metaphor [Theme] Page 3

In life she was a river. Death has dried up this river to the size of the stream. But after ten spent in the wilderness years, any, feeling the taste of water, will cry from happiness.

Four of the Swan near the shore were moving so slowly that it looked frozen, as if they were responsible for. Each was reflected in the smooth, mirror-like water. Sometimes it seemed that they're looking at your own images and admire them. From time to time one or the other of the split reflection, dipping in the water bill. Graceful creatures. So white and gentle as doves. As women. Unpredictable. Soft. Ruthless. Right or wrong. The devotees or izmeniti. Who knows?
(... ) The swans were gone - white, proud and mysterious, was gone from his life forever. Reflections in the silent water was like the flip side that exists in all people - one way for show and another for close consideration. Does he do all these years the hidden side of Demelza? Like no, he had seen only what is on the surface. If he knows and understands himself?

Boiling the kettle on the fire is not put. In kettle pour cold water and heat it. And with marriage.

My shoes got tangled in the noodles and green grass.

- You bought Lindsay at the same auction.
- Well, yes, but I'm afraid I prematurely shot my wad on what was supposed to be a dry run, if you will.
So now I'm afraid I have something of a mess on my hands.
- It's just there's so many poorly chosen words in that sentence
- You bought Lindsay at the same auction?!
- Well, Yes, but I'm afraid I prematurely shot in time, so to speak, exercising... so I'm afraid I now have to clean up after themselves.
- How much bad language in one sentence.

You know, Michael, if I may take off my acting pants for a moment and pull my analrapist stocking over my head, George Michael has been acting strange lately.
You know, Michael, let me lower your pants actor and put on the head stocking crazy-anal-of lysator, George Michael lately is behaving oddly.

My mother said that this girl, Polly gray, will never forgive a grudge. And yet, she loves to dance. Shall we dance?
- I don't dance anymore.
- Sorry... [when Polly goes] And we've been dancing.

What is the obsession? What is it? Mad passion? Lust? Confusing? What we should absorb? What absorbs us? In my opinion, the obsession is taking. Ruthless acquisition of my thoughts. Sometimes I pleased him, and other times it happens against my will. You have probably seen the news where people ignore a storm warning. They overlook the beach, as if waiting, hoping that they will be hit by the wave. I used to be surprised, what is wrong with them? Listen to the warning, go on, be reasonable. And I understand why they are drawn to the shore. Understand why. They can't look away from the wall of the wave front because the wave is beautiful, it's intoxicating, mesmerizing, is the living embodiment of danger. And that moment on the shore, the chance to play with fate, check out if you can stand the danger, to look her in the eye and say, "I can control you. I can outwit. I can bend you to his will." I lost. Every time I tell myself that I don't need that I can control, can overcome the temptation, unable to control their desires. I lost. Your feet will carry me to shore.

If you feed a monster, you better pray it does not become more you.

- Do you know?
- She was playing in our sandbox, and then became a fed.
The castles above, and the dirt is still the same.

Follow the road, Loman. If looking only in the rearview mirror - the accident happens.

These purple capricious, opens his mouths, like hungry fish, - to call them tulips. On three sides of the asprawl, orange speckled is tiger lilies. Red, with vodovorote neck - of course, roses. They still are pink or yellow. And home a cap with tentacles on a thick stem is Amaryllis.

Even the walking dead come back from the grave.

From saxophone to knife - only one step!