Bringing two different things together with an explicit word, such as "like," "as," or "seems." Unlike a metaphor, a comparison makes it plain that there are two things.
In the Odyssey
led him on, unaware of his ruin, and killed him after feasting him, as one kills an ox beside the manger.
“As one kills an ox beside the manger” brings the king close to the animal that eats without suspicion. The word “as” makes the two compared things plain and makes the death seem less worthy of a warrior.
Book IV: Telemachus in Sparta, Menelaus, repeating Proteus
as when someone hides a brand in the dark ash, at the edge of the field, where there are no other neighbors, keeping the seed of fire so as not to have to kindle it elsewhere, so Odysseus covered himself with leaves.
Book V: Calypso and the Raft, the narrator
as a woman weeps for her beloved husband, throwing herself upon him, who fell before his city and his people, defending city and children from the pitiless day.
Book VIII: The Games of the Phaeacians, the narrator
but whoever tasted the fruit of the lotus, sweet as honey, no longer wished to return with news or to go home, and they wanted to stay right there, among the lotus-eaters, eating lotus and forgetting the return.
Book IX: The Cyclops, Odysseus
three times I lunged, and my spirit bade me hold her; three times she flew from my hands, like a shadow or a dream.
Book XI: The Descent to the Dead, Odysseus
just as this eagle snatched the goose raised at home, coming from the mountain where it has its nest and its young, so Odysseus, after suffering many woes and wandering much, will return home and take vengeance.
Book XV: Telemachus's Return, Helen
and they wept in shrill voices, more copiously than birds, sea eagles or crook-taloned vultures, whose young the farmers have taken before they could fly;
Book XVI: Father and Son, the narrator
as when a man who knows the lyre and song easily stretches the string around a new peg, fastening at both ends the well-twisted thread of sheep gut, so, effortlessly, Odysseus strung the great bow.
Book XXI: The Bow, the narrator
as when land appears welcoming to swimmers whose well-built ship Poseidon shatters at sea, driven by wind and heavy wave; few escape the gray sea to solid ground by swimming, and much salt covers their skin, and they set foot on land gladly, having fled the evil; so welcoming to her was the husband she looked upon, and she would not entirely let go of his neck with her white arms.
Book XXIII: The Olive-Wood Bed, the narrator
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