The metaphor is far more intelligent than its author, and this is the case with many things. Everything has its depths. He who has eyes sees something in everything. — Lichtenberg, Aphorisms (Penguin Classics) I love metaphors, and I feel pleased when I come up with what I consider to be a good one, but I also feel a little bit like I’ve cheated — as if I’ve explained something rather than merely artfully compared two things. I feel like Victor Frankenstein, accidentally stitching life together from dead parts: one observation, one image, one half-remembered association, one stolen nerve from some previous book. Then the lightning hits, and suddenly it sits up.
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