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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.
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
Upon
Breaths
Toils
Dream
Touch
Tortures
Take
Weight
Divide
Tears
Toil
Dreams
Divides
Thoughts
Waking
Development
Torture
Joy
Breath
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One hates an author that's all author.
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What's drinking? A mere pause from thinking!
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Think'st thou there is no tyranny but that Of blood and chains? The despotism of vice-- The weakness and the wickedness of luxury-- The negligence--the apathy--the evils Of sensual sloth--produces ten thousand tyrants, Whose delegated cruelty surpasses The worst acts of one energetic master, However harsh and hard in his own bearing.
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They used to say that knowledge is power. I used to think so, but I know now they mean money.
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Happiness was born a twin.
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In commitment, we dash the hopes of a thousand potential selves.
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In solitude, when we are least alone.
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The art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest and the stupidest of pretended sports.
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Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave, Then some leap'd overboard with fearful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave.
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The Christian has greatly the advantage of the unbeliever, having everything to gain and nothing to lose.
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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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But every fool describes, in these bright days, His wondrous journey to some foreign court, And spawns his quarto, and demands your praise,-- Death to his publisher, to him 'tis sport.
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Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!
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And those who saw, it did surprise, Such drops could fall from human eyes.
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Tyranny Is far the worst of treasons. Dost thou deem None rebels except subjects? The prince who Neglects or violates his trust is more A brigand than the robber-chief.
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