The Simile Museum

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“Now I heard a funny noise, like water squeaking at high pressures from the insides of a cat.”

– Rajesh Parameswaran

“I pass, like night, from land to land.”

-Samuel Coleridge

“Still rose the dune sea, and like a sea, now making its own weather. Sparkling white slopes superheated the skies above, setting the air achurn with funnels, drawing hurricanes of dust from as far away as Saskatchewan. Self-perpetuating, then, the sand a magnet for its own mixture of clay, sulfates, and carbonate particles from the pulverized bodies of ancient marine creatures, so high in saline that a sample taken from anywhere on the dune would be salty on the tongue.”

– Claire Vaye Watkins

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“Her first love was an unresponsive Guards officer, her last the homosexual painter Pavel Tchelitchew; but her truest lover was the photographer Cecil Beaton, who made her lovely, finding her complexion fresh as that of a convolvulus, her eyebrows like tapering mouse-tails, the noble forehead like tissue-paper, her wrists like delicate stems, and her visage entire flooded with the mad moon-struck ethereality of a ghost.”

-Paul West

“Nothing seemed to belong to them organically, to be stamped with their own identity, but no one seemed to expect that. Even the painters and writers wore disguises which outdid Venetian masked balls. The beards of men shipwrecked for years on desert islands, the unmatched clothes from thrift shops, the girls with hair uncombed, and black cotton stockings, and eyes painted a tubercular violet. In this costume they meant to convey a break with conventions, with the stylish mannequins in Beverly Hills shop windows, but it created the impression of merely another uniform, which they bore self-consciously, and it did not portray freedom, nonchalance. They wore them stiffly, as if on display, like extras for a Bohemian scene, proclaiming: Look at me.”

– Anaïs Nin

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“Stay away from pop music. It is too crudely percussive. Sounds like gun fire.

We already have enough of that.”

– William H. Gass

“As for my Saturday—swaying outside the window in acacias and shadows—I preferred, instead of squandering it, to grasp it in my tight fist, where I crumpled it like a handkerchief.”

– Clarice Lispector

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“The engagement was short, and secretly Yanli was very disappointed; she’d always heard that these were the best days of one’s life. Even so, she was very happy when the wedding day arrived. That morning, combing her hair while still half asleep, she lifted her arms up, looked in the mirror, and felt a strange sense of invigoration—as if she’d been crammed into a glass test tube and was now pushing her head up to pop the lid off, ready to leap from the present into future.”

– Eileen Chang

“Later, when I got home, I went into the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror for a while. It was the same mirror Katie and I used to stare at in the pitch black while chanting ‘Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary’ over and over until we hallucinated the beheaded head of Mary Queen of Scots emerging in reflection, dripping like a porterhouse steak.”

-Stacey Richter

“He had never presented flowers to Fiona before. Or to anyone else. He entered the building feeling like a hopeless lover or a guilty husband in a cartoon.”

-Alice Munro