The tracts of grey turf looked useless, the occasional wind-stricken trees looked useless, but we, the human beings, more useless than the hopeless turf or the idle trees.

We were maniacs akin to the foolish landscape, for we were come to chase the wild goose which has led men and left men in bogs from the beginning.

We were three dazed men under the captaincy of a madman going to look for a man whom we knew was not there in a house that had no existence.

A livid sunset seemed to look at us with a sort of sickly smile before it died.
Basil went on in front with his coat collar turned up, looking in the gloom rather like a grotesque Napoleon.

We crossed swell after swell of the windy common in increasing darkness and entire silence.