Where death follows, there’s life. When darkness surrounds you in a world of chaos, search and you’ll eventually find the light.

I’m a little pencil in the hand of a writing God, who is sending a love letter to the world.

She was lost now, she’d been silenced- another dead branch on Cordova’s warped tree.

Time is the moving image of eternity.

It was my turn to be silent while a small family of moments crossed my path, single file, from the left, sticking their tongues out at me.

We are all but symbols of some greater thing—totems of ourselves–subject to change and growth. When we forget that metaphoric sense of ourselves, we lose sight of the overall path.

One feature of the usual script for plague: the disease invariably comes from somewhere else. The names for syphilis, when it began its epidemic sweep through Europe in the last decade of the fifteenth century...

The hippo of recollection stirred in the muddy waters of the mind.

Anyone else feel like that? Like your life’s a big act. Like you’re trying to be a man when you’re just a scared kid, trying to keep under control when you really want to scream,...

The mist hung in the air like a prancing unicorn.

Ove gives the box a skeptical glance, as if it’s a highly dubious sort of box, a box that rides a scooter and wears tracksuit pants and just called Ove “my friend” before offering to...

…a small stream…sings a carefree song as it runs by your house. It is so nonthreatening that you can sit by it, look at your reflection in the water, and even wash your hands in...

The foundation of irreligious criticism is: Man makes religion, religion does not make man. Religion is, indeed, the self-consciousness and self-esteem of man who has either not yet won through to himself, or has already...

Maybe we’re standing like coins on the edge?”Allie considered this. “Meaning?””Meaning, we might be able to shake things up a little, and find a way to come up heads.””Or tails,” suggested Allie.”What are you talking...

Until the thirst for power parched his throat, he was a fearless and noble lord.

All words, in every language, are metaphors.

Desiring the exhilarations of changes: The motive for metaphor, shrinking fromThe weight of primary noon …

love was never meant to bejust a metaphorbetween the pages of poetry.

I now warn the reader not to mock me and my mental daze. It is easy for him and me to decipher now a past destiny; but a destiny in the making is, believe me,...

It is the job of the market to turn the base material of our emotions into gold.

I tried to pick the burned ones from the bowl but I didn’t get many of them because I didn’t make much of an effort, and even though I was taking the burned ones out...

My master gives me bread and beer and every good thing.

A mist rises from a nearby mound. It could be me, that mist, or simply the caretaker’s mower-dust. If the breeze blows just right, I’ll ghost your solid, entwine your hair. Promise me you won’t...

They’re holding flushes of face cards, and I think we’re the pot.-Ennesby

Mathematics, which most of us see as the most factual of all sciences, constitutes the most colossal metaphor imaginable, and must be judged, aesthetically as well as intellectually in terms of the success of this...

Some say you have only one shot in life, well if you get ammo, you can reload.

But karma is not in fact a material accumulation, and does not depend on externals; rather its power to condition us depends on the obstacles that impede our knowledge. If we compare our karma and...

The known is finite, the unknown infinite; intellectually we stand on an islet in the midst of an illimitable ocean of inexplicability. Our business in every generation is to reclaim a little more land, to...

Mason took in enough cannabis smoke to allow a Lipan Apache manipulating a blanket over it to transmit the complete works of Tennyson.

Feelings that would not have disgraced a leader who, now that the snow has begun to fall and the mountain-top is covered in mist, knows that he must lay himself down and die before morning...

The mind is a metaphor of the world of objects.

Idols of the injury,dug in behind the least understoodmotor plan information.The vile abomination temporal lobes andThe four loathsome memory walls andThe four reasoning, arithmetic beastsare found for all behind pain and planes.Portrayed as a house,Go...

Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.

A smile is like a simile, if you have a mouth like a metaphor. That would make for like the best kiss ever.

I threw out my sausage, and replaced it with a healthier penis metaphor, like a cucumber.

My brain is on fire!” to try to help these people understand that this is a headache that needs attention! That’s a metaphor, right? And you use it so that you can be understood. Now...

The poet, however, uses these two crude, primitive, archaic forms of thought (simile and metaphor) in the most uninhibited way, because his job is not to describe nature, but to show you a world completely...

YThat perfect letter. The wishbone, fork in the road, empty wineglass. The question we ask over and over. Why? Me with my arms outstretched, feet in first position. The chromosome half of us don’t have....

Between words and objects one can create new relations and specify characteristics of language and objects generally ignored in everyday life.

GUIL (quietly): Where we went wrong was getting on a boat. We can move, of course, change direction, rattle about, but our movement is contained within a larger one that carries us along as inexorably...

Nanny’s words made Janie’s kiss across the gatepost seem like a manure pile after a rain

The age-old, seemingly inexorable process whereby diseases acquire meanings (by coming to stand for the deepest fears) and inflict stigma is always worth challenging, and it does seem to have more limited credibility in the...

Using a metaphor in front of a man as unimaginative as Ridcully was like ared flag to a bu… was like putting something very annoying in front ofsomeone who was annoyed by it.

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.

… we [can] catch fish and just throw them back… it [doesn’t] seem to hurt the fish much past a cut lip. But then… one [may] swallow the hook…[it’d be] a goner, whether we tried...

Men are but wheat, and the government is the bread”? Ah yes, that was my grandfather, who shouted that shortly before hurling a loaf of bread at President Hoover during the great depression.

I know the expression love bloomed is metaphorical, but in my heart in this moment, there is one badass flower, captured in time-lapse photography, going from bud to wild radiant blossom in ten seconds flat.

The verse is supposed to get you hard so the chorus can suck you off.

Life is a hurricane, and we board up to save what we can and bow low to the earth to crouch in that small space above the dirt where the wind will not reach. We...

The metaphor is probably the most fertile power possessed by man