Lord Byron on the death of Napoleon
Elba and Waterloo called forth poems from Byron; the death at St. Helena could not. The news reached Byron at Ravenna, and seemed to him another token of the ebb of his energies. He wrote to his friend, the poet Thomas Moore, suggesting Napoleon as a theme that he himself could no longer approach: “I have no spirits nor estro to do so. His overthrow, from the beginning, was a blow on the head to me. Since that period, we have been the slaves of fools.”
Source: Harold Bloom, Napoleon and Prometheus: The Romantic Myth of Organic Energy
[The quotation is from Leslie Marchand’s Byron: A Biography, p. 917]
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— Lord Byron, from “To the Countess of Blessington.”
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It's not your job to like me - it's mine.
Byron Katie
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Lord Byron, Lara, A Tale (1814), Canto II, Stanza 22
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-Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Lord Byron.
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Lisa Frankenstein, 2024, dir. Zelda Williams
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[Childe Harold's Pilgrimage by Lord Byron / Wandgemälde in der Sagenhalle zu Schreiberhau by Herman Hendrich]
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She Walks in Beauty, George Gordon Byron
[ Text ID: So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, ]
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𝙻𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙱𝚢𝚛𝚘𝚗,
𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚎 𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚍'𝚜 𝙿𝚒𝚕𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚎
[𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝟷𝟾𝟷𝟸]
[ID: There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, END ID]
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"I long for you; I who usually longs without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you."
Letters to Milena, Franz Kafka
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“I find fault, and quarrel with Napoleon, as a lover does with the trifling faults of his mistress, from excessive liking, which tempts me to desire that he had been all faultless; and, like the lover, I return with renewed fondness after each quarrel.”
— Lord Byron
Source: Byron, Napoleon, J. C. Hobhouse, and the Hundred Days, By Peter Cochran (x)
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Friendship is love without his wings.
Lord George Gordon Byron
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Lord Byron, from "She Walks in Beauty"
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It's not your job to like me - it's mine.
Byron Katie
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When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
When we two parted, Lord Byron
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