Literary notes about dart (AI summary)
The word "dart" in literature is remarkably versatile, serving both as a literal projectile and a metaphor for swift, incisive action. In many classical works, it is portrayed as a weapon—a missile whose deadly impact can determine fate in battle, as shown in ancient epics where heroes hurl darts at adversaries ([1], [2], [3]). In other contexts, authors use "dart" to capture the sudden movement of a character or object, evoking images of speed and unexpectedness ([4], [5], [6], [7]). Additionally, the term frequently appears in figurative expressions, symbolizing sharp emotional or intellectual strikes, whether in the form of biting irony or the piercing quality of a word or glance ([8], [9]). This multifaceted use enriches the narrative by linking physical violence and rapid motion with the more abstract impulses of thought and feeling.
- The noisy Pharos next receiv’d his death: Aeneas writh’d his dart, and stopp’d his bawling breath.
— from The Aeneid by Virgil - What praise were thine, couldst thou direct thy dart, Amidst his triumph, to the Spartan's heart?
— from The Iliad by Homer - He cast the bow before him, and apart Against the polish'd quiver propp'd the dart.
— from The Odyssey by Homer - Suddenly a hare springing from somewhere would dart over the snowdrift...
— from Project Gutenberg Compilation of Short Stories by Chekhov by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov - I sprang up from the bed, just in time to see him dart through the broken window, dragging the long white candle after him.
— from Roughing It in the Bush by Susanna Moodie - Mr. Bucket had certainly picked him up at a dart.
— from Bleak House by Charles Dickens - I saw them dart across to the other side of the road, to follow me by running, until a cab or a cab-stand came in their way.
— from The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins - Then, with a sudden dart of irony, he wondered if, when their turn came, the same epitaph would be written over him and Zeena.
— from Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton - Through the obscurity which hid their faces their thoughts seemed to dart at each other like serpents shooting venom.
— from Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton