In the draughts of night that poured their silent tide from the depths of the forest, with messages from distant ridges and from lakes just beginning to freeze, there lay already the faint, bleak odors of coming winter.
— from The Wendigo by Algernon Blackwood

These in thy face here were deep ruts and foul sloughs the last progress.
— from The Duchess of Malfi by John Webster

Southward through Eden went a River large, Nor chang’d his course, but through the shaggie hill Pass’d underneath ingulft, for God had thrown That Mountain as his Garden mould high rais’d Upon the rapid current, which through veins Of porous Earth with kindly thirst up drawn, Rose a fresh Fountain, and with many a rill Waterd the Garden; thence united fell Down the steep glade, and met the neather Flood, Which from his darksom passage now appeers, And now divided into four main Streams, Runs divers, wandring many a famous Realme And Country whereof here needs no account, But rather to tell how, if Art could tell, How from that Saphire Fount the crisped Brooks, Rowling on Orient Pearl and sands of Gold, With mazie error under pendant shades Ran Nectar, visiting each plant, and fed Flours worthy of Paradise which not nice Art In Beds and curious Knots, but Nature boon Powrd forth profuse on Hill and Dale and Plaine, Both where the morning Sun first warmly smote The open field, and where the unpierc’t shade Imbround the noontide Bowrs: Thus was this place, A happy rural seat of various view; Groves whose rich Trees wept odorous Gumms and Balme, Others whose fruit burnisht with Golden Rinde Hung amiable, Hesperian Fables true, If true, here onely, and of delicious taste: Betwixt them Lawns, or level Downs, and Flocks Grasing the tender herb, were interpos’d, Or palmie hilloc, or the flourie lap Of som irriguous Valley spread her store, Flours of all hue, and without Thorn the Rose: Another side, umbrageous Grots and Caves Of coole recess, o’re which the mantling Vine Layes forth her purple Grape, and gently creeps Luxuriant; mean while murmuring waters fall Down the slope hills, disperst, or in a Lake, That to the fringed Bank with Myrtle crownd, Her chrystall mirror holds, unite thir streams.
— from Paradise Lost by John Milton

Retired to his splendid home on rue du Montparnasse, where he passed his declining years simply, being deaf, remaining a friend of Cottin de Wissembourg, and often surrounded by the family of a brother whose misconduct hastened his end in 1841.
— from Repertory of The Comedie Humaine, Complete, A — Z by Anatole Cerfberr

She paused awhile and then continued, “But stay, if thy heart is yet hardened against the mighty truth and thou dost require a further pledge of that which thou dost find too deep to understand, even now shall it be given to thee, and to thee also, oh my Holly.
— from She by H. Rider (Henry Rider) Haggard

Then did the dogs run, and fight with one another at fair teeth which should have the lardons.
— from Gargantua and Pantagruel by François Rabelais

They consider them the spirits of their departed relations and friends, who visit them in joy and in sorrow.
— from The Fairy-Faith in Celtic Countries by W. Y. (Walter Yeeling) Evans-Wentz

added K. He looked at her hair in front of him, parted, bunched down, reddish and firmly held in place.
— from The Trial by Franz Kafka

In my excitement I also drove rapidly at first, but finally I had sufficient sense to see that there was no need to shorten so precious an interview by hurrying it through, and so I slackened our speed.
— from The Lady of the Ice: A Novel by James De Mille

A moment afterwards the noise of wheels and whip showed that the berlin, drawn by the tarantass’ horses, was driving rapidly away from the post-house.
— from Michael Strogoff; Or, The Courier of the Czar by Jules Verne

And while you are settling matters with the old sneak, I’ll get the dinghy ready, and fetch up the bottle of brandy I promised that jolly old Turk at the coffee-shop.”
— from Picked up at Sea The Gold Miners of Minturne Creek by John C. (John Conroy) Hutcheson

Well, this Don Rodrigo, also from Játiba, his uncle makes a Cardinal, and at the death of Pedro Luis, he calls him to Rome.
— from Cæsar or Nothing by Pío Baroja

“I cannot help you if you do run away from them.”
— from A Rebellion in Dixie by Harry Castlemon