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Metaphor Quotes

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Metaphor Quotes

“Significant others are like airplane Wi-Fi.” I bit my lips and looked at Paloma expectantly. “You don’t need airplane Wi-Fi. You can read a book. Talk to people. Draw. But airplane Wi-Fi can be fun—you can watch a movie. Be on your phone. But if you’re going to have Wi-Fi, it has to be consistent. Because if it’s spotty, if it just stops and starts and freezes in the middle of binge- watching Parks and Rec, that’s maddening. It’s crazy-making. Better no airplane Wi-Fi than bad airplane Wi-Fi.”

“Then, step by step, you start to understand the difference that it produces inside yourself. And in the end, you choose who you want to be from that moment on. And when you reach that state of mind and being, you cannot undo what you just did. And you change. You transform yourself from a caterpillar into a beautiful colorful butterfly. You start to love your new colors, your wings, and once that process begins, you may develop this desire to fly up, and from up there, you see yourself first, then your life, your family, your friends, your job, everything. You start to compare your previous caterpillar perception, with the new butterfly one. If you like the caterpillar view, you stick to it. If not, you will change it completely. But this is not an easy overnight process. It takes time, patience, and perseverance to live like a butterfly.”

“He's blessedly de-quipped with ideas having to do with the subconscious mind or the id, but has already begun to think in metaphor, and the answer comes to him in a divine, happy flash. He races up the stairs as fast as his small legs will carry him, hair flying back from his tanned and grimy forehead. He goes to his bed in the room he shares with Paul, looks beneath his pillow, and sure enough, there is his bottle of RC Cola - a tall one! - along with a final slip of paper. The message on it is the same as always:”

“What's your favourite painting?' 'Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte,' Win says without hesitation. 'By Georges Seurat.' 'Isn't that the one made up of dots?' 'Pointillism. Yeah. It represents the two sides of art that I love-on one habd, it's just beautifully rendered because the artist made sure every inch of the canvas was pulsing with life. But there's a whole other side of it - pointillism is a metaphor for society and politics. Painting dot by dot stands in for the industrial revolution and how it was filtering into leisure time in society. I could write a whoe paper on it.' She smiles. 'I did.' 'Sounds like a perfect marriage of skill and significance, 'I say. 'A perect marriage, ' Win repeats. 'Yes.”

“— Well, while I was trying to break away from Laura, the image of an amoeba that splits in two suddenly came to mind – something I hadn't thought about since my biology class in high school. I was like the two halves of the amoeba that separate piece by piece, until there is only a thin trickle left to bind us. And then a noise – a painful crackling – and we separated. I got out of bed, got dressed, looked at the clock, and thought, "Just fourteen hours until I'm going to be in bed with Laura again, holding us in my arms." And then I came here.”

“Why didn't I feel like this when we were actually together?" "Maybe... maybe your mango wasn't ripe." I squinted at Cat. "I'm not following. You're going to have to take me there." "There's a part in You've Got Mail when Kathleen and Joe have been hanging out together. Joe knows their online identities, but she doesn't. And they go to the farmers' market, and before parting ways she says, 'I hope your mango's ripe,' and he gives her this considering look and tells her that he thinks it is." "That is a very obscure reference." "The point is, the mango was a metaphor for their relationship. He'd waited until she'd grown and softened under the sunlight, and once she'd gotten there, he made his move---both before and after revealing his identity.”

“The code is a metaphor that works well for the genetic code or the rules of a cellular automaton. The code is bad metaphor for the continuously changing states of neurons as they run through their algorithmic programs. Imagine looking for a code in space and time for rule 110, iteration 1,234, position 820-870. To study the mechanism that led to that state, we look at the point before, the relation of how it happened, in all available detail. Is that useful? In the case of the rule 110 automaton, the same rule applies everywhere, so the instance reveals something general about the whole. This is the hope of the biological experiment as well. But what happens if the rule changes with every iteration, as discussed for transcription factor cascades? To describe changing rules of algorithmic growth for every instance in time and space and in different systems is not only a rather large endeavor, it also suffers from the same danger of undefined depth. It is a description of the system, a series of bits of endpoint information, not a description of a code sufficient to create the system. The code is the 'extremely small amount of information to be specified genetically,' as Willshaw and von der Malsburg put it, that is sufficient to encode the unfolding of information under the influence of time and energy. The self-assembling brain.”

“The world had changed its attire in spring and what it was wearing now was a perfect fit to what it was deep inside: a controlling old slag who didn't care about anyone’s wishes and would ignore everyone who wouldn't live by her rules. Tom was finished with that cunt: the world behind the fogged up windows. He used to live in one of his own: a dirty but well-protected one that nobody had ever entered, since everyone who even tried was to be shot before they could make it over the threshold.”

“Something suddenly, as if under a last determinant touch, welled up in him and overflowed—the sense of his good fortune and her variety, of the future she promised, the interest she supplied. "All women but you are stupid. How can I look at another? You're different and different—and then you're different again . . . Even 'society' won't know how good for it you are; it's too stupid, and you're beyond it. You'd have to pull it uphill—it's you yourself who are at the top. The women one meets—what are they but books one has already read? You're a whole library of the unknown, the uncut." He almost moaned, he ached, from the depth of his content. "Upon my word, I've a subscription!”