He held the world upon his nose
And this-a-way he gave a fling.
His robes and symbols, ai-hi-hi
And that-a-way he twirled the thing.
Sombre as fir-trees, liquid cats
Moved in the grass without a sound.
—Wallace Stevens (1879–1955)
Every winter the liquid and trembling surface of the pond, which was so sensitive to every breath, and reflected every light and shadow, becomes solid to the depth of a foot or a foot and a half, so that it will support the heaviest teams, and perchance the snow covers it to an equal depth, and it is not to be distinguished from any level field. Like the marmots in the surrounding hills, it closes its eyelids and becomes dormant for three months or more.
—Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)
Taking a good mouthful, I felt as though I had taken liquid fire; the tomato was chile colorado, or red pepper, of the purest kind. It nearly killed me, and I saw Gómez’ eyes twinkle for he saw that his share of supper was increased.
—For the State of California, U.S. public relief program (1935-1943)