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Have not all past human beings parted, And must not all the present, one day part?
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
Human
Humans
Must
Parted
Parting
Beings
Present
Past
Part
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Religion-freedom-vengeance-what you will, A word's enough to raise mankind to kill.
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For what were all these country patriots born? To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn?
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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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I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me: and to me High mountains are a feeling, but the hum of human cities torture.
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What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? The hearts bleed longest, and heals but to wear That which disfigures it.
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Think'st thou existence doth depend on time? It doth but actions are our epochs.
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To be perfectly original one should think much and read little, and this is impossible, for one must have read before one has learnt to think.
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Letter writing is the only device combining solitude with good company.
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Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair spirit for my minister
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The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the Music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonised the whole — And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!
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Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one.
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I only know we loved in vain I only feel-farewell! farewell!
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This is the patent-age of new inventions For killing bodies, and for saving souls, All propagated with the best intentions Sir Humphrey Davy's lantern, by which coals Are safely mined for in the mode he mentions, Tombuctoo travels, voyages to the Poles, Are ways to benefit mankind, as true, Perhaps, as shooting them at Waterloo.
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The art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest and the stupidest of pretended sports.
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What is fame? The advantage of being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little.
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Heaven gives its favourites-early death.
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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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