Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray; Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.

When beauty fires the blood, how love exalts the mind!

The perverseness of my fate is such that he's not mine because he's mine too much.

What passion cannot music raise and quell!

Genius must be born, and never can be taught.

We must beat the iron while it is hot, but we may polish it at leisure.

I feel my sinews slackened with the fright, and a cold sweat trills down all over my limbs, as if I were dissolving into water.