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History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page.
Lord Byron
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Know ye not who would be free themselves must strike the blow? by their right arms the conquest must be wrought?
Lord Byron
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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.
Lord Byron
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As soon seek roses in December, ice in June, Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff Believe a woman or an epitaph Or any other thing that’s false Before you trust in critics.
Lord Byron
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A small drop of ink makes thousands, perhaps millions... think.
Lord Byron
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O Fame! if I ever took delight in thy praises, Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover The thought that I was not unworthy to love her.
Lord Byron
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The poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still the master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth, While man, vain insect hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Lord Byron
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That which I am, I am; I did not seekFor life, nor did I make myself.
Lord Byron
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I have not loved the World, nor the World me; I have not flattered its rank breath, nor bowed To its idolatries a patient knee, Nor coined my cheek to smiles,-nor cried aloud In worship of an echo.
Lord Byron
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Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.
Lord Byron
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Whate'erI may have been, or am, doth rest betweenHeaven and myself; I shall not choose a mortalTo be my mediator.
Lord Byron
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Think'st thou existence doth depend on time?It doth; but actions are our epochs: mineHave made my days and nights imperishableEndless, and all alike, as sands on the shoreInnumerable atoms; and one desertBarren and cold, on which the wild waves break,But nothing rests, save carcases and wrecks,Rocks, and the salt-surf weeds of bitterness.
Lord Byron
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Socrates said, our only knowledge was "To know that nothing could be known;" a pleasant Science enough, which levels to an ass Each Man of Wisdom, future, past, or present. Newton, (that Proverb of the Mind,) alas! Declared, with all his grand discoveries recent, That he himself felt only "like a youth Picking up shells by the great Ocean-Truth."
Lord Byron
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What exile from himself can flee? To zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life--the demon Thought.
Lord Byron
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Patience! Hence-that word was madeFor brutes of burthen, not for birds of prey;Preach it to mortals of a dust like thine,-I am not of thine order.
Lord Byron
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Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded. That all the Apostles would have done as they did.
Lord Byron
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In England the only homage which they pay to Virtue - is hypocrisy.
Lord Byron
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Yon Sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight; Farewell awhile to him and thee, My native land-Good Night!
Lord Byron
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As the liberty lads o'er the sea Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood, So we, boys, we Shall die fighting or live free, And down with all kings but King Ludd!
Lord Byron
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Time strips our illusions of their hue, And one by one in turn, some grand mistake Casts off its bright skin yearly like the snake.
Lord Byron
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Who hath not proved how feebly words essayTo fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray? Who doth not feel, until his failing sightFaints into dimness with its own delight, His changing cheek, his sinking heart, confessThe might, the majesty of loveliness?
Lord Byron
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He who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him.
Lord Byron
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Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach Who please, the more because they preach in vain.
Lord Byron
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The poor dog, in life the firmest friend,The first to welcome, foremost to defend.
Lord Byron
