The fact is, riches are power, and poverty is slavery all over the earth, and one sort of establishment is no better, nor worse, for a people than another.
LORD BYRONOne of the pleasures of reading old letters is the knowledge that they need no answer.
More Lord Byron Quotes
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O thou beautiful And unimaginable ether! and Ye multiplying masses of increased And still increasing lights! what are ye? what Is this blue wilderness of interminable Air, where ye roll along, as I have seen
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A pretty woman is a welcome guest.
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There are four questions of value in life, Don Octavio. What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for and what is worth dying for? The answer to each is the same. Only love.
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The devil was the first democrat
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Who then will explain the explanation?
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I stood among them, but not of them: in a shroud of thoughts which were not their thoughts.
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There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not Man the less, but Nature more.
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The busy have no time for tears.
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The best prophet of the future is the past.
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One of the pleasures of reading old letters is the knowledge that they need no answer.
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The drying up a single tear has more, of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore.
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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.”
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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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I have simplified my politics into an utter detestation of all existing governments; and, as it is the shortest and most agreeable and summary feeling imaginable.
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And gentle winds and waters near, make music to the lonely ear.
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The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.
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Man is in part divine, A troubled stream from a pure source.
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I slept and dreamt that life was beauty; I woke and found that life was duty.
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Friendship is Love without his wings!
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Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.
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The leaves along the limpid streams of Eden? Is your course measur’d for ye? Or do ye Sweep on in your unbounded revelry Through an aerial universe of endless Expansion,–at which my soul aches to think,– Intoxicated with eternity.
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Why do they call me misanthrope? Because They hate me, not I them.
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The heart will break, but broken live on.
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All tragedies are finished by a death, All comedies are ended by a marriage.
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What should I have known or written had I been a quiet, mercantile politician or a lord in waiting? A man must travel, and turmoil, or there is no existence.
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Think not I am what I appear.
LORD BYRON