Quotes About Pulsing

Strange, pulsing symbols appeared before his eyes, oozed past him. He neither ate nor drank nor slept, but still his strength did not diminish. It was almost as if something called to him, drawing him onward. The otherworld, perhaps.

But do I desire unreasonably much in wanting what is called life—music, poetry, passion, war, and all the beating and pulsing that is going on in the great arteries of the world? That was the shape of my youthful dream; but I did not get it.

A little globe of pulsing color grew in rhythmic spurts and burst in midair into formless gouts that swirled high and came down as curving streamers in interlacing patterns. They coalesced into little spheres, no two alike in color—and Bayta began discovering things.

Unreadable stares everywhere, all of them pulsing with danger,

hot and pulsing on the edge of a dynastic rebellion, like the arteries of an old man about to have his first orgasm in years. He

Pulsing goddess light moves through me for one moment like - Here Mr. Brown paused again. Like a glimpse of eternity instantly forgotten.

In that moment I was aware of life pulsing all around me, indifferent to me. I was just a tiny part of a vast living, breathing ecosystem. I wasn't at the center of anything

Like any stage of the hydrologic process, we have our own peculiarities, our organs making us nothing more than water pools or springs of bizarre shape, filled with pulsing tubes and chambers.

It seems to me that for Darwin the pulsing of evolutionary rates was a strictly vertical phenomenon.

We are the ones who take this thing called music and line it up with this thing called time. We are the ticking, we are the pulsing, we are underneath every part of this moment.

The imperative—she whispered it to herself—to live. The universe was ruled by a force, and the force was life, and life, and life—a pulsing, commanding law of its own.

Another wonderful Sierra day wherein one appears to be dissolved and absorbed and sent pulsing onward we know not wherein. Life seems neither long nor quick, and we take no extra heed to keep time or make haste than do the trees and stars. This is actual freedom, a good practical sort of immortality.

at that moment I understood that this in miniature was the world, a connective of human feeling, for the most part by far pulsing with the dream of the betterment of the other, and in this was an invisible current that, despite faults and breakdowns, was all the time being restored and switched back on and was running not because of past or future times but because, all times since beginning and to the end, the signal was still on, still pulsing, and still trying to love.

The music was like a living stream, pulsing beneath bodies, collecting thickly in dark corners, vibrating bone so hard it might have been cartilege.