I usually eschew long sentences, but I like this one in Sexton Spice. I think it sums up, even in cadence, with what one feels when stuck in a room with an individual who snores:
"It was usually easy to tell if John was asleep because of the halting, grinding, and grating sounds he emanated from his nose and throat that could only be called snoring by someone who loved him a hell of a lot more than anyone forced to share a room with him could."
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