As I looked there came, I thought a change - he seemed to swell - his face became suddenly black and the features seemed to melt and alter...

It seemed that he had fallen into someone's wicked spell And I wept to see him suffer, though I didn't know him well.

He felt like an old sponge steeped in paraffin and left in the sun to dry.

By the living jingo, she was all of a muck of sweat.

For he grew up before him like a young plant, and like a root out of dry ground; he had no form or majesty that we should look at him, and no beauty that we should desire him. He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces.

I beheld the wretch-the miserable monster whom I had created.

He looked like some plant bleached by darkness.

From his hole so wet and drenching

Like ice beneath the sun's rays — to such poverty did he fall...his fortune melted to water.

He was a cut flower in a vase; fair to see, yet bound to die, and to die very soon if the water was not constantly renewed.

Look at him, look how he drips unhealth — shudder object!

Already, I was coming undone, like a hastily tied scarf coming loose, on the ground before the owner is aware of it.

Virtually drowning in himself, he could not for the life of him smell himself!

His eyes were almost sunken in his head;
His face was thin and fleshless as a bone.
His tangled, bristling hair, inspiring dread,
And shaggy beard were wild to look upon.