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— Fyodor Dostoevsky"On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. bridge."
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There was no discussion between them; it was as if the bugs had worked out this whole scenario long ago. Temp put on a burst of speed for the end of the bridge, and Tick turned to face down the army of rats alone.
— Suzanne Collins
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Ah, Jenks? It’s not a lake, it’s a friggin’ freshwater ocean. Did you see the size of the tanker going under the bridge when we came into town? The wake from it could tip us. I’m not canoeing it unless your name is Pocahontas.
— Kim Harrison
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