[I]ts sculptor well those passions read / Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, / The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed: […]

I’m going to go down to the bar and try to get me some ass.

[…] But wandering here and there, incognito in a vapor, so much wickedness did Vivo spy out, that in high dudgeon he hurried up his ladder, knocking the mountains from under him as he went. […]

His horror became a madness ; his eyes ran gleamingly along the shore, to detect the demon hand that had in the very moment of his bliss struck from his heart the living impulse of his soul.