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Some things are of that nature as to make One's fancy chuckle, while his heart doth ache.

While fancy, like the finger of a clock, Runs the great circuit, and is still at home.

Ever let the Fancy roam, Pleasure never is at home.

The truant Fancy was a wanderer ever.

Sentiment is intellectualized emotion, emotion precipitated, as it were, in pretty crystals by the fancy.

Two meanings have our lightest fantasies, One of the flesh, and of the spirit one.

She's all my fancy painted her, She's lovely, she's divine.

When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day, Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away.

The difference is as great between The optics seeing as the objects seen. All manners take a tincture from our own; Or come discolor'd through out passions shown; Or fancy's beam enlarges, multiplies, Contracts, inverts, and gives ten thousand dyes.

Woe to the youth whom Fancy gains, Winning from Reason's hand the reins, Pity and woe! for such a mind Is soft contemplative, and kind.

When last the young Orlando parted from you, He left a promise to return again Within a hour; and pacing through the forest, Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, Lo, what befell!

Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. It is engend'red in the eyes, With gazing fed, and fancy dies In the cradle where it lies.

So full of shapes is fancy That it alone is high fantastical.

Let fancy still in my sense in Lethe steep; If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!

We figure to ourselves The thing we like, and then we build it up As chance will have it, on the rock or sand: For Thought is tired of wandering o'er the world, And homebound Fancy runs her bark ashore.

Fancy light from Fancy caught.

Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness.