Fifteen Thousand Useful Phrases by Grenville Kleiser (read the beginning after the end novel .txt) π
We should not, however, study "sparkling words and sonorous phrases" with the object of introducing them consciously into our speech. To do so would inevitably lead to stiltedness and superficiality. Words and phrases should be studied as symbols of ideas, and as we become thoroughly familiar with them they will play an unconscious but effective part in our daily expression.
We acquire our vocabulary largely from our reading and our personal associates. The words we use are an unmistakable indication of our thought habits, tastes, ideals, and interests in life. In like manner, the habitual language of a people is a barometer of their intellectual, civil, moral, and spiritual ideals
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- Author: Grenville Kleiser
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In that head of his a flame burnt that was like an altar-fire
In yonder cottage shines a light, far-gleaming like a gem
Instantly she revived like flowers in water
Intangible as a dream
It came and faded like a wreath of mist at eve
It cuts like knives, this air so chill
It drops away like water from a smooth statue
It pealed through her brain like a muffled bell
It poured upon her like a trembling flood
It racked his ears like an explosion of steam-whistles
It ran as clear as a trout-brook
It seems as motionless and still as the zenith in the skies
It set his memories humming like a hive of bees
It staggered the eye, like the sight of water running up hill
It stung like a frozen lash
It was as futile as to oppose an earthquake with argument
It was as if a door had been opened into a furnace, so the eyes blazed
It would collapse as if by enchantment
Its temples and its palaces did seem like fabrics of enchantment piled to Heaven
JJealousy, fierce as the fires
KKindle like an angel's wings the western skies in flame
Kindly mornings when autumn and winter seemed to go hand in hand like a happy aged couple
Kingdoms melt away like snow
LLaboring like a giant
Languid streams that cross softly, slowly, with a sound like smothered weeping
Laughter like a beautiful bubble from the rosebud of baby-hood
Laughter like the sudden outburst of the glad bird in the tree-top
Lazy merchantmen that crawled like flies over the blue enamel of the sea
Leapt like a hunted stag
Let his frolic fancy play, like a happy child
Let in confusion like a whirling flood
Let thy mouth murmur like the doves
Life had been arrested, as the horologist, with interjected finger, arrests the beating of the clock [horologist = one who repairs watches]
Life stretched before him alluring and various as the open road
Life sweet as perfume and pure as prayer
Light as a snowflake
Lights gleamed there like stars in a still sky
Like a ball of ice it glittered in a frozen sea of sky
Like a blade sent home to its scabbard
Like a blast from a horn
Like a blast from the suddenly opened door of a furnace
Like a blossom blown before a breeze, a white moon drifts before a shimmering sky
Like a bright window in a distant view
Like a caged lion shaking the bars of his prison
Like a calm flock of silver-fleeced sheep
Like a cloud of fire
Like a cold wind his words went through their flesh
Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue
Like a damp-handed auctioneer
Like a deaf and dumb man wondering what it was all about
Like a dew-drop, ill-fitted to sustain unkindly shocks
Like a dipping swallow the stout ship dashed through the storm
Like a distant star glimmering steadily in the darkness
Like a dream she vanished
Like a festooned girdle encircling the waist of a bride
Like a flower her red lips parted
Like a game in which the important part is to keep from laughing
Like a glow-worm golden
Like a golden-shielded army
Like a great express train, roaring, flashing, dashing head-long
Like a great fragment of the dawn it lay
Like a great ring of pure and endless light
Like a great tune to which the planets roll
Like a high and radiant ocean
Like a high-born maiden
Like a jewel every cottage casement showed
Like a joyless eye that finds no object worth its constancy
Like a knight worn out by conflict
Like a knot of daisies lay the hamlets on the hill
Like a lily in bloom
Like a living meteor
Like a locomotive-engine with unsound lungs
Like a long arrow through the dark the train is darting
Like a mirage, vague, dimly seen at first
Like a miser who spoils his coat with scanting a little cloth [scanting = short]
Like a mist the music drifted from the silvery strings
Like a moral lighthouse in the midst of a dark and troubled sea
Like a murmur of the wind came a gentle sound of stillness
Like a noisy argument in a drawing-room
Like a pageant of the Golden Year, in rich memorial pomp the hours go by
Like a pale flower by some sad maiden cherished
Like a poet hidden
Like a river of molten amethyst
Like a rocket discharging a shower of golden stars
Like a rose embower'd in its own green leaves
Like a sea of upturned faces
Like a shadow never to be overtaken
Like a shadow on a fair sunlit landscape
Like a sheeted ghost
Like a ship tossed to and fro on the waves of life's sea
Like a slim bronze statue of Despair
Like a snow-flake lost in the ocean
Like a soul that wavers in the Valley of the Shadow
Like a stalled horse that breaks loose and goes at a gallop through the plain
Like a star, his love's pure face looked down
Like a star that dwelt apart
Like a star, unhasting, unresting
Like a stone thrown at random
Like a summer cloud, youth indeed has crept away
Like a summer-dried fountain
Like a swift eagle in the morning glare breasting the whirlwind with impetuous flight
Like a thing at rest
Like a thing read in a book or remembered out of the faraway past
Like a tide of triumph through their veins, the red, rejoicing blood began to race
Like a triumphing fire the news was borne
Like a troop of boys let loose from school, the adventurers went by
Like a vaporous amethyst
Like a vision of the morning air
Like a voice from the unknown regions
Like a wandering star I fell through the deeps of desire
Like a watch-worn and weary sentinel
Like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed
Like a whirlwind they went past
Like a withered leaf the moon is blown across the bay
Like a world of sunshine
Like a yellow silken scarf the thick fog hangs
Like an alien ghost I stole away
Like an eagle clutching his prey, his arm swooped down
Like an eagle dallying with the wind
Like an engine of dread war, he set his shoulder to the mountain-side
Like an enraged tiger
Like an enthusiast leading about with him an indifferent tourist
Like an icy wave, a swift and tragic impression swept through him
Like an unbidden guest
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun
Like an unseen star of birth
Like an unwelcome thought
Like apparitions seen and gone
Like attempting to number the waves on the snore of a limitless sea
Like bells that waste the moments with their loudness
Like blasts of trumpets blown in wars
Like bright Apollo
Like bright lamps, the fabled apples glow
Like building castles in the air
Like bursting waves from the ocean
Like cliffs which have been rent asunder
Like clouds of gnats with perfect lineaments [lineaments = distinctive shape]
Like cobwebs woven round the limbs of an infant giant
Like crystals of snow
Like dead lovers who died true
Like Death, who rides upon a thought, and makes his way through temple, tower, and palace
Like dew upon a sleeping flower
Like dining with a ghost
Like drawing nectar in a sieve
Like earth's decaying leaves
Like echoes from a hidden lyre
Like echoes from an antenatal dream
Like fixed eyes, whence the dear light of sense and thought has fled
Like footsteps upon wool
Like fragrance from dead flowers
Like ghosts, from an enchanter fleeing
Like ghosts the sentries come and go
Like golden boats on a sunny sea
Like great black birds, the demons haunt the woods
Like green waves on the sea
Like having to taste a hundred exquisite dishes in a single meal
Like Heaven's free breath, which he who grasps can hold not
Like helpless birds in the warm nest
Like iridescent bubbles floating on a foul stream
Like kindred drops mingled into one
Like laying a burden on the back of a moth
Like lead his feet were
Like leaves in wintry weather
Like leviathans afloat
Like lighting a candle to the sun
Like making a mountain out of a mole-hill
Like mariners pulling the life-boat
Like mice that steal in and out as if they feared the light
Like mountain over mountain huddled
Like mountain streams we meet and part
Like music on the water
Like notes which die when born, but still haunt the echoes of the hill
Like oceans of liquid silver
Like one pale star against the dusk, a single diamond on her brow gleamed with imprisoned fire
Like one who halts with tired wings
Like one who talks of what he loves in dream
Like organ music came the deep reply
Like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream
Like phantoms gathered by the sick imagination
Like planets in the sky
Like pouring oil on troubled waters
Like roses that in deserts bloom and die
Like rowing upstream against a strong downward current
Like scents from a twilight garden
Like separated souls
Like serpents struggling in a vulture's grasp
Like sheep from out the fold of the sky, stars leapt
Like ships that have gone down at sea
Like shy elves hiding from the traveler's eye
Like skeletons, the sycamores uplift their wasted hands
Like some grave night thought threading a dream
Like some new-gathered snowy hyacinth, so white and cold and delicate it was
Like some poor nigh-related guest, that may not rudely be dismist
Like some suppressed and hideous thought which flits athwart our musings, but can find no rest within a pure and gentle mind
Like some unshriven churchyard thing, the friar crawled
Like something fashioned in a dream
Like sounds of wind and flood
Like splendor-winged moths about a taper
Like stepping out on summer evenings from the glaring ball-room
upon the cool and still piazza
Like straws in a gust of wind
Like summer's beam and summer's stream
Like sunlight, in and out the leaves, the robins went
Like sweet thoughts in a dream
Like the awful shadow of some unseen power
Like the bellowing of bulls
Like the boar encircled by hunters and hounds
Like the bubbles on a river sparkling, bursting, borne away
Like the cold breath of the grave
Like the creaking of doors held stealthily ajar
Like the cry of an itinerant vendor in a quiet and picturesque town
Like the dance of some gay sunbeam
Like the dawn of the morn
Like the detestable and spidery araucaria [araucaria = evergreen trees of South America and Australia]
Like the dew on the mountain
Like the dim scent in violets
Like the drifting foam of a restless sea when the waves show their teeth in the flying breeze
Like the embodiment of a perfect rose, complete in form and fragrance
Like the faint cry of unassisted woe
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