I suppose I had some meaning when I wrote it; I believe I understood it then. - 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.

Better to sink beneath the shock
Than moulder piecemeal on the rock.

I loved my country, and I hated him.