Memories are bullets. Some whiz by and only spook you. Others tear you open and leave you in pieces.

Metaphor is a slippery eel, if it wasn’t for its shock I’d stick to the easy catch of prose.

A poem without metaphor is a gelding; useless to nightmares.

In times like these I always cheered myself up with a certain story. I forgot just when I first heard it, or who I heard it from… but, back when I was young it would...

She was a mind floating in an ocean of confusion.

The greatest thing by far is to be a master of metaphor; it is the one thing that cannot be learnt from others; and it is also a sign of genius, since a good metaphor...

She had eyes like sunsets, and every time she blinked it felt like the end of the world, otherwise known as night.

One more piece of sky in the jigsaw puzzle of our school.

I said nothing for a time, just ran my fingertips along the edge of the human-shaped emptiness that had been left inside me.

I think back to the day I stood before my wife’s grave for the final time, and turned away from it without regret, because I knew that what she was was not contained in that...

Why would a white caribou come down to Beaver River, where the woodland herd lives? Why would she leave the Arctic tundra, where the light blazes incandescent, to haunt these shadows? Why would any caribou...

The light of the sun is the manifestation of the clarity of the sky; and the sky is the basic condition necessary for the manifestation of the sun’s light. So, too, in the sky two,...

Notwithstanding all that has been discovered since Newton’s time, his saying that we are little children picking up pretty pebbles on the beach while the whole ocean lies before us unexplored remains substantially as true...

Those who live their lives in here live the lives most full of fear.

You know you’re about as forthcoming as a mime.

The list is a metaphor for troubled national parks all across the nation, … Some of our national parks are becoming a national disgrace.

That cloak of love you were wearing—he’s torn it to shreds, undoing the seams of trust that held it together. How can you ever wear those shreds?

putriku menaiki lidah petir.membangunkan setiap raksasa malas.mengejarnya hingga sudutsudut kebun hidup.menggambar pertentangan dan kehancuran.

Their life is mysterious, it is like a forest; from far off it seems a unity, it can be comprehended, described, but closer it begins to separate, to break into light and shadow, the density...

the road is life

Such is life. We grow up. Planets like Tiny get new moons. Moons like me get new planets.

He danced with the sky instead, and the sky dropped him like a rotten plum.

A chill December morning dawned, with rags and tatters of mist hanging on the trees like poor people’s washing.

Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come.

It’s a mind, it works by metaphor.

out there” in the woods), but because we need a shift to more fruitful perspectives, and metaphor is often the best agent of conceptual transition.

It doesn’t seem to matter what we think…The prince will come up here and look at us as if we’re barrels in a trader’s wagon. And if I’m salt pork and he doesn’t care for...

You’re saying,’ he said, weighing each word, ‘that we should send Carrot away to be a duck among humans because Bjorn Stronginthearm is my uncle.

…as vivid and fabulous as a unicorn…

A good metaphor is something even the police should keep an eye on.

It moves silently, only a mere trickle to entertain itself as it causes a massive gash in the world. This, Zack, is true power.

Many Christians, including BioLogos, like to throw out the “you can’t take the Bible literally” argument. They think it is the ultimate zinger that will end any debate in their favor. But if we shouldn’t...

She felt about a love set as a painter does about his masterpiece; each ace serve was a form of brushwork to her, and her fantastically accurate shot-placing was certainly a study in composition.

But my brain winds and wends. Back and forth. Up and down. It feels like the county fair has inhabited my mind– complete with sketchy rides, carnies, and sugar-amped kids crying over lost balloons. So...

[About describing atomic models in the language of classical physics:]We must be clear that when it comes to atoms, language can be used only as in poetry. The poet, too, is not nearly so concerned...

I opened my mouth to tell her that everything would be okay, but the words melted like sugar on my tongue-sweet yet insubstantial.

At present the universities are as uncongenial to teaching as the Mojave Desert to a clutch of Druid priests. If you want to restore a Druid priesthood, you cannot do it by offering prizes for...

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.

If string theory is right, the microscopic fabric of our universe is a richly intertwined multidimensional labyrinth within which the strings of the universe endlessly twist and vibrate, rhythmically beating out the laws of the...

It is a great thing, indeed, to make a proper use of the poetical forms, as also of compounds and strange words. But the greatest thing by far is to be a master of metaphor....

Surfing is kind of a good metaphor for the rest of life. The extremely good stuff – chocolate and great sex and weddings and hilarious jokes – fills a minute portion of an adult lifespan....

What, then, is truth? A mobile army of metaphors, metonyms, and anthropomorphisms – in short, a sum of human relations, which have been enhanced, transposed, and embellished poetically and rhetorically, and which after long use...

Most people, including yourself, apparently, think The Moldau is about a river. It is not. It is a metaphor. It is about the progress of life, from its fragile beginnings through its joys and turbulence...

Acoustics reverberate inside of Lucy Anna, bouncing off her walls and slamming against her bars. Harmonic prison.

We begin in the world as anagrams of our antecedents.

The library was my only blessing. Every time I climbed the stairs, my heart lifted. All day, I looked forward to the happy hours I spent in that beautiful room. My guilt over appa’s fate...

If London is a watercolor, New York is an oil painting.

Guilt is the toothache of the soul.

Only with a leafcan I talk of the forest,

Science is all metaphor.