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Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!
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
Worth
Relic
Though
Relics
Great
Departed
Greece
Immortal
Fallen
Fairs
Fair
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Pure friendship's well-feigned blush.
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In solitude, when we are least alone.
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A material resurrection seems strange and even absurd except for purposes of punishment, and all punishment which is to revenge rather than correct must be morally wrong, and when the World is at an end, what moral or warning purpose can eternal tortures answer?
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Heaven gives its favourites-early death.
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I should be very willing to redress men wrongs, and rather check than punish crimes, had not Cervantes, in that all too true tale of Quixote, shown how all such efforts fail.
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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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The fact is that my wife if she had common sense would have more power over me than any other whatsoever, for my heart always alights upon the nearest perch.
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For through the South the custom still commands The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands.
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Religion-freedom-vengeance-what you will, A word's enough to raise mankind to kill.
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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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I have no consistency, except in politics and that probably arises from my indifference to the subject altogether.
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A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
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Have not all past human beings parted, And must not all the present, one day part?
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All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.
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I cannot conceive why people will always mix up my own character and opinions with those of the imaginary beings which, as a poet, I have the right and liberty to draw.
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The place is very well and quiet and the children only scream in a low voice.
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Jealousy dislikes the world to know it.
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I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.
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This sort of adoration of the real is but a heightening of the beau ideal.
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Constancy... that small change of love, which people exact so rigidly, receive in such counterfeit coin, and repay in baser metal.
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