Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Vortex. 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 Vortex Quotes And Sayings by 96 Authors including Sarah J. Maas,Matthew Arnold,John Milton,Benjamin Franklin,Miyamoto Musashi for you to enjoy and share.
Inside, inside I had become like that distant sea, relentlessly churning, tossed about by squalls that tore away any sense of where the surface might be.
Hither and thither spins The wind-borne mirroring soul, A thousand glimpses wins, And never sees a whole.
The winds with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kisst.
What Comfort can the Vortices of Descartes give to a Man who has Whirlwinds in his bowels!
Water adopts the shape of its receptacle, it is sometimes a trickle and sometimes a wild sea.
That swirling devil's clot, that black maelstrom of cylindrical majesty. It is a swirling gray spider egg unspooling, filled with rotten teeth. A biblical monster, God's vengeance. Whirring
Cities have a psychogeographical relief, with constant currents, fixed points and vortexes which strongly discourage entry into or exit from certain zones
Nothing but a speck we seem In the waste of waters round, Floating, floating like a dream, Outward bound.
The storm transforms the soul.
Iris from sea brings wind or mighty rain.
Torrent of light and river of air,
Along whose bed the glimmering stars are seen,
Like gold and silver sands in some ravine
Where mountain streams have left their channels bare!
Take me on a trip upon your magic swirling ship.
At the heart of the cyclone
tearing the sky
And flinging the clouds
and the towers by
Is a place of central calm;
So here in the roar of mortal things,
I have a place where my spirit sings,
In the hollow of God's palm.
When water gets caught in habitual whirlpools, dig a way out through the bottom of the ocean.
You've got to admit that you live at the center of a vortex that seems to funnel nothing but trouble your way." ~FBI Special Agent Clive Poole to Maggie Mae Castro
To be sucked down by this whirling stream is to fall into abysses of madness, more frightful than those of death; to expel the shades of this chaos and compel it to give perfect forms to our thoughts - this is to be a man of genius; it is to create, it is to be victorious over hell! The
As the river surrenders itself to the ocean, what is inside me moves inside you.
They came like specters from the dark maw of the bayou, first ghostly light in the fog, then the rasp of a motor: an aluminum powerboat scudding across lacquer-black water.
Ocean into tempest wrought, To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.
It blows a snowing gale in the winter of the year;
The boats are on the sea and the crews are on the pier.
The needle of the vane, it is veering to and fro,
A flash of sun is on the veering of the vane.
Autumn leaves and rain,
The passion of the gale.
An empty plastic bag danced in the wind across the parking lot and I watched it thinking I knew exactly how it felt. It was on a path it couldn't control. So was I.
We have seen the highest circle of spiraling powers. We have named this circle God. We might have given it any other name we wished: Abyss, Mystery, Absolute Darkness, Absolute Light, Matter, Spirit, Ultimate Hope, Ultimate Despair, Silence.
A breeze passes in the night. When did it spring up? Whence does it come? Whither is it going? No man knows.
The River Swish
Deftly maneuvered through
the dark green abyss ~
The wooden raft seemed
in tune with this ~
Canorous rush of the
river swish....
water wants to flow,
The image is more than an idea. It is a vortex or cluster of fused ideas and is endowed with energy.
In the eye of the tornado, there's no more high and low, no floor and sky.
Lo, the unbounded sea, On its breast a ship starting, spreading all sails, carrying even her moonsails. The pennant is flying aloft as she speeds she speeds so stately - below emulous waves press forward, They surround the ship with shining curving motions and foam. I
you will come some day to a craggy pass in the channel, where the whole of life's stream will be broken up into whirl and tumult, foam and noise: either you will be dashed to atoms on crag points, or lifted up and borne on by some master-wave into a calmer current - as
The Artesian Well never returns its flow, where may stream its arrogation of space?
Streams of melting snow.
Sometimes an unexpected wave comes along, sucks you up and refuses to spit you back out
Now gently settles like dust in a shaft - for one moment there is no one else - only the wind like the hiss of an ice skate ...
I see the shape of the wind on the water ...
Once we merge with the Core
Trusting the efficiency
Of our Soul's intent
The Flow becomes
The only possible direction
The sun flashed off the wet blades, splinters of light, then the oars dipped, were tugged, and the beast-headed boats surged, and I stared entranced.
A barge of mist floated along the water, and dragonflies, iridescent blue ones, darted back and forth like they were stitching up the air.
Tis an ill wind that blows no minds
One un-vents something; one unearths it; one digs it up; one runs it down in whatever recesses of the eternal consciousness it has gone to ground.
In the Vortex that lies beyond time and space tumbled a police box that was not a police box.
I spin on the circle of wave upon wave of the sea.
Symbols are oracular forms-mysterious patterns creating vortices in the substances of the invisible world.
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.
Let go your earthly tether. Enter the void. Empty, and become wind
Incomprehensible spirit , sometimes light , sometimes sea.
The liquid inside was pitching and rolling, like there was a storm inside the tiny capsule.
The strong>ststrong>illness of the water, the horizon framed by other glass towers and miniature boats drifting in the distrong>ststrong>ance.
What folly takes light through ether to each eye from every horizon.
Voluptuaries, consumed by their senses, always begin by flinging themselves with a great display of frenzy into an abyss. But they survive, they come to the surface again. And they develop a routine of the abyss: It's four o clock. At five I have my abyss ...
Sob, heavy world Sob as you spin, Mantled in mist Remote from the happy.
But I plucked a new, different, worldly soul for myself
maybe a soul I found in the spray thrown up by the surge of that distant African river as it plummets onto black rocks and sends up into the sun a permanent arc of a rainbow.
In the stream.- Mighty waters draw much stone and rubble along with them; mighty spirits many stupid and bewildered heads.
Circles in water as they wider flow
The less conspicuous in their progress grow,
And when at last they trench upon the shore,
Distinction ceases and they're view'd no more.
Water, in flowing, hollows out for itself a channel, which grows broader and deeper; and, after having ceased to flow, it resumes, when it flows again, the path traced by itself before.
In the great tornado of life, things sometimes seem out of control, and we can't see where we are going. But sometimes, when the storm passes and the dust settles, things have landed into place beautifully.
The rivers that sprang from Hvergelmir streamed into the void. The yeasty venom in them thickened and congealed like slag, and the rivers turned into ice.
The force of the wind is like an angry sea. It is freezing. The machine putters through the air. I am floating, the sky flowing past me, flowing through me. The only sound is the wind swishing across the wings.
I am flying.
States of the atmosphere pass into us as water through the meshes of a sieve, and storms occur in us before they break upon the world without, creating restless sensations. ("Absolute Evil")
A turmoil of winds rushed around him, spiraling up in to the air: he was thinking.
The turbulence was purposeless, but in huge quantities of purposeless turbulence, purpose took shape. The
A mighty stream of tendency.
When the wind blows through a wood, its mass is cut and closed by every leaf, forming a train of jittery vortices in the air.
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]
Mark my words - you will come some day to a craggy pass in the channel, where the whole of life's stream will be broken up into whirl and tumult, foam and noise: either you will be dashed to atoms on crag points, or lifted up and borne on by some master-wave into a calmer current - as I am now.
Streams may spring from one source and yet some may be clear and some be foul.
Floating to shore ... riding a low moon ... on a slow cloud.
The world had a fragile liquid quality, running at the edges and spinning on previously unrevealed axes.
Yon foaming flood seems motionless as ice;Its dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,Frozen by distance.
Wind is the loving Wooer of waters; Wind blends together Billows all-foaming. Spirit of man, Thou art like unto water! Fortune of man, Thou art like unto wind!
The world globes itself in a drop of dew.
So his life has flowed
From its mysterious urn a sacred stream,
In whose calm depth the beautiful and pure
Alone are mirrored; which, though shapes of ill
May hover round its surface, glides in light,
And takes no shadow from them.
Nightwindflyhighfreeeeeee.
Tell me once more about the eternal surf.
It was August 5th in 1971. The vortex of summer. Joshua looked unwaveringly at Meredith Hurley. She looked back with kindness, and smiled softly as she looked back, feeling a connection that was invisible to the naked eye, yet magnetic and manifested in both of their hearts.
You who travel with the wind, what weather vane shall direct your course?
It does not come to me in quite so direct a line as that; it takes a bend or two, but nothing of consequence. The stream is as good as at first; the little rubbish it collects in the turnings is easily moved away.
The rapids beat below the boat Deep in the heart of the land Feel the pulse of the river in the pulse at your throat Deep in the heart of the land.
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed, / Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost.
The soul is a circle
An Airstream is a lot like a first love: you are lured by her charm, seduced by her beauty, and once bitten, you are forever chasing after her mystique.
When a shadow flits across the landscape of the soul where is the substance?
The river rises, flows over its banks
and carries us all away, like mayflies
floating downstream: they stare at the sun,
then all at once there is nothing.
I would rather rudder
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold
The Second Coming
From where it came and to where it goes, I wish I knew, like the river knows.
butterflies were wind energy made visible.
Divine spirit flows through heart
that willing to rise after the falling.
As we look out to sea, a great shadow seems to move under the water. He can see it, says W. - 'Look: the kraken of your idiocy'. Yes, there it is, moving darkly beneath the water.
Dust motes swirled in the air like tiny orbs of rainbows.
Acheron is the Greek Underworld river, timelessly flowing beneath Middle World consciousness, circulating through our bloodstreams in varying states from polluted to pristine. Freud was fond of this line from Virgil's Aeneid: "If I cannot bend the gods, then I shall stir up Acheron.
The stream sings a subdued music, a scarcely audible lilt, faint and fluid syllables not quite said. It slips away into its future, where it already is, and flows steadily forth from up the canyon, a fountain of rumors from regions known to it and not to me.
Down to the river itself, the water so smooth that the stars and lights blended on its dark surface like a living ribbon of eternity. The
The whole world is a cyclone. But once you have found the center, the cyclone disappears. This nothingness is the ultimate peak of consciousness.
Acheron the River of Death:
Healed souls in the wake of the vessel;
My Obolus,
He will not redound to the glory of those.
Those who drown in the Acheron;
out loud hands -
that is our downfall,
They scream out of desperate chasms.
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.
Every gazette brings accounts of the untutored freaks of the wind,
shipwrecks and hurricanes which the mariner and planter acceptas special or general providences; but they touch our consciences, they remind us of our sins. Another deluge would disgrace mankind.
The hawk is aerial brother of the wave which he sails over and surveys, those his perfect air-inflated wings answering to the elemental unfledged pinions of the sea.
All the stream that's roaring by
Came out of a needle's eye ...
Flow is the process of achieving happiness through control over one's inner life. The optimal state of inner experience is order in consciousness. This happens when we focus our attention (psychic energy) on realistic goals and when our skills match the challenges we face.
Winds sweep the passages of time
Forever more
Taking, leaving
Memories.