As when two doves, or two wood-pigeons, or as when Strephon and Phyllis (for that comes nearest to the mark) are retired into some pleasant solitary grove, to enjoy the delightful conversation of Love, that bashful boy, who cannot speak in public, and is never a good companion to more than two at a time; here, while every object is serene, should hoarse thunder burst suddenly through the shattered clouds, and rumbling roll along the sky, the frightened maid starts from the mossy bank or verdant turf, the pale livery of death succeeds the red regimentals [i.e. blushes] in which Love had before drest her cheeks, fear shakes her whole frame, and her lover scarce supports her trembling tottering limbs.

Foucault recognizes that different forms of categorization are based on different forms of kindhood.

But, Madam, to be obliging to that exceſs as you are, (pardon me, if I tell you, out of my extream concern, and ſervice for your Grace) is a dangerous quality, and may be very incommode to you; for Civility makes Poets as troubleſom, as Charity makes Beggers; […]

They worried, too, that such a war would only fan the flames of the Islamic world's animosity toward the United States, producing a further cycle of terrorist attacks, American casualties and escalation […]