#metaphor

Quest is at the heart of what I do-the holy grail, and the terror that you'll never find it, seemed a perfect metaphor for life. ↗

— Jeanette Winterson

#grail #heart #holy #holy grail #i

But it is just two lovers, holding hands and in a hurry to reach their car, their locked hands a starfish leaping through the dark. ↗

— John Updike

#imagery #inspirational #love #lovers #metaphor

Creativity itself doesn't care at all about results - the only thing it craves is the process. Learn to love the process and let whatever happens next happen, without fussing too much about it. Work like a monk, or a mule, or some other representative metaphor for diligence. Love the work. Destiny will do what it wants with you, regardless. ↗

— Elizabeth Gilbert

#care #craves #creativity #destiny #diligence

It is also difficult to articulate the subtleties in cinema, because there aren't words or metaphors which describe many of the emotions you are attempting to evoke. ↗

— Conrad Hall

#articulate #attempting #because #cinema #describe

In recent decades this symbolic or metaphorical lyric has given way to one which leans toward metonymy. ↗

— Thomas Harrison

#given #leans #lyric #metaphorical #recent

Unlike metaphor, metonymy does not try to fuse images together. ↗

— Thomas Harrison

#fuse #images #metaphor #together #try

The metaphor is perhaps one of man's most fruitful potentialities. Its efficacy verges on magic, and it seems a tool for creation which God forgot inside one of His creatures when He made him. ↗

— Jose Ortega y Gasset

#creatures #efficacy #forgot #fruitful #god

He turns his back to the far shore and rows toward it. He can in this way travel away from, yet still see, his house....he feels he is riding a floating skeleton...Some birds in the almost-dark are flying as close to their reflections as possible. ↗

— Michael Ondaatje

#life

My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three, and, save for a pocket of warmth in the darkest past, nothing of her subsists within the hollows and dells of memory, over which, if you can still stand my style (I am writing under observation), the sun of my infancy had set: surely, you all know those redolent remnants of day suspended, with the midges, about some hedge in bloom or suddenly entered and traversed by the rambler, at the bottom of a hill, in the summer dusk; a furry warmth, golden midges. ↗

— Vladimir Nabokov

#memory #metaphor #mothers #humor

When birds look into houses, what impossible worlds they see. ↗

— Don DeLillo

#metaphor #the-body-artist #inspirational