Dancing is the poetry of the foot.
Her wit was more than man, her innocence a child.
Love works a different way in different minds, the fool it enlightens and the wise it blinds.
More liberty begets desire of more; The hunger still increases with the store
…So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky
He is the very Janus of poets; he wears almost everywhere two faces; and you have scarce begun to admire the one, ere you despise the other.