Just thinking about ballet makes most people feel schlubbier and more sluglike when they shuffle out of their bedrooms in the morning or slide under the barstool at night.

Well by the time all the cooks in that broth got through with it, by the time it emerged from the Congress, it was a swoose. It was not swan and it was not goose, it was a swoose. It was a swoose to its dying day, which hasn't quite arrived yet, but its [sic] imminent.

Neither a jot inclin’d to either hand: But place the smallest grain of weight in one, Straight the fraternal equipoise is gone; The loaded scale, preponderant, downward flies, Drags down the chain, and makes it’s [sic] partner rise.

But now the bright sun ginneth to dismount.