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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
Soon
Aviation
Moon
Length
Instead
Spite
Shall
Atmosphere
Find
Suppose
Vessels
Way
Sea
Voyages
Make
Air
Predictions
Travel
Vessel
More quotes by Lord Byron
Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes But no too humbly, or she will despise Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes: Disguise even tenderness if thou art wise.
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There are some feelings time cannot benumb, Nor torture shake.
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Every day confirms my opinion on the superiority of a vicious life, and if Virtue is not its own reward, I don't know any other stipend annexed to it.
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Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
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All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin.
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Champagne with its foaming whirls/As white as Cleopatra's pearls.
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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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What men call gallantry, and gods adultery, is much more common where the climate's sultry.
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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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Above or Love, Hope, Hate or Fear, It lives all passionless and pure: An age shall fleet like earthly year Its years in moments shall endure. Away, away, without a wing, O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly A nameless and eternal thing, Forgetting what it was to die.
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The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed.
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Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure.
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My altars are the mountains and the ocean.
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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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And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy They have a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being.
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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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There is no passion, more spectral or fantastical than hate, not even its opposite, love, so peoples air, with phantoms, as this madness of the heart.
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Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.
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There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion.
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The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space.
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