Metaphors Similies Quotes

“I think poetry without metaphor is like husband and wife living in separate bedrooms.”
― Munia Khan

“His days were light beer: lacking potency and barely intoxicating. Hardly worth investing in and perhaps that was why he barely ever spent anything on them. He was a shipwreck at the bottom of the sea. Something useless and long forgotten about, only to treasure hunters still of worth. Maybe that was what Helen was: a treasure hunter and therefore convinced that she had use for him.
~ As the moon began to rust”
― Sima B. Moussavian

“The cake is not for eating; it is to teach the cook.”
― Max S. Marshall, Teaching Without Grades

“Sometimes it's hard to tell what derails a train and with life it is the same.
~ As the moon began to rust”
― Sima B. Moussavian

“it gave him hope: something he had been trying to give up like a too big flat, where you don't feel safe, but only lost. Like too big shoes that will never fit your feet and forever leave disturbing blisters.
~ As the moon began to rust”
― Sima B. Moussavian

“It's always the same with relationships: as if they were a fancy sheepskin jacket, you would get yourself some in order to stay warm on cold winter nights and show them off a bit. At first, they would fit perfectly until they would suddenly become too loose, too tight, too long, too short and from then on you wouldn't look after them any more.
You would stop taking care of them, throw up all over them on the next binge and when you'd wake up in the morning, the whole house would stink like wet sheep and stomach acid. Sooner rather than later, they would end up in the old clothes container and although you'd promise yourself that next time you'd buy the expensive care product that the saleswoman with the fake smile tried to sell you last time, you'd still not do it, because it sounds effort and who would put any into something which they would end up losing, anyway?
~ As the moon began to rust”
― Sima B. Moussavian

“Sometimes you forget the truth like a language that you haven't spoken in for years. When trying it again in a quiet hour, you'd only stutter and falter. You'd make a fool of yourself and promise that you'll never try again. But over one too many drinks you'd be trying, anyway, which would be when fluently you’d speak languages you wouldn’t even know when sober. The truth that sober Tom had unlearned was turning him into an alcoholic. Constantly it kept coaxing him to drink, because he couldn't get it out any other way.
~ As the moon began to rust”
― Sima B. Moussavian

“That’s the biggest problem with the truth: once it has escaped you, it runs away and starts having a life of its own.
~ As the moon began to rust”
― Sima B. Moussavian

“Love is such a waste: a glass of water, put in front of you at a party. Getting drunk, you’d reach for it, hoping it would do you good, but then you would abuse it as an ashtray at three o'clock in the morning and the next time you would drink from it, it would only taste toxic and make you want to puke.
~ As the moon began to rust”
― Sima B. Moussavian

“It's always the same with relationships: like a fancy sheepskin jacket you would get yourself some to stay warm on cold winter nights and show them off a bit. At first, they would fit you perfectly until they would suddenly become too loose, too tight, too long, too short and from then on you would just not look after them any more. You would stop taking care of them, throw up all over them on the next binge and when you would wake up in the morning, the whole house would smell like wet sheep and stomach acid. Sooner rather than later, they would end up in the old clothes container and although you would promise yourself that next time you'd buy the expensive care product that the saleswoman with the fake smile has tried to sell you, you still won't do it, as it sounds like a lot effort and who would put any into something they end up losing, anyway?”
― Sima B. Moussavian, As the moon began to rust

“Love is such a waste! It’s a glass of water which is put in front of you at a party. Getting drunk, you’d reach for it, hoping it would do you good. But then you’d abuse it as an ashtray at three o'clock in the morning and the next time you would drink from it, it would only taste toxic and make you want to puke.”
― Sima B. Moussavian, As the moon began to rust

“It gave him hope: something he had been trying to give up like a too big flat, where you don't feel safe, but only lost. Like too big shoes that will never fit your feet and forever leave disturbing blisters.”
― Sima B. Moussavian, As the moon began to rust

“He wore desperation like a comfy coat and, snuggled into it, he would feel relieved, because without hope you will never get disappointed again and won’t disappoint anyone else.”
― Sima B. Moussavian, As the moon began to rust

“The wrong things draw you in like the Sunday sun the eyes. You would stare straight at it and wonder if there is something somewhere out there, other than depressing sunny days and lonely Sundays: something more and when you would take your eyes out of the sun again, you'd only see red spots as if the light forgot them on your retina and then you would stand around and ponder why your eyes would always wander towards the it, although you don't want them to and actually know that it does harm.”
― Sima B. Moussavian, As the moon began to rust