The art of writing novels, such as it was, is long dead everywhere except in Russia, where it is new.
— from The Devil's Dictionary by Ambrose Bierce

The first onslaught (1873) was directed against German culture, upon which I looked down even at that time with unmitigated contempt Without either sense, substance, or goal, it was simply "public opinion."
— from Ecce Homo Complete Works, Volume Seventeen by Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

Wonderfully in life do effects manifest them-selves, of which we have no trace.
— from Christian Gellert's Last Christmas From "German Tales" Published by the American Publishers' Corporation by Berthold Auerbach

Perhaps he had seen her in the theatre; but in any case, the beautiful, clear, dark artist-face of the young actress, with its large deep eyes, was quite sufficient to imbue a susceptible young Frenchman with a vague sadness.
— from In Silk Attire: A Novel by William Black

That Ethiopian face on which the muscles stood out in the very intoxication of health, with its long drooping eyelashes as of some deer being gently stroked in its sleep; the bold profile of the girl as she leaned over those strange features in order to verify their proportions; then a violent, irresistible gesture, clutching the delicate hand as it passed and pressing it to two thick, passionate lips.
— from The Nabob by Alphonse Daudet

When he saw his chance to edge a word in, Lincoln denied emphatically using the language or anything like that attributed to him.
— from The Papers and Writings of Abraham Lincoln, Complete by Abraham Lincoln

The general hastily broke the seal with its large double eagles, and in the neatest handwriting saw the reply to his despatch.
— from For Sceptre and Crown: A Romance of the Present Time. Vol. 2 (of 2) by Gregor Samarow

But what invidious little devils ensnare me even now, into this superannuated folly, of prating about so worn out an old subject, when I meant only to name a being bright, blooming, and juvenile—' The recollection of his nearly complete neglect, the preceding day, in presence of Mrs Ireton, and her society, again began to cloud the countenance of Juliet, as she listened to compliments thus reserved for private delivery.
— from The Wanderer; or, Female Difficulties (Volume 3 of 5) by Fanny Burney