Personification Metaphors, Analogies and Similes
The car's engine wheezed in a chronic asthma attack.
In wartime, truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies.
Unseen, in the background, Fate was quietly slipping the lead into the boxing glove.
The afternoon heat refused to budge and continually swore like a bully oppressing the ground.
They know where to grow, how to dupe you, and how to camouflage themselves among perfectly respectable plants. So I've concluded weeds have brains.
Penetrating so many secrets, we cease to believe in the unknowable. But there it sits, nevertheless, calmly licking its chops.
The minutes tiptoed past like well-marshalled field mice in feather slippers.
When the axe was carried into the forest, the trees all said, “Well, at least the handle is one of us.”
The handwriting of time had scribbled across her face like a manic toddler.
The ship rocked to the ocean's slow heartbeat.
The street was persistently in a state of lazy undress.
The moon grinned smugly, like a lottery winner, on an earth full of losers.
Ancient trees that arch and moan for centuries long departed.
Clouds rang the neck of light with grey knuckles.
Capitalism looks on and cracks its knuckles.
It's use alone that sanctifies expense, and splendour borrows all her rays from sense.
Money doesn't talk; it swears.
The minutes sneaked by on tiptoe, with their fingers to their lips.
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