Cuál es el final de la fama? No es sino llenar una cierta porción de un papel incierto: algunos la comparan a trepar a una colina, cuya cumbre, como … - Lord Byron

Nothing so difficult as a beginning
In poesy, unless perhaps the end;
For oftentimes when Pegasus seems winning
The race, he sprains a wing, and down we tend,
Like Lucifer when hurled from Heaven for sinning;
Our sin the same, and hard as his to mend,
Being Pride, which leads the mind to soar too far,
Till our own weakness shows us what we are.

But Time, which brings all beings to their level,
And sharp Adversity, will teach at last
Man, — and, as we would hope, — perhaps the Devil,
That neither of their intellects are vast:
While Youth's hot wishes in our red veins revel,
We know not this — the blood flows on too fast;
But as the torrent widens towards the Ocean,
We ponder deeply on each past emotion.

Society is now one polish'd horde, Form'd of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored.

And those who saw, it did surprise,
Such drops could fall from human eyes.