Bob

“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

“Think of you! To think of a whirlwind, though 'twere in a whirlwind, were a case of more steady contemplation : a very tranquillity of mind and mansion. A fellow that lives in a windmill has not a more whimsical dwelling than the heart of a man that is lodged in a woman.”
― William Congreve, The Way of the World

“[...] 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

“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