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Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure.
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
Pleasure
Moral
Sometimes
Manners
Sin
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Like the measles, love is most dangerous when it comes late in life.
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Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber!
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Romances I ne'er read like those I have seen.
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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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It is not one man nor a million, but the spirit of liberty that must be preserved. The waves which dash upon the shore are, one by one, broken, but the ocean conquers nevertheless. It overwhelms the Armada, it wears out the rock. In like manner, whatever the struggle of individuals, the great cause will gather strength.
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So for a good old-gentlemanly vice, I think I must take up with avarice.
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A pretty woman is a welcome guest.
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But as to women, who can penetrate the real sufferings of their she condition? Man's very sympathy with their estate has much of selfishness and more suspicion. Their love, their virtue, beauty, education, but form good housekeepers, to breed a nation.
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Many are poets, but without the nameFor what is Poesy but to createFrom overfeeling Good or Ill and aimAt an external life beyond our fate,And be the new Prometheus of new men,Bestowing fire from Heaven, and then, too late,Finding the pleasure given repaid with pain
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I am about to be married, and am of course in all the misery of a man in pursuit of happiness.
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Sleep hath its own world, and the wide realm of wild reality.
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All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin.
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Life is too short for chess.
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The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space.
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My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes.
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'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come.
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You gave me the key to your heart, my love, then why did you make me knock?
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Always laugh when you can. It is cheap medicine.
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Such is your cold coquette, who can't say No, And won't say Yes, and keeps you on and off-ing On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow, Then sees your heart wreck'd, with an inward scoffing.
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My native land, good night!
Lord Byron