Quotes About Metaphor

You were the Morning Star among the living. In death, O Evening Star, you light the dead.

And since he was unable to give him any form, he would honor him with his works: Natural products were to be a simile for the world, and above them would burn a flame symbolizing the spirit of man, yearning upwards toward its maker.

Perhaps it's only the vehicle that won't start, but it feels like it's my life that won't start. Yes, this Yugo with the passenger-side seat metal coming through the torn seat fabric, scratching against the back of my thigh, this Cold War relic that won't respond to Nick's turn of the ignition key is like the fucking metaphor for my sorry-ass life: STALLED.

ON A DAY LATE THAT JANUARY, I READ AGAIN "EAST Coker" by the poet T. S. Eliot, and saw something that I had forgotten: the stark but beautiful metaphor by which he described God as a wounded surgeon whose bleeding hands apply a scalpel to his patients so that "Beneath the bleeding hands we feel / The sharp compassion of the healer's art.

Although I am, figuratively speaking, a brother to the moon

I loved to press the shutter, to freeze time, to turn little slices of life into rectangle rife with metaphor.

Men got better with age, like wine. Women, on the other hand, were like cheese- aged was good to a degree, then came the mold and the inevitable casting aside.

Well, I said, if the saints think reincarnation's a game worth playing ... Mark said: I mean, sure, something's happening over and over, but what? Maybe it's just the breath in and out of our lungs. I pointed out we didn't need a metaphor for breathing—You just talked about it quite literally.

Lizards frolicked in the flames of a bonfire; two lonely fish swam toward each other under the sea; a lion devoured the sun. An eagle flying high in the air was incongruously chained to a toad crawling on the ground. A wolf and dog battled in the middle of a deserted town. A slithering serpent entwined itself around a female corpse lying in an open grave. Another serpent lay nailed to a cross, while other serpents and dragons chased their own tails in never ending circles.

Glu de l'étang lait de ma mort noyée [Glue of the pool milk of my death drowned]

Jamie's viewpoint is expressed almost entirely in metaphor: If she was broken, she would slash him with her jagged edges, reckless as a drunkard with a shattered bottle. He's using physical language, but he isn't talking about the physical details of the situation. Claire alludes to her emotion and shows it by her actions, but Jamie is thinking directly in pure emotions.

like he wouldn't give the road to a bear.

I want to be a dog, but I'm a pussycat.

Stahl criticized the metaphor of the automaton because, unlike a living being, the purpose of an automaton does not lie within itself; its organization is imposed upon it by its maker.

Do you know a cure for me?" "Why yes," he said, "I know a cure for everything. Salt water." "Salt water?" I asked him. "Yes," he said, "in one way or the other. Sweat, or tears, or the salt sea.

Fantasy is like jam. . . . You have to spread it on a solid piece of bread. If not, it remains a shapeless thing . . . out of which you can't make anything.

To write, for example, a crime that is horrible but which somehow 'resembles' the butterfly, which would be light and fine like the butterfly. I could also describe the butterfly, but bearing in mind the horrible scene of a crime, so that the butterfly would become something frightful.

There: the white butterfly has crossed the whole valley, and from the reader's book has flown here, to light on the page I am writing.

Life is like sea-water; it never gets quite sweet until it is drawn up into heaven.

Poetry is frosted fire.

Poetry is the tunnel at the end of the light.

So he was good-looking and he had a great set of thighs. Chickens had nice thighs, too.

If you let the alembic cool, metaphor becomes superstition.

Everything at times of transition takes on a symbolic weight and power. But this too is why he travels. The world you're moving through flows into another one inside, nothing stays divided any more, this stands for that, weather for mood, landscape for feeling, for every object there is a corresponding inner gesture, everything turns into metaphor. The border is a line on a map, but also drawn inside himself somewhere.