The Simile Museum

Tag: Story

“He offered an explanation, speaking of his search for tiny pores in the skin of reality, like holes that worms bore into wood, and how upon finding one he was able to expand and stretch it the way a glassblower turns a dollop of molten glass into a long-necked pipe, and how he then allowed time to flow like water at one mouth while causing it to thicken like syrup at the other.”

-Ted Chiang

Imagine, if you can, a small room, hexagonal in shape, like the cell of a bee.”

 E. M. Forster

“There are touches like bridles you can kick away, and then there are touches that startle you into temporary submission, like the universe catching its breath: body against stunned body, mind against bright mind. A sudden snare of recognition. Wildness regarding itself.”

-Amy Bonnaffons

“I washed my hands as if they were children, cradling first one and then the other.”

-Miranda July


“She has killed them, too, I thought, my mother. I saw their bodies stuffed into the well, white limbs bent like elephant tusks. I saw them hanging from the rafters in the attic, wrapped up in my mosquito net like flies. I saw my mother, straight-backed on the balcony with a cup of poisoned tea, the women retching out their innards in the garden below. That is what poison does to a person. A girl from school told me. She heard what my mother had tried to do.”

–  Thirii Myo Kyaw Myint

“When they cut open his ankle and leg for the long bones, I see Pete’s Achille’s tendon. It looks like the eye of a round roast.”

-Amy Savage

“She came whizzing down the stairs, thrown like a dart.”

-Margaret Atwood

“Say nothing. Let her button her shirt, let her comb her hair, the sound of it stretching like a sheet of fire between you.”

-Junot Díaz


“Across from the pits, all the foreclosed houses are abandoned. The empty sockets of front yards, yanked from the ground like teeth, are filled with rain. It’s kind of beautiful in the darkness, as though the neighborhood is floating.”

-Alexander Weinstein

“When Danto helped Magda Maria out of the black fur coat, tenderly he folded it beside them on a barstool where it seemed to drowse like a pampered beast, we saw then that Magda Maria wore clothes, or strips of cloth, that were layered, flimsy as cobwebs, black muslin and black silk and black lace, a black skirt with a jagged hemline and an unexpected slit at the sides that exposed her beautiful pale legs, a cobwebbed black-translucent fabric through which Magda Maria’s small ivory-white breasts shone, and the shadows of her prominent collarbone could only just be glimpsed; and Magda Maria wore shoes with stacked heels, or boots with stiletto heels, that caused her to teeter like a little girl in an adult woman’s footwear.”

-Joyce Carol Oates