In the thirteenth century, a certain Henry de Wengham, besides being Rector of Worfield, Alveley, Kirkham and Preston, was Bishop of London, Dean of St. Martin's, and ditto of Tettenhall; a notable instance of pluralism.
— from Nooks and Corners of Shropshire by H. Thornhill (Henry Thornhill) Timmins

During the day they may be observed lying down or standing under the shade of some thick mimosa-tree, either asleep or in a state of easy indolence; and it is during the night that they wander about in search of food and water.
— from Popular Adventure Tales by Mayne Reid

May all the world stand open to you, all but one little door, one single little door, however much you knock and try to open it—but otherwise everything as fully and widely as it is possible to wish it.”
— from Niels Lyhne by J. P. (Jens Peter) Jacobsen

I'll call the steward's attention to this, and suggest that he ought to collect to-day, for to-morrow will be our last day on shipboard, you know."
— from Frank Armstrong at College by Matthew M. Colton

Then we find the Rev. Maurice Davies, who was wont to write books of little distinction on semi-religious topics.
— from Cock Lane and Common-Sense by Andrew Lang

He contended that such was the custom of the ancients, and brought forward many proofs in favor of his assertion, notably a statue of Augustus discovered at the baths of Livia during our stay in Rome, and which bore marks of gilding and vermilion on the fringes of its drapery.
— from The Catholic World, Vol. 17, April, 1873 to September, 1873 A Monthly Magazine of General Literature and Science by Various

“’Twas but one little drop of sin We saw this morning enter in, And lo! at eventide the world is drowned.” Keble.
— from Joyce Morrell's Harvest The Annals of Selwick Hall by Emily Sarah Holt

Fancy, I've never time, now, to look at him,—obliged to read even my Homer and Shakespeare at a scramble, half missing the sense,—the business of life disturbs one so.
— from Hortus Inclusus Messages from the Wood to the Garden, Sent in Happy Days to the Sister Ladies of the Thwaite, Coniston by John Ruskin

One expects to capture a demigod, who hits the earth only in high places, but when she has thoroughly analyzed him, she finds nothing genuine, only a wilted chrysanthemum and a pair of patent leather shoes, while he in return expected to wed a wingless angel who would make his Edenic bower one long drawn out sigh of aesthetic bliss.
— from The Jericho Road by W. Bion Adkins