The old books look somewhat pathetically from the shelves, like aged dogs wondering why no one takes them for a walk
The old infamy will pop into daylight like a toad out of fissure in the rock
The penalty falls like a thunderbolt from heaven
The phrase was like a spear-thrust
The pine trees waved as waves a woman's hair
The place was like some enchanted town of palaces
The plains to northward change their color like the shimmering necks of doves
The poppy burned like a crimson ember
The prime of man has waxed like cedars
The public press would chatter and make odd ambiguous sounds like a shipload of monkeys in a storm