There is no passion, more spectral or fantastical than hate, not even its opposite, love, so peoples air, with phantoms, as this madness of the heart.
And hold up to the sun my little taper.
Next to dressing for a rout or ball, undressing is a woe.
A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded.
Opinions are made to be changed or how is truth to be got at?
Bologna is celebrated for producing popes, painters, and sausage.