Frank J. Wilstach, comp. A Dictionary of Similes. 1916.

Charles Kingsley

Ashamed, like Elisha before the entreaties of Elijah’s disciples.

Bare as an Alpine precipice.

Bright as an opium-eater’s dream.

Cheerful, as one who knows that he is redeemed.

Chill as the scent of a new-made grave.

Dangerous as to check a brute.

Dark as the pillars of some Hindoo shrine.

Dreamy like the far-off chimes of angels’ bells from out the highest heaven.

Drooping like Hyacinthus beneath the blow of the quoit.

Her eye
Flames like a fresh caught hind’s.

Fair as the sun.

Fight like a bull in a tether.

Gasping like frogs in drought.

Gone, like the spray.

Hovered, like a spectre, in the background of all her imaginations.

Howling like a pig in a gate.

Immovable as a man of iron.

Wise men are like moorlands—ride as far as you will on the sound ground, you are sure to come upon a soft place at last.

Stood motionless … like some exquisite chrys-elephantine statue, all ivory and gold.

Mutter like sullen bulls.

Contemplation palls upon the spirit
Like the chill silence of an autumn sun.

Gazing patient at the sky;
Like some marble carven nun,
With folded hands when work is done,
Who mute upon her tomb doth pray,
Till resurrection day.

Peeping and peering like an excited parrot.

Rising like Aphrodite from the wave.

Roars in the gloaming
Like an ocean of seething champagne.

Safe as a fox in a trap.

Science is, like virtue, its own exceeding great reward.

Wan smiles flickered, like the northern dawn, across her worn cheeks’ ice-field.

Staring at her as if she had been an angel out of Heaven.

Still as a chimney.

Strong as fire.

Sweet as mountain honey.

Twisted like an eel.

Vague, like the thoughts of a child.

Wallow … like a stalled cow.

Watch, like terriers at a rat’s hole.

Weird as a witch’s scream.

Whoop like boys, at rounders.