Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Swirls. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Swirls Quotes And Sayings by 98 Authors including Christopher Paolini,Morihei Ueshiba,Jennie Hansen,Jim Butcher,Derek Tate for you to enjoy and share.
The cycle repeated itself at inconsistent intervals, creating invisible eddies that brushed against him like fountains of roiling water.
Move like a beam of light: fly like lightning, strike like thunder, whirl in circles around a stable center
staggered on together. A dark shape
Wisps of arctic blue and green and purple buzzed and whirled within those sharp spikes, sending out a wild coruscation of coloured light. The aurora was mesmerizing and blinding at the same time, and little disco balls hoped that they could grow up to be half as brilliant one day.
Flow can be described as the icing on the cake
A wide-angle view of sails sparkling white against a cobalt sky as light dances, silver on the water. Like art, it soothes the edge, allowing you to see something simple from a different perspective.
river, small green flames, red flames, white flames, pursuing,
Streams of melting snow.
Take me on a trip upon your magic swirling ship.
On a cold bubbling spring, covered dishes and crocks and pitchers of milk and butter and so on flouated in a circle in the mild whirlpool, like horse on a merry-go-round, in the water that smelled of the mint that grew close by.
Zigzag... don't bunch up. Weave like a drunk on New Year's... Got it?
A rune, hovering like an angel: a shape like two wings joined by a single bar.
Flow down and down in always widening rings of being.
In the middle distance, sails were gliding like butterflies, and farther away, ships dotted the mouth of the bay between Awa and Sagami as if brushed in ink in a single flowing stroke.
Floating to shore ... riding a low moon ... on a slow cloud.
Bright spots move around him like someone shook the stars from a blanket and they all went flying.
FIREFLAKES: The stars; as transitory as snowflakes only their transitoriness is protracted.
The wheel is come full circle.
giant whirlpool swirls above the entry to
Below me, in spreading, concentric circles, like those a fish makes when it rises in still water, spun round the lower tiers; above me arched the black sky pierced by the gas jets of the stars.
Symbols are oracular forms-mysterious patterns creating vortices in the substances of the invisible world.
It was dizzying - cause and effect, round and round, stretching back to the source.
Against these turbid turquoise skies
The light and luminous blloons
Dip and drift like satin moons,
Drift like silken butterflies
Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray.
Big whirls have little whirls,
That feed on their velocity;
And little whirls have lesser whirls,
And so on to viscosity.
I love the needle poke, the red pop/
and when an arc of red drops,/
quivering and shaped like wings/
beg me to lick them off,/
quickly savoring your shoulder/
newly marked with a nearly invisible/
but indelible butterfly
The response is the faint, silent flickering of lights on the ends of the cylinders as, one by one, they propel themselves away, onward and down into the swirling gases below. For
The swing of art is circular, from form to formalism, from formalism to formlessness, from formlessness to form again.
Describe a circle, stroke its back and it turns vicious.
The pattern appears so ethereally, that it is hard to remember that the shape is an attractor. It is not just any trajectory of a dynamical system. It is the trajectory toward which all other trajectories converge.
Words have always swirled around me like snowflakes-each one delicate and different, each one melting untouched in my hands.
Blonde tangles flying everywhere and her diamond-laden hand wrapped around Jess's strong, bare torso. She looked happy and so did Jess.-From Siddy Creek
The lights, the azaleas, the dresses, the pink faces, the velvet chairs, all became one beautiful flying wheel.
twirling in his fingers the mummy of a cigar,
With little wit and ease to suit them, They whirl in narrow circling trails, Like kittens playing with their tails.
I think there's a mystery to drawing - to the weight of the lines. The sweep of a line around a corner to create an effect that someone is moving.
In drawing after drawing, pastel after pastel, painting after painting, the contours of Degas's dancing figures become, at a certain point, darkly insistent, tangled and dusky. It may be around an elbow, a heel, an armpit, a calf muscle, the nape of a neck.
On one of these occasions, suddenly there hovered around the top of the rock a brightness of unequaled clearness and color, which, in increasingly smaller circles thickened, was the enchanting figure of the beautiful Lore.
The waves were shadows, snakes under a quilt, creeping in almost unseen until they emerged in milky ripples at the water's edge.
A few feathery flakes are scattered widely through the air, and hover downward with uncertain flight, now almost alighting on the earth, now whirled again aloft into remote regions of the atmosphere.
Look up at the miracle of the falling snow, - the air a dizzy maze of whirling, eddying flakes, noiselessly transforming the world, the exquisite crystals dropping in ditch and gutter, and disguising in the same suit of spotless livery all objects upon which they fall.
Their lips brushed like young wild flowers in the wind.
I see the shape of the wind on the water ...
On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven a perfect round.
enough. Still, the swirls which could be defined appeared to match the ones taken from Oswald's left hand tonight. The photos were reversed, and the eyes of the men scanned them again. It wasn't the best of evidence, but both appeared to be made from the same hand.
Life is full of circles
weaving his way across
A circle swoop, and a quick parabola under the bridge arches
Where light pushes through;
A sudden turning upon itself of a thing in the air.
A dip to the water.
Crystalline swirls of sugar and flour still lingered in the air like kite tails.
untrammelled flow
Above our heads, the stars flare and glitter and flash: thousands and thousands of them, so many thousands they look like snowflakes whirling away into the inky dark.
My mind spun like the flywheel on an antique John Deere, merry-go-round during second-grade recess, hard spun roulette wheel.
Don't disarrange my circles!
They looked for all the world like miniaturized rose petals drained of their color. These pale petals were gathering in the wind like flocking birds - thousands of them, like a spring snowstorm.
Lips like rosebuds peeping out of snow.
Devil's Wish
A bowl of spells
Swirls a mix
Smoke and bubbles
Seek the fix
Young boy's eye
And fever few
Witches grass
Some mandrake root
red-hot fireflies
Spontaneous storms, and changes in color that were not tied to changes in wind speeds, and fractal borders, bounded infinities scrolling inside each other. We were looking at a mind thinking. A mind feeling.
The woodwind glissando of the whale's cry.
Impulse. Response. Fluid. Imperfect. Patterned. Chaotic.
The effect is captivating as all of the tones mix, like a watercolor with hues swirled together, and lovely carrying notes long after the fingers are lifted from the keys.
A light white, a disgras, an ink spot, a rosy charm.
Swept into the giddy vortex which keeps so many young people revolving aimlessly, till they go down or are cast upon the shore, wrecks of what they might have been
She turned to him, shook her head. Her black hair tossed, and the beams of the late-afternoon sunlight played upon it, sending brief ripples of red and green and blue through it the same way that light, shimmering on the black surface of oil, creates short-lived, wriggling rainbows.
It's only at first sight,when the mind's a blank slate,that you get the purest look.
So I fold the flap back,and write:
Tumbleweeds.
Love rays us round as glory swathes a star, And, from the mystic touch of lips and palms, Streams rosy warmth!
Capture a shadow, dance with the wind, stand in a rainbow, begin at the end.
Like a stone falling in a pond, circles and circles of love ripple through me.
The way a dancer can bring the crowd to its feet with a drawn-out, well-executed pirouette is the excitement I wanted to capture with this design.
Everything was windswept and octagonal and finger-combed.
Oh, for the god of love, where did time go? [Clockwise swirl going nowhere.]
A mighty stream of tendency.
Sweep to my side, please don't delay. Share your warmth as you swirl and sway.
I dance. I ripple. I am thrown over you like a net of light. I lie quivering flung over you.
...words so precisely placed that in combination with other words, also precisely placed, they carve out a shape in space and time.
When wiggling through a hole
the world looks different than
when scrubbed clean by the wiggle
and looking back.
Frau Elena paces the parlor, her slippers whispering left, whispering right. Coal cars grind past in the wet dark. Machinery hums in the distance: pistons throbbing, belts turning. Smoothly. Madly.
There's a scientific phenomenon to describe something that happens when an object is in motion. You think you know exactly what path it will take and where it will end up. Then suddenly, for no reason you can see . . . the arc changes. It goes somewhere you would never have expected.
darting and sparkling under the sun of the desert at full speed, only to go back even faster
They bobbed back and forth, little Halloween apples.
Let's stop for a moment to admire the rotating pies.
Circles, like the soul, are neverending and turn round and round without a stop
She stared at the surface of her coffee, swirling in her mug. Tiny universes rose and fell in the liquid depths as the moment dragged out into uncomfortable territory. Oh god! her mind screamed. (God didn't answer.)
Things were launching themselves from the ornate sunburst spires, glittering leech shapes made of shifting planes of light. There were hundreds of them, rising in a whirl, their movements random as windblown paper down dawn streets. "Glitch systems," the voice said.
It's always like this after a few days here. I start to lose my bearings. The surface is one way, but then there are all these other things going on, sometimes going back decades, swirling undercurrents that I just don't understand. [p. 336]
I love it when the snowflakes are flying like butterflies.
In a work of art, chaos must shimmer through the veil of order.
The sunlight sparkled through the wind-bent boughs of trees, dancing in an ever-shifting pattern
This was a kaleidoscope of beauty, the dials spinning, ever changing, but never anything short of spectacular.
And we must invent dynamic designs to go with them and express them in equally dynamic shapes: triangles, cones, spirals, ellipses, circles, etc.
Skeins of mist like translucent silk, bending and unbending in the headlight tunnels ...
I spin on the circle of wave upon wave of the sea.
To Sky, Clown had become something to be understood; something to be dissected and parameterised. Clown, he now recognised, was something like the bubble-drawing the dolphin had made in the water: a projection carved from light rather than sound.
Rippling, rippling, rippling, like a flapping overlapping of soft flames, soft as feathers, running to points of brilliance, exquisite, exquisite and melting her all molten inside.
Blue eyes glittered. A shock of golden hair - gone. The dust in the air swirled, coalesced into a thorn-twisted Shaman tattoo.
Is that thing actually going round? I can't tell
The full ethereal round, Infinite worlds disclosing to the view, Shines out intensely keen; and all one cope Of starry glitter glows from pole to pole. THE
The wheel goes round and round, some are up and some are on the down, and still the wheel goes round.
Wings - -vast shimmering wings, their reach so great they swept the walls on either side of the alley, each feather like the wind-tugged lick of a candle flame.
A wind picked up, rattling the windows, and the candle flames suddenly shifted, dancing along the border between turbulence and order.
My monumental netted sculptural environments move through time, animated by an ever-changing 'wind choreography,' making invisible air currents suddenly visible to the human eye. I make living, breathing pieces that respond to the forces of nature - wind, light, water.