Dancing is the poetry of the foot.
Pains of love be sweeter far than all other pleasures are.
An horrible stillness first invades our ear, And in that silence we the tempest fear.
Errors like straws upon the surface flow, Who would search for pearls to be grateful for often must dive below.
When beauty fires the blood, how love exalts the mind!
The province of the soul is large enough to fill up every cranny of your time, and leave you much to answer for if one wretch be damned by your neglect.