But words are things, and a small drop of ink,
Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think;
'Tis strange, the shortest letter which man uses
Instead of speech, may form a lasting link
Of ages; to what straits old Time reduces
Frail man, when paper - even a rag like this -
Survives himself, his tomb, and all that's his.
from Don Juan
George Gordon, Lord Byron
Historical Romance Writer
"Romance about men who refuse to ask for directions, and the women who show them the way!"
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