Figurative Language In The Outsiders Novels & Stories

His brown eyes glowed with despair, and his ripped, patchwork gown bore testament to his tribulations. Xavier's pupils constricted, his gaze fixed on the intriguing man in front of him. Amid the stranger's confusing statements, he sought answers and clarity. "Where is the boy who was once held captive within these prison walls?" He said, his voice stern. With a reflective pause, the man responded with a figurative puzzle. "No raindrop ponders its destined place before it gracefully touches the ground," he said, his words full of profound insight and reflection.

I’ve tried to make ends meet, but the noose has just one loop and it’s the perfect size for my neck. I’ve waddled through life on all fours, occasionally eating dust when I fall. I’ve tried using my feet to paddle through days and weeks, even months too. But the years keep tumbling by and by—over me, leaving me with my hair disheveled, and my face? a mere caricature of a creature from a child’s nightmare; with my hair wild and windblown. Oh! my cheeks are almost like I was strapped to the backseat of a missile while the air slapped hard against my face like the clanging of spoons when these children on the street manage to get the pot from the woman who owns a fast food just before her daugh

He leaned back. "You remind me of a rusty car engine," he said. "You remind me of sin." "That’s weak. Your face reminds me of a donkey's butt. And all this time, I thought a few rats had died nearby, but then I noticed... you had opened your legs. Correction: your cesspool." I had absolutely no comeback for that one. I walked to the kitchen and filled two jars with water. When I returned, I gave him a "shower" with one and emptied the other directly onto his laptop.

In one fluid movement, I leapt to the terrified and exposed children and crushed their cold and trembling bodies under my weight, squeezing them as tightly as I could when a rain of unimaginable heaviness pummeled my flesh. “I-i-it-t’s o-k-k-ay,” I repeated shakily due to the vibrations when one terribly smelling brat squealed.“I-it’s o-o-okay. I-i-it’s o-o-kay, i-i-t’ll be-e o-o-ver r-real s-so-o-on.” -God damn it, it should have just been giant snakes!-

They immediately went up to her and picked her up from the ground, asking her if she was alright. Vivian had tears in her eyes. "I'll be fine. It's not Irene's fault. I was just too clumsy and tripped over nothing. Please don't blame Irene for it." Her words only stoked their anger. "Irene Sherman! How could you be such a vicious bitch?" Mom yelled at me in disappointment. "You've disappointed me!" I ignored them completely and began eating all the persimmons on the ground. Then, I turned around to face them and calmly said, "I've finished the persimmons. That means I can leave now, right?"

He pointed a harsh, mocking finger down at me, his face twisted in utter disgust. "Look at the way you are, and look at how your friend is! Lily is perfect in every single way. She’s smart, she's educated, and she speaks with so much enthusiasm! While you, on the other hand, are just dumb, fat, and dirty! Let me be! Like, get the hell out of my face!" Every single word felt like a physical blow to my chest. *Dumb. Fat. Dirty.* The man who had promised to love and protect me was looking at me like I was a piece of trash on the street.

– He didn't finish saying, with all his golden glory, in which, in addition to his idiotic hero of the country speech, to raise everyone's spirits. So he tried to hold it in for an entire morning, his stomach was vibrating and bubbling and squeezing, as if inside him were stirring an hour of demons that when he spit a green slime on Astro-Star's face and all over his body , before of melting and evaporating on top of him, clinging to the ground like snotty green monsters, well, they screamed for all to hear. - All the necessary insults of a lifetime. Among the words were. - You filthy worm. - Hillbilly from midwestern Kansas.

Because in Blackbridge, Quincy and I stand on the same messed-up ground. He’s an inmate. I’m an inmate. We breathe the same stale air, eat the same garbage meat, live the same nightmares. But outside? Outside he becomes everything again. He's everything I'm not. He’s money. He’s class. He’s a damn eagle—meant to fly, meant to soar, meant to shine where people actually look up and point. And me? I’m an emu. I'm flightless. Only fast when I’m running from something but never going anywhere real.

They must have never seen a girl with such a wide grin on her face. My heart was speaking all the time to go outside and run into the fields, to run on the lavish greens, to picture the sky in a beautiful frame and turn the world upside down in my vision. These people were not noticing the world the way I was glimpsing at it, they cannot hear the rhythm in the wind as it was directly speaking to my soul, they were not able to build colours on the blank paper, they were not able to discern the pavements with several ways to hide.