Best 222 quotes in «simile quotes» category

They were contemplating moving into another house or, more exactly, loudly saying to each other, so as to be overheard by anyone who might be listening, that they were contemplating moving, when all at once the fiend was gone, as happens with the moskovett, that bitter blast, that colossus of cold air that blows on our eastern shores throughout March, and then one morning you hear the birds, and the flags hang flaccid, and the outlines of the world are again in place.

This sort of quiet gazing, which was like a feeding of the heart, was something I had not experienced with any other woman.

This supreme instance of Troy's goodness fell upon Gabriel's ears like the thirteenth stroke of a crazy clock.

Unfathomable. Fathoms. I wonder is that the difficulty, that my memories and my imaginings are lying deeply in the same place? Or one on top of the other like layers of shells and sand in a piece of limestone, so that they have become the same element, and I cannot distinguish one from the other with any ease, unless it is from close, close looking? Which is why I am so afraid to speak to Dr. Grene, lest I give him only imaginings. Imaginings. A nice sort of a word for catastrophe and delusion.

T.H. moved through the forest like the melody of a well-known song, in perfect harmony with his surroundings.

Things which had at first felt like signs, if I analysed them for too long, ended up feeling like the movements of my own reflection in dark glass.

Vanished like inhibitions at a bachelorette party.

Tourists hurried past them on the pedestrian-only street like chickens scampering to the feeder, cars scurrying through a tollgate, Niagara River rushing into the falls.

Was she Minh Thuy, finally, or was she Jenny? But the time when there had been a meaningful difference between the two would come to seem like a tiny neighborhood where you couldn't decide which house was yours. Which felt important when you were high above, you thought, in the foothills, but not so much at the truer remove of a continent, where the lives you'd lived and the places you'd come from, dwindled to a single point on the horizon, in the incorrigibly distant past.

Time unlived grows old Like unworn robes in a locked chest.

Washed-out like last year’s swimsuit.

We were a bit like bacon and eggs, where y'know, the chicken is involved, but the pig is really committed? I totally gave myself to it just as we promised, "for better or worse", and you didn't see it like that.

We tried mindspeech again. I had never before sent repeatedly to a total non-receiver. The experience was disagreeable. I began to feel like an atheist praying.

Whatever it was went through me like a rifle rag. Come dawn, me date was so hot you could have lit a sparkplug off of it.

When I read it now it's like I have broken into a reality that is not mine, and when I step out of it, as if I had removed my headphones and heard the city again, it is easy to close the door behind me.

Wrinkles appeared and disappeared as he squinted his eyes and relaxed them, like someone peering into a strobe light, police car-top beacon, flashing neon beer sign.

Writing about music is like dancing about architecture.

We topped a rise just then, and the moor stretched out ahead of us, silvery-white and rustling, like a wide ghostly sea. In the distance lay Grimsgrave Hall, black and hulking as a ship adrift on moonlit waves.

Whacked away under the desk like hail on a barn roof.

When I was small my mother tried to teach me the colors. "Blue," she said, pointing to the sky. And "blue" again, the second time pointing to the water. She told me I shook my head because I could see that sky blue was not always the same as water blue. It took me a long time-until I lived in Oria- to use the same word for all the shades of a color... Love has different shades. Like the way I loved Cassia when I thought she'd never love me. The way I loved her on The Hill. The way I love her now that she came into the canyon for me. It's different. Deeper. I thought I loved her and wanted her before, but as we walk through the canyon together I realize this could be more than a new shade. A whole new color.

You are nothing like my father. And like my father you are nothing.

When she did walk, to the bathroom between the chairs and the customers leaning back in them, oblivious to her manoeuvres, the sight felt strangely moving and profound, like a baby, or a veteran getting out of a wheelchair, or a deer in snow. That is perhaps overdoing it. Maybe I didn't quite know that at the time, but it was striking. If you have not seen a deer in snow, I mean: moving with precision, but as if she might leap away in a completely different direction at any moment.

You know, a cell phone's like a guy; if you don't plug him in every night, charge him good, you got nothing at all.

Yes, boys are a little like shoes. Why? Well...They can be useful. But mainly...They are nice to look at. Getting the right one can be a lovely accessory to an outfit. There are times when you couldn't do without them. And there are times when you'd rather do without them. Get the wrong ones and they can hurt. There are many types and often the ones that look the nicest are completely unpractical.

You," Madeline said, her voice hollow and wheezing, "are like a bad case of herpes, wizard. You're inconvenient, embarassing, no real threat, and you simply will not go away.

Your eyes flash like Fourth-of-July sparklers, headlights on a mountain road, sparks in a short-circuited toaster.

Good similes depend upon close observation. They depend upon brevity and wit....They have to fit in context.

Your lies are like a silent fart. Can't see 'em, but I can smell 'em.

I don't know a whole lot about symbolism. There seems to me to be a potential danger in symbolism. I feel more comfortable with metaphors and similes.

You're about as subtle as a fucking train wreck. On a boat.

A simile is just a metaphor with the scaffolding still up.

Abandoned like an empty beer bottle, cigarette butt, worn-out shoe.

Metaphors and Similes are the beginning of the democratic system of envy.

Similes prove nothing, but yet greatly lighten and relieve the tedium of argument.

717! You are behaving like a demented bluebottle - stop that!

A friend... sort of. Ren watches me like I'm a cookie jar he wouldn't mind being caught with his hands in.

Above the front door the fanlight glowed blue, delicate as wing-bones.

After a few days of rain, the seedlings will push through the soil and unfold their tiny leaves. Two weeks later, if the rain is still good, we then carefully apply the first round of fertilizer, because each seedling requires love and attention like any living thing if it's going to grow up strong.

A funny thing happened post-diagnosis. They put him on drugs, things went up and down, but he lived. He lived. It was like a waiting room where they kept not calling your name.

An anxious heart is like a string that's out of tune.

Already my childhood seemed far away—a remote age, faded and bittersweet, like dried flowers. Did I regret its loss, did I want it back? I didn't think so.

And then it hits me like a fast, open-palmed, stinging smack in the face. Having a ghost boyfriend WAS weird

Along its raw dirt floor, puddles of afternoon rain reflected the starlit sky, like jagged slivers of mirror.

And then it happens. He smiles. And his whole face unfastens like a window blowing open into the breeze, letting in the fresh air and sunshine.

A novel rough draft is like bread dough; you need to beat the crap out of it for it to rise.

Andy: ugh I’ve never felt so old and slimy. Sinter: You’re 25. That isn’t old to a 19 year old Andy: Old. And slimy. Slimy like a slug. Like seaweed. Sinter: Are you done with your metaphors Andy: I think these are similes Though he’d been a computer science major, he’d also been, like me, an English minor. It made him remarkably hot at moments such as this. Sinter: Right, you’re right Andy: And no. There are many slimy things and I’m like them all. Slimy like mayo Sinter: Gross Andy: Exactly, I am gross Sinter: Ha no, mayo is gross Andy: Slimy like a dog’s tongue. Sinter: Seriously stop.

An old trailer flashed by, the round sort that had always looked to her like a thermos bottle, as if the people inside needed protection against rot.

As she spoke she changed in some provocative way, seemed suddenly drenched in eroticism as a diver rising out of a pool gleams like chrome with a sheet of unbroken water for a fractional moment.

.. a simile is not a lie, unless it is a bad simile.

As the station wagon pulled back onto the highway, the sun was slowly sinking below the horizon like a leaky boat. Well, except for that fact that boats are not generally round, orange and on fire. Hmm. Come to think of it, in no way whatsoever did the sun, in this instance, resemble a leaky boat. My apologies. That was a dreadful attempt at simile. Please allow me to try again. As the station wagon pulled back onto the highway, the sun was slowly sinking below the horizon like a self-luminous, gaseous sphere comprised mainly of of hydrogen and helium.