[They left the graveyard then, and returned to the royal house, where they had to speak sternly to the children before they’d finally go to bed.] Then they, too, lay down on mattresses stuffed with straw, hearing the music of the flies to buzz them to sleep, holding each other’s hands as they dozed, thinking of the miracles by which love works its will in the world.
— Orson Scott Card, from Enchantment
All that is left to me is the sound of the snow underfoot.
— Haruki Murakami, from Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World
, translated by Alfred Birnbaum
[The shadows have been lifted from all their lives; and peace, like bright dew, has descended upon their paths.] Blessed themselves, their lives are a blessing to others.
— Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, from Iola Leroy
It troubled her in some mysterious way, yet also made her happy.
— D. M. Thomas, from The White Hotel
And when, in front of him, a grinding whine came from behind the hump of the side street, swelling to full growth when it had overcome the grade, distending the night, already illuminating the descent with the ovals of yellowish light, about to hurdle downward— then, as if it were a dance, as if that ripple of the dance had carried him to stage center, under this growing, grinning, megathundering mass, his partner in a crashing cracovienne, this thundering iron thing, this instantaneous cinema of dismemberment— that’s it, drag me under, tear at my frailty— I’m traveling flattened, on my smacked-down face— hey, you’re spinning me, don’t rip me to pieces— you’re shredding me, I’ve had enough— zigzag gymnastics of lightning, spectrogram of a thunderbolt’s split seconds—and the film of life had burst.
— Vladimir Nabokov, from The Enchanter
(trans. Dmitri Nabokov)
Adelante!" They shouted without fear.
— Rudolfo A. Anaya, from Heart of Aztlan