The lights of the yacht became faint and ever-vanishing fireflies.

"Yes, even that tough-minded old Swede, who'd go up to the devil himself and ask him for a light." This is another example of hyperbole, as no one can really approach the devil.

giant rocks. . . crouch like a sea monster

"The old charts call it 'Ship-Trap Island,'" Whitney replied. "A suggestive name, isn't it? Sailors have a curious dread of the place. I don't know why. Some superstition --"

The cry was pinched off short as the blood-warm waters of the Caribbean Sea closed over his head.

The Cossack was the cat; he was the mouse.

. . . the jungle weeds were crushed down and the moss was lacerated; one patch of weeds was stained crimson. . .

. . . night crawled by like a wounded snake. . .

The muck sucked viciously at his foot. . .

Rainsford stood blinking in the river of glaring gold light.

The sea rumbled and hissed

(General Zaroff) "You were surprised that I recognized your name. You see, I read all books on hunting published in English, French, and Russian."

"My whole life has been one prolonged hunt."

"No animal had a chance with me anymore. That is no boast; it is a mathematical certainty. The animal had nothing but his legs and his instinct. Instinct is no match for reason." "I had to invent a new animal to hunt," he said.

the jungle weeds were crushed down and the moss was lacerated;

...like some huge prehistoric beaver he began to dig