“I heard wordOf bellied sailcloth,Creak of oars,And gold in Eastland.Then I smelledA smell remembered:Salt of sprayAnd black-pitched boat's keel.”

“What happened?" he demanded. "I heard an explosion!""Yeah.That was me. I set the boat alight.""What?""I set fire to the boat.""But we're on the boat!""I know.”

“The ship's boards were still sticky with new resin. We leaned over the railing to wave our last farewell, the sun-warm wood pressed against our bellies. The sailors heaved up the anchor, square and chalky with barnacles, and loosened the sails. Then they took their seats at the oars that fringed the boat like eyelashes, waiting for the count. The drums began to beat, and the oars lifted and fell, taking us to Troy.”

“White-crested waves crash on the shore. The masts sway violently, every which way. In the gray sky the gulls are circling like white flakes. Rain squalls blow past like gray slanting sails, and blue gaps open in the sky. The air brightens. A cold silvery evening. The moon is overhead, and down below, in the water; and all around it-a wide frame of old, hammered, scaly silver. Etched on the silver-silent black fishing boats, tiny black needles of masts, little black men casting invisible lines into the silver. And the only sounds are the occasional plashing of an oar, the creaking of an oarlock, the springlike leap and flip-flop of a fish. ("The North")”

“Once inside, Dennis almost keeled over from the smell of cooked cabbage. Why was it that any girl he took out had a house with an incredible smell?”

“Everything went pitch-black and the next thing I knew, I was being hurled headfirst out of the room!”“And you didn’t see that coming?” said Harry, unable to help himself.“No, I did not, as I say, it was pitch —” Professor Trelawny stopped and glared at him suspiciously.”