Lord Byron on Hope

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Hope, withering, fled—and Mercy sighed farewell.
Lord Byron
Farewell! For in that word that fatal word,—howe'er We promise, hope, believe,—there breathes despair.
Lord Byron
But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence. The least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.
Lord Byron