On a sudden open fly, With impetuous recoil and jarring sound, Th' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate… — John Milton

So scented the grim Feature, and upturn'd

His nostril wide into the murky air,

Sagacious of his quarry from so far.

Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye,

In every gesture dignity and love.

To know

That which before us lies in daily life

Is the prime wisdom.