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By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see For one who hath no friend, no brother there.
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
Brother
Friend
Heaven
Splendid
Hath
Sight
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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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I doubt sometimes whether a quiet and unagitated life would have suited me - yet I sometimes long for it.
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Though the day of my Destiny 's over, And the star of my Fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find.
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It is true from early habit, one must make love mechanically as one swims I was once very fond of both, but now as I never swim unless I tumble into the water, I don't make love till almost obliged.
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One hates an author that's all author.
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He who is only just is cruel who Upon the earth would live were all judged justly?
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But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws So much, as when we call our old debts in At sixty years, and draw the accounts of evil, And find a deuced balance with the devil.
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Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair spirit for my minister
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The very best of vineyards is the cellar
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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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Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.
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Life is too short for chess.
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Like the measles, love is most dangerous when it comes late in life.
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One certainly has a soul but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine.
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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.
Lord Byron
I stood among them, but not of them: in a shroud of thoughts which were not their thoughts.
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If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad. As to that regular, uninterrupted love of writing. I do not understand it. I feel it as a torture, which I must get rid of, but never as a pleasure. On the contrary, I think composition a great pain.
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Venice once was dear, The pleasant place of all festivity, The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy.
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Bread has been made (indifferent) from potatoes And galvanism has set some corpses grinning, But has not answer'd like the apparatus Of the Humane Society's beginning, By which men are unsuffocated gratis: What wondrous new machines have late been spinning.
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In commitment, we dash the hopes of a thousand potential selves.
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