Letter writing is the only device combining solitude with good company. - Lord Byron

For me, I know nought; nothing I deny,
Admit, reject, contemn; and what know you,
Except perhaps that you were born to die?
And both may after all turn out untrue.
An age may come, Font of Eternity,
When nothing shall be either old or new.
Death, so call’d, is a thing which makes men weep,
And yet a third of life is pass’d in sleep.

The Mountains look on Marathon
And Marathon looks to the sea;
And musing there an hour alone,
I dreamed that Greece might still be free...

I see before me the Gladiator lie: / He leans upon his hand - his manly brow / Consents to death, but conquers agony.