The treacherous and underhand nature of war necessitates the use of guile and stratagem suited to the occasion.
— from The Art of War by active 6th century B.C. Sunzi

Oh! she is beautiful as a goddess and when men see her their hearts melt like wax in the sun and for a long while they can look upon no other woman, not till the next day indeed if they meet her in the evening,” and Bes smacked his thick lips and gazed upwards.
— from The Ancient Allan by H. Rider (Henry Rider) Haggard

She uttered no other words, no plea for mercy, no other sound but a dry, hopeless sob.
— from Baree, Son of Kazan by James Oliver Curwood

He grew up not only with New England prejudices, but with a New England accent, and saved his pennies to give to missionaries that they might "convert" the Red Men.
— from Little Journeys to the Homes of the Great - Volume 10 Little Journeys To The Homes Of Great Teachers by Elbert Hubbard

" Jerome all this while uttered no other word, nervously flicking the mud splotches off his boots, and lifting an earnest look now and anon to Serigny.
— from The Black Wolf's Breed A Story of France in the Old World and the New, happening in the Reign of Louis XIV by Harris Dickson

Later on he talked utter nonsense, of which nothing could be made: all that was evident being, that his incoherent words and thoughts hovered ever about one thing, his cloak.
— from Taras Bulba, and Other Tales by Nikolai Vasilevich Gogol

Then there is a queer blind period with Up now one way, now another, and sudden jerks and tugs that upset everything not in gimbals or tied down; interspersed with periods when weightlessness supervenes with no warning at all.
— from The Lost Kafoozalum by Pauline Ashwell

Although they have no blood or living nerves Who once lay warm and live the live-long night In one another's arms, and know their part In life, being now but of the people of dreams, Is a dreams part; although they are but shadows Hovering between a thorn tree and a stone Who have heaped up night on winged night; although No shade however harried and consumed Would change his own calamity for theirs, Their manner of life were blessed could their lips A moment meet; but when he has bent his head Close to her head or hand would slip in hand
— from Two plays for dancers by W. B. (William Butler) Yeats