“She sat there naked, propped up on her hands, her mouth open a little, her face like scraped bone.”
-Raymond Chandler
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“She sat there naked, propped up on her hands, her mouth open a little, her face like scraped bone.”
-Raymond Chandler
“My great grandmother. I would’ve liked to have known her, a wild horse of a woman, so wild she wouldn’t marry. Until my great-grandfather threw a sack over her head and carried her off. Just like that, as if she were a fancy chandelier. That’s the way he did it.”
-Sandra Cisneros
“Already the moon hung above the yard like a cheap earring.”
-Isaac Babel
“I can’t figure out whether women were drawn straight to his eyes, bathed in a false and saline mistiness like gray oysters, or to his lips, always shut over his small and regular teeth.”
-Colette
“Nothing is ever wrapped up with such diabolical neatness as a shoebox.”
-Vladimir Nabokov
“On the doorstep, with the street before her, she felt a mad throb of liberation, intoxicating as the prisoner’s first draught of free air; but the clearness of the brain continued, and she noted the mute aspect of Fifth Avenue, guessed at the lateness of the hour, and even observes a man’s figure–was there something half-familiar in its outline?–which, as she entered the hansom, turned from the opposite corner and vanished into the obscurity of the side street.”
-Edith Wharton
“Our state’s governor, Ms. Jan Brewer, grins like a sad, melted puppet whenever she tries to feign solidarity with the public.”
-Troy Farah
“Our mother is the sole survivor. We leave her trembling in the chapel. Where light filters through the glass belly of a saint. She sways on her knees like a nervous parakeet. Light comes through the shepherd, then through the lamb. Her glasses are huge. Her lips are drawn to a tiny slit. With her hands she pushes down the air. She chirps, but, but, but.”
-Beth Steidle
“I saw him running or walking through the outskirts of Gómez Palacio, under a sky that looked like a rockslide.”
-Roberto Bolaño
“Fury flashing from her eyes like New Year’s Eve sparklers.”
-Dorothea Straus
The Simile Museum 