Metaphor Quotes
She was lost now, she'd been silenced- another dead branch on Cordova's warped tree.
In poetry, the best way to say cuss words is to hide it behind metaphors.
I was born with the ability to see in metaphor.
Being postmodern, however, is about being complicit rather than virtuous, it is about approaching categories like Good and Evil with a certain ironic skepticism.
Culture is like the visible and invisible levels of an iceberg -”the solid state of “water.
As accurate as a blind man pissing during an earthquake.”“Wow..., ” I breathed.She frowned
Hatred is as easy as slipping on a well-worn woolen cloak. If only it provided the comfort of one.
A chill December morning dawned, with rags and tatters of mist hanging on the trees like poor people’s washing.
Good wins in the end because evil is a self-destructive, cannibalistic force that Inevitably engorges upon itself.
When people hurt you over and over, think of them like sandpaper. They may scratch and hurt you a bit, but in the end you end up polished and they end up useless.
love was never meant to bejust a metaphorbetween the pages of poetry.
I saw Sonora before me, so otherworldly, so desolate, some cast-out mistress on the pale blue planet, and longed suddenly to stay.
Every human is a school subject. This is rather a metaphorical way of saying it, to put it straight, those you love are few, and the ones you detest are many.
The power of the metaphor is that in a single flash the entire idea is revealed.
And metaphors like cats behind your smile, Each one wound up to purr, each one a pride, Each one a fine gold beast you've hid inside (...)
When life throws you a curve ball, have a good eye.
Comparisons are like rigid fingers—eager to point at a subject but unwilling to grasp it.
It’s comforting to me, ” he added, “that beauty can come from violence, if only in metaphor.
To Ryuji the smile seemed as brittle as fine glass crystal and very dangerous
The night had a nearly liquid quality, was like sliding into a warm swimming pool, a pool filled with buoyant darkenss instead of water.
The flirty old moon eased his way across the warped and sooty floorboards and kissed my bare toes, turning my feet as luminous as the skin of cinema stars.
She had a voice so husky it could have pulled a dogsled, and the gun she was holding gave me a bad case of barrel envy.
We got there without being spotted. I pulled her in, then shut the door, pressing my back to it and exhaling like an epileptic pilot who'd just landed a cargo plane full of dynamite.
Either way, he was always staring into a bottomless pit, or into a whirlpool that forever sucked him inexorably inward to its vortex.
Grandmother was like an opal. You could never be sure which colors were really there and which were just tricks of the light.
Teddy shuddered. The idea of the sublime little bird being plucked from the sky, of its exquisite song being interrupted in full flight, was horrible to him.
The armored infantry was Santa Claus, the battle was out Christmas. What else for the elves to do on Christmas Eve but to let their hair down and drink a a little eggnog.
It was something quite special, that feeling: an oppressive, hideous constraint as if I were sitting with the small ghost of somebody I had just killed.
wen thectaste of my own medicine is given to me results into silent treatment, its not bitter therefore i enjoy the medicine i gave you too.
You want a shadow, you got to have light and something to get in its way.
Ella!" the voice yells, but I cannot tell where it is coming from. The sound wraps around me, spreading like spilt water and then evaporating into silence.
Famous revolutionary, ' you say, and the laughter pumps out of your chest like blood, great almost painful spurts of it splashing up the building faces toward the marquee moon.
Maddock stabbed his fried egg with his fork, and bright yellow yolk bled all over his plate like a sunshine hemorrhage.
When the sun touched the earth, it spread out along the horizon like a giant yolk oozing free of its skin.
I was on the sidewalk, buffering, wondering if it was okay to follow people in real life.
He would eventually have to pass through the forest, but he felt no fear. Of course - the forest was inside him, he knew, and it made him who he was.
That’s the only thing you can do with a mess. Start cleaning it up, a little at a time.
Fracture lines etch the surface of the glass box as if a body fell from the sky and landed on it. He doesn't hear the impact, can't smell the blood.
