"The Mail Coach was streaking along the side of a narrow ravine. Up ahead the road swung so sharply to the right that it seemed they must plunge over the edge. Roadside notices warned of the extra danger, in words so severe they no longer rhymed. DRIVE LIKE HELL AND YOU WILL GET THERE was one... Just then a thick cloud, shot through with impossible, shifting colours, a cloud from a dream or a nightmare, hopped up from the gorge between them and plopped itself down on the road."
--Salman Rushdie, Haroun and the Sea of Stories
"The Dover mail was in its usual genial position that the guard suspected the passengers, the passengers suspected one another and the guard, they all suspected everybody else, and the coachman was sure of nothing but the horses; as to which cattle he could with a clear conscience have taken his oath on the two Testaments that they were not fit for the journey."
--Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
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