Bob

“Here the strong glow of joy, and of gratitude, for an opinion so negligently, and yet so sincerely expressed, flew to Miss Milner's face, neck, and even to her hands and fingers; the blood mounted to every part of her skin that was visible, for not a fibre but felt the secret transport, that Dorriforth thought her more beautiful than the beautiful Miss Fenton.”
― Elizabeth Inchbald, A Simple Story

“A sludgy, psychedelic rhythm poured out of the speakers, the slowest, sludgiest rhythm Carl had ever heard, like a hypnotized dinosaur stomping unknowingly over flower children and a meadow full of butterflies in a gently rolling landscape. Above the proceedings opened up a sky filled with the suns of a million spotlights and out of those heights came the falsetto voice of Marshal Mellow, naked and featherless, squawking as it flitted downward, a tiny, prehistoric bird landing on the dinosaur's neck and tossed around.”
― Wolfgang Herrndorf, Sand

“The palms of her hands were like a damp Sunday and she wore a cross round her neck where a tiny raisin of flesh, a coagulated but still transparent bubble of dove's blood, seemed always in danger of being sliced off by that thin gold chain.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Bend Sinister

“[...] your mistress, in comparison with mine, is as a glow-worm to the meridian sun, a rush-light to the full moon, or a stale mackarel's eye to a pearl of orient.”
― Tobias Smollett, The Life and Adventures of Sir Launcelot Greaves