Indian summer is like a woman.
I am gifted at blending myself into any given milieu—you've never seen such a typical California teenager as I was, nor such a dissolute and callous pre-med student—but somehow despite my efforts, I a...
Phyllida's hair was where her power resided. It was expensively set into a smooth dome, like a band shell for the presentation of that long-running act, her face.
Character is like a tree and reputation its shadow. The shadow is what we think it is and the tree is the real thing.
And again and again fell the word, like the ebb of a dying sea.Good-bye.
Night is brushed aside like so much cobweb. The day is wound up and begins even before the last haunted dreams, the last of the fog, those spectral and evanescent residues, have faded away.
Night-time is being brushed aside like so much cobweb. The day is wound up and begins even before the last haunted dreams, the last of the fog, those spectral and evanescent residues, have faded away.
I can't tell you—oh I can't tell you—how awful—how sort of unlivable—everything is now—like a great black wall in front of me—Something's got to smash.
But she saw nothing in my eyes—she stared at me as though I had made a long journey on a white charger all the way to her prison house.
The church trembled and the hail hammered the roof, but his words glided in the air, joyful and bright like the birds at the cliffs. They floated freely around one another without colliding and the wi...
T.H. moved through the forest like the melody of a well-known song, in perfect harmony with his surroundings.