On the other side of a small low table, and beneath a silk prayer-mat nailed to the wall with three large-headed brass studs, matching the leather curtain, there would be another sofa , at right angles to the first, with a light-brown velvet covering; it would lead on to a small and spindly piece of furniture, lacquered in dark red and providing three display shelves for knick-knacks: agates and stone eggs, snuffboxes, candy-boxes, jade ashtrays, a mother-of-pearl oystershell, a silver fob watch, a cut-glass glass, a crystal pyramid, a miniature in an oval frame.
— The things, Georges Perec
At the same moment, however, he didn’t forget to remind himself from time to time of the fact that calm (indeed the calmest) reflection might be better than the most confused decisions. At such moments, he directed his gaze as precisely as he could toward the window, but unfortunately there was little confident cheer to be had from a glance at the morning mist, which concealed even the other side of the narrow street.
— The Metamorphosis, Franz Kafka
He was asleep in a short time and he dreamed of Africa when he was a boy and the long golden beaches and the white beaches, so white they hurt your eyes, and the high capes and the great brown mountains. He lived along that coast now every night and in his dreams he heard the surf roar and saw the native boats come riding through it.
He smelled the tar and oakum of the deck as he slept and he smelled the smell of Africa that the land breeze brought at morning.
— The old man and the sea, Ernest Hemingway
Dorian made no answer, but passed listlessly in front of his picture and turned towards it. When he saw it he drew back, and his cheeks flushed for a moment with pleasure.
— The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde
To the left dark and gloomy woods, dominated by oaks with, here and there, a few gaunt pines; invisible brooks could be heard, but Albert was struck by the rarity of bird songs and by their sad monotony. Not far off, an elevation running parallel to the road cut off the view on that side; along its crest parasol pines against the setting sun seemed to accentuate with their elegant horizontal branches the outline of the ridge, and for an instant gave to the landscape the unexpected delicacy of a Japanese print. The western breeze fiercely tossed the tangled branches of this sequestered forest, hurtled the great grey clouds, and man seemed absent from these solitary regions.
— The castel of Argol, Julien Gracq
But then, this chaotic and dreadful landscape of my imagination was suddenly inundated by a stream of light and blood, for Marcelle could come only by drenching herself, not with blood, but with a spurt of urine that was limpid and even illuminated for me, at first violent and jerky like hiccups, then free and relaxed and coinciding with an outburst of superhuman happiness.
— Story of the eye, Georges Bataille