction is the agitation inseparable from their accomplishment.
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Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart.
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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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Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one.
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Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.
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A thirst for gold, The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm The meanest hearts.
Lord Byron
And those who saw, it did surprise, Such drops could fall from human eyes.
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In solitude, when we are least alone.
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The Niobe of nations! there she stands.
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Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art, For there thy habitation is the heart-- The heart which love of thee alone can bind And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd-- To fetters and damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom.
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No ear can hear nor tongue can tell the tortures of the inward hell!
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He who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him.
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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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America is a model of force and freedom and moderation - with all the coarseness and rudeness of its people.
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Go let thy less than woman's hand Assume the distaff not the brand.
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Curiosity kills itself and love is only curiosity, as is proved by its end.
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