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London lay as if washed with water-colour that Sunday morning, light blue sky and pale dancing sunlight wooing the begrimed stones of Westminster like a young girl with an old lover.
- Robert Keable, Simon Called Peter 
(pt. 1, ch. 1)
A thing of beauty is a joy forever;
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
- John Keats (1), Endymion (bk. I, l. 1)
Oh, what can all thee knight at arms
Alone and palely loitering?
- John Keats (1), La belle dame sane merci 
Thou still unravished bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time.
- John Keats (1), Ode on a Grecian Urn 
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
- John Keats (1), Ode to a Nightingale 
Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-brow'd Homer rules as his demesne,
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold;
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific,--and all his men
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise,--
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
- John Keats (1),
On First Looking Into Chapman's Homer ,
(Cortez confused with Balboa)
St. Agnes's Eve--Ah, bitter chill is was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold.
- John Keats (1), The Eve of St. Agnes 
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core.
- John Keats (1), To Autumn 
At the time of his death the name of Albert Sanger was barely known to the musical public of Great Britain. Among the very few who had heard of him there were even some who called him Sanje, in the French manner, being disinclined to suppose that great men are occasionally born in Hammersmith.
- Margaret Kennedy, The Constant Nymph 
Custer felt it his greatest privilege to sit of a Sunday morning in his mother's clean and burnished kitchen and, while she washed the breakfast dishes, listen to such reflections as his father might care to indulge in.
- Vaughan Kester, The Just and the Unjust 
The Quintards had not prospered on the barren lands of the pine woods whither they had emigrated to escape the malaria of the low coast, but this no longer mattered, for the last of his name and race, old General Quintard, was dead in the great house his father had built almost a century before and the thin acres of the Barony, where he had made his last stand against age and poverty, were to claim him, now that he had given up the struggle in their midst.
- Vaughan Kester, The Prodigal Judge  (ch. I)
Although I have a handsome face and colour.
Cheek like the tulips, form like the cypress,
It is not clear why the Eternal Painter
Thus tricked me out for the dusty show-booth of earth.
- Omar Khayyam ("The Tent-Maker"),
The Rubaiyat (st. 1),
(Avery and Heath Stubbs translation)
As a matter of fact, Davenant was under no illusions concerning the quality of the welcome his hostess was according him, though he found a certain pleasure in being once more in her company.
- Basil King, The Street Called Straight 
The Man in Black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.
- Stephen King (used pseudonym Richard Bachman),
I am a Cockney among Cockneys.
- Charles Kingsley, Alton Locke 
In the four hundred and thirteenth year of the Christian era, some three hundred miles above Alexandria, the young monk Philammon was sitting on the edge of a low range of inland cliffs, crested with drifting sand.
- Charles Kingsley, Hypatia 
Now, to tell my story--if not as it ought to be told, at least as I can tell it,--I must go back sixteen years, to the days when Whitbury boasted of forty coaches per diem, instead of one railway, and set forth how in its southern suburb, there stood two pleasant house side by side, with their gardens sloping down to the Whit, and parted from each other only by the high brick fruit-wall, through which there used to be a door of communication; for the two occupiers were fast friends.
- Charles Kingsley, Two Years Ago 
All who have travelled through the delicious scenery of North Devon must needs know the little white town of Bideford, which slopes upwards from its broad tide-river paved with yellow sands, and many-arched old bridge, where salmon wait for Autumn floods, toward the pleasant upland on the west.
- Charles Kingsley, Westward Ho! 
Near the end of February 1857, I think about the 20th or so, though it don't much matter; I only know it was near the latter end of summer, burning hot, with the bushfires raging like volcanoes on the ranges, and the river reduced to a slender stream of water, almost lost upon the broad white flats of quartz shingle.
- Henry Kingsley,
The Recollections of Geoffry Hamlyn 
The weather door of the smoking-room had been left open to the North Atlantic fog, as the big liner rolled and lifted, whistling to warn the fishing-fleet.
- Rudyard Kipling, Captains Courageous 
He sat, in defiance of municipal orders, astride the gun Zam-Zammah on her brick platform opposite the old Ajaib-Gher--the Wonder House, as the natives call the Lahore Museum. Who hold Zam-Zammah, that "fire-breathing dragon," hold the Punjab, for the great green-bronze piece is always first of the conqueror's loot.
- Rudyard Kipling, Kim 
Mulvaney, Ortheris and Learoyd are Privates in B Company of a Line Regiment, and personal friends of mine. Collectively I think, but I am not certain, they are the worst me in the regiment so far as genial black guardism goes.
- Rudyard Kipling, Soldiers Three 
The Navy is very old and very wise.
- Rudyard Kipling, The Fringes of the Fleet ,
a small booklet
It was seven o'clock of a very warm evening in the Seeonee Hills when Father Wolf woke up from his day's rest, scratched himself, yawned, and spread out his paws one after the other to get rid of the sleepy feeling in their tips. Mother Wolf lay with her big grey nose dropped across her four tumbling, squealing cubs, and the moon shone into the mouth of the cave where they all lived.
- Rudyard Kipling, The Jungle Book  (ch. 1)
"What do you think she'd do if she caught us? We oughtn't to have it, you know," said Maisie.
"Beat me, and lock you up in your bedroom," Dick answered, without hesitation. "Have you got the cartridges?"
"Yes; they're in my pocket, but they are joggling horribly. Do pin-fire cartridges go off of their own accord?"
"Don't know. Take the revolver, if you are afraid, and let me carry them."
"I'm not afraid." Maisie strode forward swiftly, a hand in her pocket an her chin the air. Dick followed with a small pin-fire revolver.
- Rudyard Kipling, The Light That Failed 
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