To the Boats
The likeness passed away, say, like a breath along the surface of the gaunt pier-glass behind her, on the frome of which, a hospital procession of negro cupids, several headless and all cripples, were offering black baskets of Dead Sea fruit to black divinities of the feminine gender . . .
—Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
Troilus: Fear me not, my lord;
I will not be myself, nor have cognition
Of what I feel.
—William Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida