Quotes About Curving

In every outthrust headland, in every curving beach, in every grain of sand there is the story of the earth.

In every outthrust headland, in every curving beach, in every grain of sand there is the story of the earth.

Dialogue in fiction should be reserved for the culminating moments and regarded as the spray into which the great wave of narrative breaks in curving toward the watcher on the shore.

Jack Nicklaus liked to curve the ball by opening or closing the clubface at address. I never felt I was good enough to do it his way. I didn't like changing my swing path, either, which some guys do. There's only one really reliable way to curve the ball: Change your hand position at address.

for his life seemed a curving line, capricious, moment by moment inviting grace.

At times, my brother made me think of one of those tapered, horned conch shells, with a glossy pink interior curving away and out of sight into some tightly wound inner mystery. You could hold your ear to such a shell and imagine you heard the depths of a vast roaring ocean—but it was really just a trick of acoustics.

An ugly, lovely town ... crawling, sprawling ... by the side of a long and splendid curving shore. This sea-town was my world.

Steep curving stone stairs led to a square library on the floor above. The 4,000 books in the library were mostly collected between 1710 and 1730. ... For a moment I was tempted to ask to be locked in. If I could skim ten books a day for a year, I would be able to get a sense of most of what David Hume might have read in 1730 -- an age when it still might just have been possible to read everything.

It was as if this night were only one of thousands of nights, world without end, night curving into night to make a great arching line of which I couldn't see the end, a night in which I roamed alone under cold, mindless stars.

It was as if this night were only one of thousands of nights, world without end, night curving into into night to make a great arching line of which I couldn't see the end, a night in which I roamed alone under cold, mindless stars.

Five miles meandering with a mazy motion.

Behind us I saw the water, still welling up from the tunnel, curving round in a frothing serpentine torrent to plunge down the other descending passage. For a moment we all sat there and watched, numb and exhausted.

hard to make a time machine out of normal material in your garage by only gently curving spacetime

Against his will, Magnus found a smile curving his lips as he rummaged around for his big blue coffee cup that said BETTER THAN GANDALF across the front in sparkly letters. He was besotted; he was officially revolted by himself.

A pleased bottom. The turnstile. Is that? . . . Blueribboned hat . . . Idly writing . . . What? Looked? . . . The curving balustrade: smoothsliding Mincius. Puck Mulligan, panamahelmeted, went step by step, iambing, trolling: John Eglinton, my jo, John. Why won't you wed a wife?

The curving and rippling fabric of spacetime explained gravity, its equivalence to acceleration, and, Einstein asserted, the general relativity of all forms of motion.

Well, all I can tell you is every Jewish man I come across is making a move on me." Not funny. By "curving" this language, the writers came up with a classic line. Who knows how many drafts it took? ELAINE: Well, something's goin' on here, 'cause every able-bodied Israelite in the county is drivin' pretty strong to the hoop.

The Paddock was one of those medium-sized houses with a goodish bit of very tidy garden and a carefully rolled gravel drive curving past a shrubbery that looked as if it had just come back from the dry cleaner - the sort of house you take one look at and say to yourself, Somebody's aunt lives there.

Meanwhile, the night orbits in peace, graceful, lovely, having slipped her moorings, leaving the space unmarked, able to orbit, to curve firmly, until she sinks into the sweet clarity now pearling, the cushion of grasses where she will fall, gleaming from mysterious strokings, polished, glittering, mistress of surfaces.

Love is like sounds, whose last reverberations / Hang on the leaves of strange trees, on mountains / As distant as the curving of the earth, / Where the snow hangs still in the middle of the air. -from Love is Like Sounds

And most times she follows them, because once she saw one, curving the air with its silvered colours when she walked in the rain, in the night, in search of a dream she had thought lost, a story she needed, to be complete.