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Metaphor Quotes

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Metaphor Quotes

“I had evidently disturbed the bird from its perch which, on closer inspection, turned out to be something called the Bentinck Fountain. It had clearly seen glories greater than the poor laurels tossed its way now. Once it had been cherished as an effecting feature of a grand estate. Now it stood apologetically by the side of the road, its empty trough sticking out like a beggar's imploring hand.”

“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 seem firm, canonical, and obligatory to a people: truths are illusions about which one has forgotten that this is what they are; metaphors which are worn out and without sensuous power; coins which have lost their pictures and now matter only as metal, no longer as coins.”

“And do you want to marry him?" "Maybe. I don't know." "That kind of indifference usually means no." "It's not indifference. I just haven't made up my mind." "Either you want to marry him more than anything in the world, or you say no. It's very simple." "It's not simple," Faye said. "Not at all. You don't understand." "So explain it to me." "Okay, here's what it's like. Imagine you're feeling desperately thirsty. Like insanely thirsty. All you can think about is a big tall glass of water. Got it?" "Got it." "And you fantasize about this big tall glass of water, and the fantasy is really vivid in your head, but it does not actually quench your thirst." "Because you can't drink the imaginary glass of water." "Right. So you look around and see this murky, oily puddle of water and mud. It's not exactly the tall glass of water but it does have the advantage of being wet. It's real, whereas the tall glass of water is not. And so you choose the oily mud puddle, even though it's not really what you'd prefer.”

“Some people when they see cheese, chocolate or cake they don't think of calories.”

“You know what they say about air and water when it comes to fire, don’t you?” she asks. Now, I’m curious. She hasn’t spoken for the last ten minutes of the drive. “What?” “Too much air blows out the fire. Too much water destroys it.” I nod trying to determine what she’s really comparing us to. “The idea would be to keep the flame going, right. For years?” She nods. “Like a relationship. Like a marriage.” She cringes at the word marriage. Noted. “So you need the air—to stay constant—to fan the flames of the fire, and you know, grasshopper,” I smile at her and catch sight of the corners of her mouth turning slightly upward in response to the endearment, “a hot enough fire will burn water, so you have to be careful with the water too.” “That I do know,” she says softly. “So that’s the truth about air and water.” She sighs deep. “Which is?” “It’s hard to maintain the balance to keep the fire going. You have to fan the flames without putting it out with too much water. But too little water will burn the fire right up. Too much fire. Too much destruction. We’re out of control.” “You’re talking in circles,” I say. “No. That’s us,” she says with certainty.”

“B.S., I Luv You by Stewart Stafford Bite that lying tongue in your cheek, Shaman's mask to play hide-and-seek, A whirlpool vortex being, so deluded, Tarantuled me in, my senses denuded. Checking blood banks - Yes! You got paid! A sociopath's shameless, sick parade, In sycophant shade, carrion crows convene, Alibis caw over a cadaver's gangrene. Botox sessions ended frowned, Dredge up memories when you're around, Bury your drained victims, vampire creep, From oozing floorboards, vile secrets seep. Communing with nocturnal revelry, Hog feast at a bonfire of hypocrisy, Scapegoating ends in mirrored past, In tumbling runes, flaws naked, cast. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“It is obvious what the wind will do, and so is the cloud. Flowers, trees, even birds; it is even obvious what the most unknown being will do. However, we know a being well: it is not obvious what they will do. You happen to know: they picked up roses, and are giving them to someone. And then you happen to know again: the roses belong to the man they killed.”

“It's a funny thing about being alone. You never really notice it when it's happening. You're aware that nobody else is there, but [...] as with wading into cold water, you acclimate to the relative solitude until it doesn't even bother you anymore. You don't realize that your hands and toes have grown numb until there is a sudden burst of warmth that sends needles through your extremities.”

“If metaphors require an underlying cultural framework, then the heiroglyphhic language of the gods cannot be a merely primitive stage of human consciousness: it needs the presence of both the symbolic language of heroes and the epistolary language of me as its starting point. Thus Vico is not speaking of a linear development from a metaphorical language to a more conventional language, but of a continual, cyclical activity. The language of the gods is a heap of unrelated synedoches and metonymies…”

“Deep in the psychological caves of their mental platonic darkness, there is no rainbow colour or light of reason in many areas of their psyche, their inner mind. Instead they have married themselves to a dragon of a creature, so terrible that even Jupiter feared this monstrosity of pompous ignorance. Their hope of the beauty of Cupid is just a lovemaking session in the dark room of ignorance of both science and religion.”

“Could any State on Earth Immortall be, Venice by Her rare Goverment is She; Venice Great Neptunes Minion, still a Mayd, Though by the warrlikst Potentats assayed; Yet She retaines Her Virgin-waters pure, Nor any Forren mixtures can endure; Though, Syren-like on Shore and Sea, Her Face Enchants all those whom once She doth embrace, Nor is ther any can Her bewty prize But he who hath beheld her with his Eyes: Those following Leaves display, if well observed, How she long Her Maydenhead preserved, How for sound prudence She still bore the Bell; Whence may be drawn this high-fetchd parallel, Venus and Venice are Great Queens in their degree, Venus is Queen of Love, Venice of Policie.”

“In a field where else you found a stack of revealing nature photographs, of supernude nature photographs, split beaver of course nature photographs, photographs full of 70s bush, nature taking come from every man from miles around, nature with come back to me just dripping from her lips. The stack came up to your eye, you saw: nature is big into bloodplay, nature is into extreme age play, nature does wild inter- racial, nature she wants you to pee in her mouth, nature is dead and nature is sleeping and still nature is on all fours, a horse it fucks nature to death up in Oregon, nature is hot young amateur redheads, the foxes are all in their holes for the night, nature is hot old used-up cougars, nature makes gaping fake-agony faces, nature is consensual dad- on-daughter, nature is completely obsessed with twins, nature doing specialty and nature doing niche, exotic females they line up to drip for you, nature getting paddled as hard as you can paddle her, oh a whitewater rapid with her ass in the air, high snowy tail on display just everywhere.”