A desire for revenge acted as an almost equally powerful incentive to spur him into the face of danger to accomplish his design, so that it was a desperate man that lay
hidden in the foliage beside the little river searching with eager eyes for some sign of a small canoe which might be easily handled by a single paddle.
As soon as I found water enough - for my raft drew about a foot of water - I thrust her upon that flat piece of ground, and there fastened or moored her, by sticking my two broken oars into the ground, one on one side near one end, and one on the other side near the other end; and thus I lay
till the water ebbed away, and left my raft and all my cargo safe on shore.
The quiet of the tomb lay
upon the mysterious valley of death, crouching deep in its warm nest within the sunken area at the south pole of the dying planet.
Some wandered stupidly to and fro, but this one lay
If you touch, in touching my hair, anything that recalls a beloved head that lay
on your breast when you were young and free, weep for it, weep for it
She was not in pain, but lay
with closed eyes, vacantly murmuring, as one who dreams.
Then I shut the door, locked it, and went into the enclosure where Moreau lay
beside his latest victims,--the staghounds and the llama and some other wretched brutes,--with his massive face calm even after his terrible death, and with the hard eyes open, staring at the dead white moon above.
Sir William Dale was well acquainted with Sherwood Forest, for he was head keeper over that part of it that lay
nigh to good Mansfield Town; so to him the King turned, and bade him take an army of men and go straightway to seek Robin Hood.
One by one they unearthed many similar pieces, all of the same uniform, dirty yellow, until a pile of them lay
upon the ground, a pile which Abdul Mourak fondled and petted in an ecstasy of greed.
And possibly the root of this dissatisfaction lay
in the fact that he realized that were he again to have the same opportunity he would still find it as impossible to slay a woman as it had been in Wilhelmstal that night.
It was the healing of a fourteen-year-old boy, whose mother brought him to Father Sergius insisting that he should lay
his hand on the child's head.
So that --let us say it again --no dying Chaldee or Greek had higher and holier thoughts than those, whose mysterious shades you saw creeping over the face of poor Queequeg, as he quietly lay
in his swaying hammock, and the rolling sea seemed gently rocking him to his final rest, and the ocean's invisible flood-tide lifted him higher and higher towards his destined heaven.