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No ear can hear nor tongue can tell the tortures of the inward hell!
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
Hear
Tell
Tortures
Inward
Torture
Tongue
Ears
Conscience
Hell
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Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave.
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I came to realize clearly that the mind is no other than the Mountain and the Rivers and the great wide Earth, the Sun and the Moon and the Sky”.
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Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!
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It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us. A year impairs, a luster obliterates. There is little distinct left without an effort of memory, then indeed the lights are rekindled for a moment - but who can be sure that the Imagination is not the torch-bearer?
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'Twas strange that one so young should thus concern His brain about the action of the sky If you think 'twas philosophy that this did, I can't help thinking puberty assisted.
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But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless.
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Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep for here There is such matter for all feelings: Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.
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We of the craft are all crazy.
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The world is a bundle of hay, Mankind are the asses that pull, Each tugs in a different way And the greatest of all is John Bull!
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Why I came here, I know not where I shall go it is useless to inquire - in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom?
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But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
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The devil was the first democrat
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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.
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I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all.
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So for a good old-gentlemanly vice, I think I must take up with avarice.
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Just as old age is creeping on space, And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day, They kindly leave us, though not quite alone, But in good company--the gout or stone.
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A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound.
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I speak not of men's creeds—they rest between Man and his Maker.
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Sleep hath its own world, and the wide realm of wild reality.
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The art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest and the stupidest of pretended sports.
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