If this be so when we are merely putting together words or colours, how much more ought the feeling to prevail when we are in the midst of the realities of things; of the beauty and harmony, of the joy and happiness, of loving creatures; of men and children, of birds and beasts, of hills and streams, and trees and flowers; with the changes of night and day, evening and morning, summer and winter; and all their unwearied actions and energies, as benign in the spirit that animates them as they are beautiful and grand in that form of clothing which is given to them for the delight of our senses!
— from Wordsworth by F. W. H. (Frederic William Henry) Myers

Twenty years ago, when I crossed the continent from San Francisco, I noticed with disgust the advertisements stencilled on every second rock in the canyons of Nevada, and defacing every coign of vantage around Niagara.
— from America To-day, Observations and Reflections by William Archer

The scene then changes to the castle of Nevers, and discloses Euryanthe longing for Adolar.
— from The Standard Operas (12th edition) Their Plots, Their Music, and Their Composers by George P. (George Putnam) Upton

Fanciful etymologies, daring and groundless mythological interpretations, changes of name and date, exaggerations of fact, false quotations are met with throughout his pages, and many may be found noted in the fine edition of the second Scienza Nuova by Nicolini.
— from The Philosophy of Giambattista Vico by Benedetto Croce

they seem to say, "Thou hast no seed of goodness in thee; all Thy nature hath been stung right through and through; Thy sin hath blasted thee and made thee old; Thou hadst a will, but thou hast killed it dead, And with the fulsome garniture of life Built out the loathsome corpse; thou art a child Of night and death, even lower than a worm; Gather the skirts up of thy shadowy self, And with what resolution thou hast left Fall on the damned spikes of doom!"
— from The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2 by George MacDonald

Thou art a child Of night and death, even lower than a worm. Gather the skirts up of thy shadowy self,
— from Robert Falconer by George MacDonald