Ordinary language is all right.
One could divide humanity into two classes:
those who master a metaphor, and those who hold by a formula.
Those with a bent for both are too few, they do not comprise a class.
Spring, and snow.
'It is high time for me to leave a world that is fast leaving me and that I shall not mourn.'
'… in a certain sense it seems that not wanting is the only good.'
Just as I was walking by, an old man shuffling along the icy sidewalk fell down. And his wife fell down. Only I was spared. The first thing that came into my head as I helped them up was to say, 'Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa, what's going on here?', as if there was way too much falling down going on. The old man was embarrassed, acting perplexed about what manner of bedeviling surfaces he was unfairly forced to contend with. 'Oh, I fall down all the time', I reassured him. (But I don't, not anymore, since I got new winter boots.)
'Oh, bless your heart', his wife told me.
'An insuperable difficulty is a sun.'