Från Edward St Aubyns ”Some hope”, om metaforer:
”Yeah, said Patrick, smiling wildly. I’ll have a creme brulee.
stared at his glass. The red wine was definitely beginning to unfold.
Pity he had already drunk it all. Yes, it had been beginning to unfold,
like a fist opening slowly. And in its palm…In its palm, what? A
ruby? A grape? A stone? Perhaps similes just shunted the same idea back
and forth, lightly disguised, to give the impression of a fruitful
Sir Sampson Legend was the only honest suitor who ever sang the praises
of a woman. ”Give me your hand, Odd, let me kiss it; ’tis as warm and
soft as–as what? Odd, as t’other hand.” Now there was an accurate
simile. The tragic limitations of comparison. The lead in the heart of
the skylark. The disappointing curvature of space. The doom of time.
Christ, he really was quite drunk. Not drunk enough, though.”