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A man who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and lamed by stones, and cut by flints, and stung by nettles, and torn by briars; who limped, and shivered, and glared and growled; and whose teeth chattered in his head as he seized me by the chin.
Great Expectations, Charles Dickens
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He could hear the arid whistle of its breath pulling in and pushing out of nostrils as devoid of moisture as the tunnels under the Great Pyramid.
It, Stephen King
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Over his head, a grim gust of October wind rattled the trees, now almost completely unburdened of their freight of colored leaves by the storm, which had been this year a reaper of the most ruthless sort.
It, Stephen King
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The forest was a palette of greens, brushed with patches of pink and white. Climbing orchids burst from branches and clumps of pink lilies poked up here and there like anthills. Triangles of Deodor trees stood like sentinels against the sky. The jungle thrummed with the sounds and scurry of life.
Six Suspects, Vikas Swarup
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Death followed him everywhere, sniffing at the cuffs of his pants, but never deciding to give him the final clutch of its claws.
One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez
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There was a word he had learned at the movies as a kid. That word was INCOMMUNICADO. It was a word that had always had fantastic, Lovecraftian overtones to Nick, a fearful word that echoed and clanged in the brain, a word that inscribed all the nuances of fear that live only outside the sane universe and inside the human soul. He had been INCOMMUNICADO all his live.
The Stand, Stephen King
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