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Thomas Gray

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Glance their many-twinkling feet.
--
I. 3, Line 11.

 
Thomas Gray

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She went away, she cut me like a knife
Hello beautiful thing, maybe you could save my life
In just a glance, down here on magic street
Loves a fool's dance
And I ain't got much sense, but I still got my feet.

 
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No one can tell the mountain what it's missing, or that it's lacking, or that it's something that it's not. ... You know, you can shout all night long at the stars to stop twinkling — but they won't! ... And it's quite a compliment, really, that you can be what you are, and that you can do the right thing, regardless of how popular it is, or if you have anyone helping you — or if you don't get anything for it. ... All those people out there, looking up at you, screaming "stop twinkling!" — they have no power, at all. And what else could you do, being a star?

 
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No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
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Now I am not a cat man, but a dog man, and all felines can tell this at a glance — a sharp, vindictive glance.

 
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A very distinguished colleague began his criticism of this show by asking what is Mr Astaire's secret. May I suggest that the solution hangs on a little word of three letters? Mr Astaire's secret is that of the late Rudolph Valentino and of Mr Maurice Chevalier — sex, but sex so bejewelled and be-pixied that the weaker vessels who fall for it can pretend that it isn't sex at all but a sublimated projection of the Little Fellow with the Knuckles in His Eyes. You'd have thought by the look of the first night foyer that it was Mothering Thursday, since every woman in the place was urgent to take to her bosom this waif with the sad eyes and the twinkling feet.

 
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