“Above him was a clear blue sky, and the sun’s vast orb quivered like a huge hollow, crimson float on the surface of that milky sea of mist.”

Not only is this line beautiful, but the image of the fog is repeated over and over, but each time Tolstoy uses language to thin the fog into a mist, mixes it with cannon smoke, and then lifts it away to reveal the battle and all the confusion. It’s like music.