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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
Make
Air
Predictions
Travel
Vessel
Soon
Aviation
Moon
Length
Instead
Spite
Shall
Atmosphere
Find
Suppose
Vessels
Way
Sea
Voyages
More quotes by Lord Byron
The simple Wordsworth . . . / Who, both by precept and example, shows / That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose.
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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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All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin.
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The image of Eternity--the throne Of the Invisible even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made each zone Obeys thee thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
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If from society we learn to live, solitude should teach us how to die.
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But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be.
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You should have a softer pillow than my heart.
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My native land, good night!
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Think'st thou there is no tyranny but that Of blood and chains? The despotism of vice-- The weakness and the wickedness of luxury-- The negligence--the apathy--the evils Of sensual sloth--produces ten thousand tyrants, Whose delegated cruelty surpasses The worst acts of one energetic master, However harsh and hard in his own bearing.
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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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The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.
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A pretty woman is a welcome guest.
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In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.
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What is Death, so it be but glorious? 'Tis a sunset And mortals may be happy to resemble The Gods but in decay.
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Alas! how deeply painful is all payment!
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Man is born passionate of body, but with an innate though secret tendency to the love of Good in his main-spring of Mind. But God help us all! It is at present a sad jar of atoms.
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Switzerland is a curst, selfish, swinish country of brutes, placed in the most romantic region of the world.
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For through the South the custom still commands The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands.
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My turn of mind is so given to taking things in the absurd point of view, that it breaks out in spite of me every now and then.
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Not to admire, is all the art I know To make men happy, or to keep them so. Thus Horace wrote we all know long ago And thus Pope quotes the precept to re-teach From his translation but had none admired, Would Pope have sung, or Horace been inspired?
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