The cosmopolite glitter of the Ballets Russes enjoyed considerable compass—a transoceanic range that quickly credentialed both the composer and the choreographer.

The num’rous throng of Fuddle-Caps, that here Promiscuously before the Bar appear, On others ruine have themselves enrich’d, And with their charming Juice the World bewitch’d.

The president doesn't know what to do. He's running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

Why is the weather always rotten in this city?