Simile:
"their fists testing the smoke-filled air like the knobbed feelers of hypersensitive snails." Page 23
Metaphor:
“I am an invisible man. No, I am not a spook… it is as though I have been surrounded by mirrors of hard, distorting glass… indeed everything and anything except me.” Pg. 3
Alliteration:
"Oh, long green stretch of campus, Oh, quiet songs at dusk, Oh, moon that kissed the steeple and flooded the perfumed nights, Oh, bugle that called in the morning, Oh, drum that marched us militarily at noon—what was real, what solid, what more than a pleasant, time-killing dream? For how could it have been real if now I am invisible?"
Hyperbole:
"Okay, Okay. . . But what y'all doing looking like you at a funeral? Don't you know this that this is the Golden Day?"