Death to all modifiers, he declared one day, and out of every letter that passed through his hands went every adverb and every adjective.

If God was dead, how could I feel this bad?

He was sick with lust and mesmerized with regret

She was the epitome of stately sorrow each time she smiled.

I want to keep my dreams, even bad ones, because without them, I might have nothing all night long.

The problem with the loneliness I suffer is that the company of others has never been a cure for it.

Men went mad and were rewarded with medals.