When one subtracts from life infancy (which is vegetation), sleep, eating and swilling, buttoning and unbuttoning — how much remains of downright existence? The summer of a dormouse. – Lord Byron
If we must have a tyrant, let him at least be a gentleman who has been bred to the business, and let us fall by the axe and not by the butchers cleaver. – Lord Byron
This is the patent age of new inventions for killing bodies, and for saving souls. All propagated with the best intentions. – Lord Byron
There was George, throwing away in hideous sloth the inestimable gift of time; his valuable life, every second of which he would have to account for hereafter, passing away from him, unused…. sprawling there, sunk in soul-clogging oblivion. – Jerome K. Jerome, Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog), 1889