His laugh sounded like a squeal.
The fingers of his glove hung limp like socks out to dry.
His white wig looked like a heap of dead worms.
The hospital gurney was rusty as the knife.
His face was as pale and empty as surface of moon.
Violet’s face is as still and blank as sheet of paper.
Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd little waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don't always like.
Miracles are like meatballs, because nobody can exactly agree on what they are made of, where they come from, or how often they should appear.
Strange as it may seem, I still hope for the best, even though the best, like an interesting piece of mail, so rarely arrives, and even when it does it can be lost so easily.
I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship.
A library is like an island in the middle of a vast sea of ignorance.
People aren't either wicked or noble. They're like chef's salads, with good things and bad things chopped and mixed together in a vinaigrette of confusion and conflict.