On the museum's top floor, several 19th-century diving-bells stood behind glass, their brass portholes dull with age.

Every spring, my grandmother plants rows of Canterbury bells along the garden path, filling the air with a delicate fragrance and a cascade of blue and pink bell-shaped blooms.

On the mantel, two Baby Bells chimed softly every morning.

The old shrine's soul bells chimed softly, guiding lost spirits home.

The hikers were startled by the rhythmic clanging of cow bells drifting down the valley.

The hospital's calling bells rang down the corridor as nurses hurried to respond.

As I walked down the old street, the cheerful clinking of shop-bells drew me into the market.

As the clocktower struck midnight, the minute bells chimed softly across the sleeping town.

Every evening, the Angelus bells echoed across the valley, calling people to prayer.

During the spring wedding, she arranged a bouquet that prominently featured bells of Ireland to add an unusual green texture.