In some kinds of verse a long syllable may be, as it were, broken up ( Resolution ) into the equivalent two shorts; and conversely two short syllables may in some cases be united ( Contraction ) into the equivalent long.
— from A Latin Grammar for Schools and Colleges by George Martin Lane

What might we do to make the girl forget The love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio?
— from The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare

The females were robbed of their shoe-buckles, finger-rings, and other valuables, and live stock were driven away for the use of the British army.
— from The Pictorial Field-Book of the Revolution, Vol. 1 (of 2) or, Illustrations, by Pen And Pencil, of the History, Biography, Scenery, Relics, and Traditions of the War for Independence by Benson John Lossing

The characters of the fruit, also, show plainly an admixture of Vinifera and Labrusca so combined as to make the grapes very similar to the best of such hybrids.
— from Manual of American Grape-Growing by U. P. Hedrick

Old Valentines E-text prepared by Bethanne M. Simms, Mary Meehan, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) OLD VALENTINES A LOVE STORY BY MUNSON
— from Old Valentines A Love Story by Munson Aldrich Havens

Wilfrid induced his sister to relate Vittoria's early history to Countess Lena; and himself almost wondered, when he heard it in bare words, at that haunting vision of the glory of Vittoria at La Scala—where, as he remembered, he would have run against destruction to cling to her lips.
— from Vittoria — Volume 5 by George Meredith

The Resident of Pahang has the devoted friendship of Ûmat, the punkah-puller, he has an individual faculty of vision, a large sympathy, and the scrupulous consciousness of the good and evil in his hands.
— from Notes on Life & Letters by Joseph Conrad

By all the rules of the game, no man can create successfully in a spirit of vengeance, and Lynhaven should have been a failure.
— from Bones in London by Edgar Wallace

A dead flat level, stretching afar into misty distance on the skyline on every hand—its only vegetation a low scrubby attempt at growth; the fierce sun at a white heat overhead; the sky as brass—what life can this awful wilderness by any possibility support?
— from The Ruby Sword: A Romance of Baluchistan by Bertram Mitford