“Thin, without fever, not cold, not warm, with empty eyes, without a shirt, the young man under the stuffed quilt heaves himself up, hangs around my throat and whispers in my ear, "Doctor, let me die.” — Franz Kafka Copy Share Image
The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land, Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength. — Robert Browning Copy Share Image
