A bloated carcass of a dog lay lolled on a bladderwrack. Before him the gunwale of a boat, sunk in sand. Un coche ensablé, Louis Veuillot called Gautier's prose. These heavy sands are language tide and wind have silted here.At last proud Odysseus said to his wife: 'My dear one, we have not yet reached the issue of our trials. In store for us is immeasurable toil prescribed, and needs must I fulfil it to the end. The day I went down into Hades' realm, the ghost of Teiresias warned me of everything when I asked after my home-coming and my company's. Wherefore let us to bed, dear wife, there at long last to renew ourselves with the sweet meed of sleep.'
Homer's Odyssey, translated by T. E. Lawrence.He climbed over the sedge and eely oarweeds and sat on a stool of rock, resting his ashplant in a grike.
James Joyce's Ulysses. It's a bit... hallucinogenic.
Almost everyone is also described as being "god-like" or "as an immortal".