Quotes About Symbolism

Admiral. That part of a warship which does the talking while the figurehead does the thinking.

As peace is of all goodness, so war is an emblem, a hieroglyphic, of all misery.

A samurai will use a toothpick even though he has not eaten. Inside the skin of a dog, outside the hide of a tiger.

we that were wood when that wide wood was in a physical Universe playing with words bark be my limbs my hair be leaf Bride be my bow my lyre my quiver

There is no symbolism to these fish, as Hemingway wrote. A cabezon is just a cabezon; a garibaldi, a garibaldi. But what wonderful stories they tell us about life in the ocean!

Everything became a metaphor, a talisman, a sign that I was still actually connected to people—that I wasn't so completely on my own.

Monuments are not about history; they are values made visible.

All those stately columns gracing mansion porticoes look elegant till you know what ideology was written into the architecture.

There was no city, no London, just beacon fires on all three sacred mounds.

The Torc— and the crone— go to the underworld via the sacred well and the river.

To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them that they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed. Just as a camera is a sublimation of the gun, to photograph someone is a subliminal murder - a soft murder, appropriate to a sad, frightened time.

They also created huge balls made of paper and tin—some of them more than ten feet wide, covered with political slogans—and rolled them from town to town, symbolizing Harrison's growing momentum and adding the phrase "keep the ball rolling" to the American idiom.

I guess this is a bad time to mention I hung a dummy and painted Seneca Crane's name on it...

Fire beats roses again.

The question is, what are you going to do?" It turns out the question that's been eating away at me has only ever had one possible answer. But it took Peeta's ploy for me to recognize it. What am I going to do? I take a deep breath. My arms rise slightly - as if recalling the black-and-white wings Cinna gave me - then come to rest at my sides. "I'm going to be the Mockingjay.

I'm going to be the Mockingjay.

No one will forget me. Not my look, not my name. Katniss. The girl who was on fire.

But a shift has occurred since I stepped up to take Prim's place, and now it seems I have become someone precious. At first one, then another, then almost every member of the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to me. It is an old and rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love.

The girl on fire.

Charred bits of black silk swirl into the air, and pearls clatter to the stage… I'm in a dress of the exact design of my wedding dress, only it's the color of coal and made of tiny feathers. Wonderingly, I lift my long, flowing sleeves into the air, and that's when I see myself on the television screen. Clothed in black except for the white patches on my sleeves. Or should I say my wings. Because Cinna had turned me into a mockingjay.

My mockingjay pin now lives with Cinna's outfit, but there's the gold locket and the silver parachute with the spile and Peeta's pearl. I knot the pearl into the corner of the parachute, bury it deep in the recesses of the bag, as if it's Peeta's life and no one can take it away as long as I guard it.

In my mind, President Snow should be viewed in front of marble pillars hung with oversized flags. It's jarring to see him surrounded by the ordinary objects in the room. Like taking the lid off a pot and finding a fanged viper instead of stew.

It's there. The white rose among the dried flowers in the vase. Shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snows greenhouse. I grab the vase, stumble down to the kitchen, and throw its contents into the embers. As the flowers flare up, a burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it. Fire beats roses again.

I point to the planes burning on the roof of the warehouse across from us. The Capitol seal on a wing glows clearly through the flames. 'Fire is catching!' I am shouting now, determined that he will not miss a word. 'And if we burn, you burn with us!