The sun is but a morning star. (Henry David Thoreau, Walden)
For a few minutes the roof of the bus remains visible among the stunted trees, a tiny white gleam in a wild green sea, growing smaller and smaller, and then it’s gone. (Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild)
It baffled her, the world. She did not want to leave it yet. (Elizabeth Strout, Olive Kitteridge)
I do know this–the big and mysterious America is bigger than I thought. And more mysterious. (John Steinbeck, Travels With Charley)
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly to the past. (F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby)