Childe Harold's Pilgrimage A Poem by Lord Byron www.gutenberg.org And thus the heart will breakWords which are thingsThere is a pleasure in the pathless woods lovenaturelonelinessmelancholy
Prometheus A Poem by Lord Byron www.poetryfoundation.org The lightnings trembledThe sum of human wretchednessMaking Death a Victory Subjected to some great trialA hierarchical system of senseYou find reasons to keep living deathsufferingpain
Darkness A Poem by Lord Byron I had a dreamBut one thoughtShe was the universeDarkling in the eternal space darknessdeath
Epitaph to a Dog A Poem by Lord Byron Show image 0 Show image 1 Ye! who behold perchance this simple urn, Pass on, it honours none you wish to mourn. To mark a friend's remains these stones arise; I never knew but one — and here he lies. deathfriendship
The navigation is our property RENE: Tell me what we have. Of value. GAEL: Whatever we've bought in cargo so far. I don't know what you want me— RENE: Anyone can buy goods. What do we really have? What do we sell? GAEL (realizing): The route. RENE: Yes. The navigation is our property. To copy a man's route is to steal it. Into the system of flight navigationownership