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I am sure my bones would not rest in an English grave, or my clay mix with the earth of that country. I believe the thought would drive me mad on my death-bed could I suppose that any of my friends would be base enough to convey my carcass back to her soil. I would not even feed her worms if I could help it.
—George Gordon Noel Byron (1788–1824)
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I think remorse ought to stop biting the consciences that feed it.
—Ogden Nash (1902–1971)