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“We must be clear that when it comes to atoms, language can be used only as in poetry. The poet, too, is not nearly so concerned with describing facts as with creating images and establishing mental connections.

[About describing atomic models in the language of classical physics:]”
― Niels Bohr

“August has passed, and yet summer continues by force to grow days. They sprout secretly between the chapters of the year, covertly included between its pages.”
― Jonathan Safran Foer, Tree of Codes

“And the darkness of John's sin was like the darkness of the church on Saturday evenings[...] It was like his thoughts as he moved about the tabernacle in which his life had been spent; the tabernacle that he hated, yet loved and feared[...] The darkness of his sin was in the hardheartedness with which he resisted God's power; in the scorn that was often his while he listened to the crying, breaking voices, and watched the black skin glisten while they lifted up their arms and fell on their faces before the Lord. For he had made his decision. He would not be like his father, or his father's fathers. He would have another life.”
― James Baldwin, Go Tell It on the Mountain

“A mud-stained sunlight began to splatter the sodden fields, and the hateful, nasal world of birds began to come to life. It seemed to me that I was coming out of a suffocating nightmare and that the low clouds flying before the wind were the shreds of an evil dream.”
― Blaise Cendrars, Moravagine

“The street lamps glowed like ripe oranges among the bare boughs. Below in the wet street their globes glimmered down and down, to drown in their own reflections.”
― Mary Stewart, Nine Coaches Waiting

“and on that thin-mooned night, I could see little more than her silhouette except for when she smoked, the burning cherry of the cigarette washing her face in pale red light.”
― John Green, Looking for Alaska

“She was a thin, sickly, bony child, like an eft, with fine hair like sunlit smoke.”
― A.S. Byatt, Ragnarok

“All her life she had believed in something more, in the mystery that shape-shifted at the edge of her senses. It was the flutter of moth wings on glass and the promise of river nymphs in the dappled creek beds. It was the smell of oak trees on the summer evening she fell in love, and the way dawn threw itself across the cow pond and turned the water to light.”
― Eowyn Ivey, The Snow Child

“When he did appear his eyes were as brown as I remembered, pupils flecked with gold like beach pebbles.”
― Amber Dawn, Sub Rosa

“In the afternoon, over gold screens,
I will brush the blue dust of my dreams.”
― John Gould Fletcher, Irradiations Sand and Spray

“It’s so dark that I can hear the sea better than I can see it. Shhhhh, Shhhhh, it says, like I’m a fretful child and it’s my mother, though if the sea were my mother, I’d rather have been an orphan.”
― Maggie Stiefvater, The Scorpio Races

“But the future lay open, a thousand kaleidoscopic possibilities with a small quick heartbeat, delicate and impatient”
― Jonathan Safran Foer, Tree of Codes

“Five girls sat beside, and upon the branches of, the oldest apple tree in the orchard, its huge trunk making a fine seat and support; and whenever the May breeze blew, the pink blossoms tumbled down like snow, coming to rest in their hair and on their skirts. The afternoon sunlight dappled green and silver and gold through the leaves in the apple orchard.”
― Neil Gaiman, Stardust

“The chill, like scurrying spiders, worked deeper into him, weaving webs of ice in the hollows of his bones.”
― Dean Koontz, Tick Tock

“Let the snake wait under
his weed
and the writing
be of words, slow and quick, sharp
to strike, quiet to wait,
sleepless.

--through metaphor to reconcile
the people and the stones.
Compose. (No ideas
but in things) Invent!
Saxifrage is my flower that splits
the rocks.”
― William Carlos Williams

“desperately knocking against the blind little world, i loosened one of its planks, opening a window to a new, wider world. There, spread out, was a profusion of geography, of atmosphere, of full empty air.”
― Jonathan Safran Foer, Tree of Codes

“Outside, the world whistled. The rain was stained.”
― Markus Zusak

“Our interactions were confined to a nod as I settled down into my seat. A few days into our routine and we were like an old married couple--we'd just missed out the honeymoon and skipped straight from flirtation to habit." from "First Impressions”
― Josephine Myles

“The stars have come to the earth, and the ocean has turned over the ground; dark waves meet the sky.”
― Ally Condie, Reached

“The cork was in the bottle. He and the Atropos were trapped.”
― C.S. Forester, Hornblower and the Atropos

“faces pressed against the pane, full of little, content with sawdust tears.”
― Jonathan Safran Foer, Tree of Codes

“Thousands of mosquitoes had already bitten all of us on chest and arms and ankles. Then a bright idea came to me: I jumped up on the steel roof of the car and stretched out flat on my back. Still there was no breeze, but the steel had an element of coolness in it and dried my back of sweat, clotting up thousands of dead bugs into cakes on my skin, and I realized the jungle takes you over and you become it.”
― Jack Kerouac, On the Road

“Lugh's decided to stick with bein mad at me. It's like traveling with a storm cloud. One of them that hangs low an heavy. The kind that builds an broods an keeps on buildin an brood in till everybody's got a sick headache.”
― Moira Young, Rebel Heart

“It felt as if I’d been teleported to the dark side of the moon, forced to gaze out at the stars and wonder which one I’d come from.”
― Heather Heffner, Year of the Wolf

“The city was asleep, and the bookshop felt like a boat adrift in a sea of silence and shadows.”
― Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind

“Startled pigeons filled the old, shadowy rooms and crumbling hallways with their soft thunder.”
― Stephen King, Wizard and Glass

“We fell, but we never let the box fall from our hands. Then we ran. We ran blindly, and men and houses streaked past us in a torrent without shape.”
― Ayn Rand, Anthem

“Let the systematic theologian spell it out. Let the artists throw out thoughts and slants, maybe even slants no one else has thought of. They should give another view of something familiar to help us learn more about it. They should deal with love, life, good, evil, God, the world and faith. Many of the biblical writers were poets more than they were theologians. Poets and prophets ranted and raved, and storytellers wrote great yarns that all had different slants on God and life and faith. Perhaps the poet's absence from the Church for many centuries has left it deprived of much insight.”
― Steve Stockman

“The lake was a shield of beaten brass flung down in the valley under a full sun.”
― Jane Urquhart, The Stone Carvers

“Stars slid away like rain, she was gone so long.”
― Karen Russell, Swamplandia!