Lord Byron took me home in his gondola at two o'clock, a beautiful moonlight, and the reflection of the palaces in the water, and the stillness and grandeur of the whole scene . . . gave a nobler idea of Venice than I had yet had.
I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one