How quick the eye and hand to catch him [the ruffed grouse] when he rises from the underbrush and is out of sight in the wood before the untrained sportsman stops him with what is little more than a snapshot, so instantaneously must all be done!

Slay not that my musk-deer fawnling, Hunter! Prithee, have thou shame Of her night-black eye nor bind her With thy lasso long and strait.

Liam's mouth was so hot and wet on his cock, his tongue so wicked, laving his shaft expertly with smooth, slick strokes, delving into his slit and swiping away the fluid leaking from it. Why was Liam doing this?

Yet the systole and diastole of the heart are not without their analogy in the ebb and flow of love.