Lord Byron
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Who loves, raves.
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Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.
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Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.
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Men think highly of those who rise rapidly in the world whereas nothing rises quicker than dust, straw, and feathers.
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Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.