metaphor

I feel all agitated, like one of those snow globes you see resting peacefully on shop counters. I was perfectly happy being an ordinary, dull little Swiss village. But now Jack Harper__ come and shaken me up, and there are snowflakes all over the place, whirling around until I don__ know what I think anymore. And bits of glitter, too. Tiny bits of shiny, secret excitement.

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 Druid-of-the Year. If you want Druids, you must grow forests.

...both he and she were creek beds, quiet when they were full and quiet when they were dry. But when they were half-full, wearing a coat of shallow water, the current bumped over the rocks and valleys in the creek beds, wearing down the earth. Giving someone else a little of who they were hurt more than giving up none or all of it.

Beth's not on that train?""Nope. She's not even in that station, that town, or that part of whatever country your metaphor lives in.

The past was just a place where uncontrolled freaks you had never consciously decided to include in your life entered it anyway and staggered around, breaking things.

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.

My father, a Palestinian, and my mother, an Israeli, met in a bar in New York. Their encounter was a blue shift. An anomaly. A collision. In the end, I understand, it is only for this we live. All I ever wanted was to love.

I never knew anyone actually buy cakes when they were hot ...

Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal the mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne.

He finds himself entering a minefield of dietary choices." My Dark Experiences With Gluten

He has a vision of his life as a sliver of soap, worn and used and smoothed into a slender, blunt-edged arrow-head, a little more of it disintegrating with every day.

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.

They call it the drowning instinct. It's when drowning doesn't look like drowning. (pg. 241)

I always thought of it like you said, that all the strings inside him broke. But there are a thousand ways to look at it: maybe the strings break, or maybe our ships sink, or maybe we__e grass__ur roots so interdependent that no one is dead as long as someone is alive. We don__ suffer from a shortage of metaphors, is what I mean. But you have to be careful which metaphor you choose, because it matters. If you choose the strings, then you__e imagining a world in which you can become irreparably broken. If you choose the grass, you__e saying that we are all infinitely interconnected, that we can use these root systems not only to understand one another but to become one another. The metaphors have implications. Do you know what I mean?

It depressed me to think that I might have been looking at another person but seeing only myself.

I was born walking, born in the nowhere between galaxies.

Time rises and rises, and when it reaches the level of your eyes you drown.

METAPHOR: A tightly fitting suit of metal, generally tin, which entirely encloses the wearer, both impeding free movement and preventing emotional expression and/or social contact.