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Why The Little Frenchman Wears His Hand In A Sling (1839) Edgar Allan Poe

"I made her a bow that wud ha' broken yur heart altegither to behould, and thin I pulled aff me hat with a flourish, and thin I winked at her hard wid both eyes, as much as to say, 'True for you, yer a swate little crature, Mrs. Tracle, me darlint, and I wish I may be drownthed dead in a bog, if it's not mesilf, Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, that'll make a houl bushel o' love to yur leddyship.' "

The Story Of An Hour (1894) Kate Chopin

"She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome."

Hills Like White Elephants (1927) Ernest Hemingway

" 'Yes,' said the girl. 'Everything tastes of liquorice. Especially all the things you’ve waited so long for, like absinthe.' "

Welcome To The Monkey House (1968) Kurt Vonnegut

" 'You don't even want to hear my answer,' she taunted him. 'You're afraid to hear it.' 'I never listen to a woman until the pills wear off,' sneered Billy."