Quotes About Metaphor

Sex at age 90 is like trying to shoot pool with a rope.

The only way to make your PC go faster is to throw it out a window.

Ducking for apples - change one letter and it's the story of my life.

Alimony is like buying hay for a dead horse.

With women, I've got a long bamboo pole with a leather loop on the end. I slip the loop around their necks so they can't get away or come too close. Like catching snakes.

Metaphors are dangerous. Love begins with a metaphor. Which is to say, love begins at the point when a woman enters her first word into our poetic memory.

A woman is like a horse: He who can drive her is her master.

Women are like elephants. I like to look at 'em, but I wouldn't want to own one.

Women are like elephants to me: nice to look at, but I wouldn't want to own one.

Women are like Elephants. I like to watch them, but I wouldn't want to own one.

Love is like a booger. You keep picking at it until you get it, then wonder what to do with it.

Love is like a brick. You can build a house, or you can sink a dead body.

With women, I've got a long bamboo pole with a leather loop on the end. I slip the loop around their necks so they can't get away or come too close. Like catching snakes.

'Money talks' because money is a metaphor, a transfer, and a bridge.

All words, in every language, are metaphors.

the doctor gestures at the X-ray where the lung crumples like a tossed poem.

The poet's house was a city of glass:

One day, years later, the soldiers wheeled around to find themselves in a city of glass. Their rifles turned to carnival glass; bullets dissolved, glittering, in their hands. From the poet's zoo they heard monkeys cry; from the poet's observatory they heard poem after poem like a call to prayer.

Valls permanecía aletargado dentro de su bola de excrementos, pajitas y tierra como la larva subterránea del escarabajo pelotero.

While Emily's verse always drew from more than the literal details of her life, impaired vision made her rely on her imagination even more. If she could not see distinctly or at all, she would have to tap into her metaphorical reserve. She may have found that imagination gave her a richer sense of perception than what she could discern from her eyes.

Home to her was much more. It was the wild terrain of her mind. A world of hummingbirds and crickets and alabaster and dots on a disc of snow. To Emily Dickinson, home was consciousness itself—a continent of language where metaphor was her native tongue.

That's mostly a metaphor. My uneaten client stat is high.

The last level of metaphor in the Alice books is this: that life, viewed rationally and without illusion, appears to be a nonsense tale told by an idiot mathematician.

His sonnet no. 152 uses the metaphor of sculpture for salvation: 'By what we take away, lady, we give to a rugged mountain stone/A figure that can live? And which grows greater when the stone grows less.' Here was the fascination with sculpture as an act of discovery within a piece of marble: by chipping away, the figure was slowly revealed.