Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Whirling. 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 Whirling Quotes And Sayings by 97 Authors including Katrina Cope,Frederick Lenz,Don Mclean,John Milton,W.b.yeats for you to enjoy and share.
a furtive groove
The world of time, of space and condition, pleasure and pain, birth, growth, maturation, decay and death, spinning, spinning, spinning this world, always spinning.
I feel like a spinning top or a DreidelThe spinning don't stop when you leave the cradleYou just slow downRound and around this world you goSpinning through the lives of the people you knowWe all slow down.
The winds with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kisst.
Weaving olden dances; mingling hands and mingling glances.
Before you drown, the spinning just feels like a dance.
weaving his way across
Just as a dancer, turning and turning, may fill the dusty light with the soft swirl of her flying skirts, our weeping willow
now old and broken , creaking in the breeze
turns slowly, slowly in the winter sun, sweeping the rusty roof of the barn with the pale blue lacework of her shadow.
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair-
The spinning wheel means national consciousness and a contribution by every individual to a definite constructive national work.
Winds with little fishhooks at the end of every gust.
Now, let's dance! Dancin' makes the world go round.
The only option for a creative person was constant motion - a lifetime of busy whirligigging in a generally forward direction, until you couldn't do it any longer.
Eternally revolving wheel of avidity and suffering;
Wiggle 'til you're high, wiggle 'til you're higher, wiggle 'til you vomit fire.
Nothing can so quickly put the masses on their legs as the spinning wheel and all it means.
She tangled her words
like matted fishing lines
There was a toy gyroscope, wound with string, ready to whirr and balance itself.
Busy days galore ... thoughts in a kaleidoscope of dervish dances.
The world balanced on the edge of a knife, slipping, slipping, slipping.
People stagger, but they pick up a tattered thread and wind it back onto a spool.
Grandma took her wheel and spun.
And the wheel-whir of the long days filled the croft; and this one wheel spinning was like the wheel of time, which carries our souls away to its own land.
fishhook. It's squiggly like a worm. Something's
I used to tell strange, wild, improbable tales akin to ghost stories, and discovered a taste for spinning yarns.
I am worn to a raveling.
You, Aaron, are a revolving SOB.
Doesn't she mean revolting? Harlan leaned in to whisper.
Afraid not, Travis said. You'll see.
You're a son-of-a-bitch no matter which way you turn.
The world is a dynamic mess of jiggling things
All knitting is choreography.
Our life is woven wind.
The wheel goes round and round, some are up and some are on the down, and still the wheel goes round.
Jigging veins of rhyming mother wits.
Brimming. That's what it is, I want to get to a place where my sentences enact brimming.
It's like I'm on a roller-coaster ride, but I'm not allowed to get off. I'm strapped to the seat, and within eyesight the unfinished twirl of the track swirls into the air.
The wheels are spinning in my head all the time.
Sister Amelia spun, a whirling dervish in the service of the All-Mother, removing unnatural creatures from the lake.
I dance like the wind.
I was born to be a spinster, and, by God, I'm going to spin.
Once spun,
The silken thread of all our aspirations
Remains intact,
It can never be broken.
Merry kept talking, but he lost the thread. She wandered closer. With the knots banished, she gripped the tail of the rope in her fist, making an L of her arm and winding the length around her elbow in uniform loops. Rough, rasping rope against that smooth, perfect skin. And Rob on his knees.
[The original development of the Spinning Mule was a] continual endeavour to realise a more perfect principle of spinning; and though often baffled, I as often renewed the attempt, and at length succeeded to my utmost desire, at the expense of every shilling I had in the world.
I spin on the circle of wave upon wave of the sea.
Loaming is my special word for it..it's a combination of looming and roaming
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.
Running like a bunny with his tail on fire.
The snow ... came in thick tufts like new wool - washed before the weaver spins it.
My dreams and I spin tighter
the longer we practice our intricate steps
Wit: a whim followed by a wham.
commotion and flurry.
Spinning yarns is a protection against the nuttiness ... the greed, the hate all around us.
VIOLENT HOOLA-HOOPING!!!!!!
Rocking our worlds is simply about exercising our power to turn our everyday experiences
into sensational experiences.
Sleepwalking down the hall like a firefly in the fog.
Talking, talking. Spinning a web of words, pale walls of dreams, between myself and all I see.
As in, you go ahead and pull on that thread and watch the whole world unravel like a sweater, Ethan Wate.
Bouncing in hoppy little circles like a demented Goth bunny.
I wind about, and in and out, - With here a blossom sailing, - And here and there a lusty trout, - And here and there a grayling ...
We came whirling out of nothingness, scattering stars like dust ...
The stars made a circle, and in the middle, we dance.
The ever-whirling wheele Of Change, to which all mortal things doth sway.
Bring the pure wine of
love and freedom.
But sir, a tornado is coming.
More wine, we'll teach this storm
A thing or two about whirling.
The choking, sweltering, deadly, and killing rule of no rule; the consecration of cupidity and braying of folly, and dim stupidity and baseness, in most of the affairs of men. Slopshirts attainable three-halfpence cheaper by the ruin of living bodies and immortal souls.
Is that thing actually going round? I can't tell
When wiggling through a hole
the world looks different than
when scrubbed clean by the wiggle
and looking back.
A fresh spiderweb
billowing
like a spinnaker
across the open window
and here he is
the little master
sailing by
on a thread of milk
wish me luck
admiral
I haven't finished anything
in a long time
And the dancing has begun now, And the Dancings whirl round gaily In the waltz's giddy mazes, And the ground beneath them trembles.
Lizzing is a combination of laughing and whizzing.
The winds are out of breath.
Dancing Master of the On-Going"
-Scott Wannberg-
Gently I stir a white feather fan,
With open shirt sitting in a green wood.
I take off my cap and hang it on a jutting stone;
A wind from the pine-tree trickles on my bare head.
Whirling of her skirts,
a chequered carpet beneath-
sunset dawns outside.
I hang by a thread, but it is (if I may so speak) of Christ's spinning
It's dancing! It's magical, actually. A kind of slowish magic. Like writing with your feet.
I've Got the World on a String,
I love the whirling of the dervishes.
I love the beauty of rare innocence.
You don't need no crystal ball,
Don't fall for a magic wand.
We humans got it all, we perform the miracles.
I buttoned my sweater against the wind on my skin - winds of change.
Wuthering being a significant, provincial adjective descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather.
We came in the wind of the carnival. A wind of change, or promises. The merry wind, the magical wind, making March hares of everyone, tumbling blossoms and coat-tails and hats; rushing towards summer in a frenzy of exuberance.
Twisting lemons into lemonade.
Wafted by a favouring gale
As one sometimes is in trances,
To a height that few can scale,
Save by long and weary dances
Half delirious, I slipped my hands around Whit's thick neck. The second Idid he got confident.His mouth moved over mine in a rough, unpracticed, awkward back-and-forth motion, so fast it was as if he was trying to create fire with our lips.
It is not so much that we, using our brains, spin our yarns, as that our brains, using yarns, spin us.
Ropes of silver gliding from sunny thunder into freshness.
Kaethe Schwehn's poignant memoir explores longing, both spiritual and physical, community and faith, in prose that is calm, lovely, and filled with clear-eyed honesty and grace. Tailings is simply an exquisite book.
Often when we think we are knotting one thread, we are tying quite another.
The merry-go-round is spinning too fast. I want to get off. I want to close my eyes, or just blink.
I was swinging like a toilet door on a prawn trawler.
Make thought a whirlwind.
We wind a simple ring of iron with coils; we establish the connections to the generator, and with wonder and delight we note the effects of strange forces which we bring into play, which allow us to transform, to transmit and direct energy at will.
What's a wingding? Why, a wingding is, uh ... it's just like a shindig but without all the hullabaloo.
Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
Spooky wild and gusty; swirling dervishes of rattling leaves race by, fleeing the windflung deadwood that cracks and thumps behind.
I hear myself laughing, screeching, cackling. The world is red hot and pulsing. On fire [...] I stroll down the corridor and the flickering fluorescents celebrate my passing, humming in praise. I spin, bow and hum along. Bloody footprints trail; bloody fingers smear the walls.
In one swift motion she's out of his arms twirling about. Startled and then ecstatic, she feels lighter than air, laughing in spite of herself. Light hearted, she keeps spinning feeling the stress and pain strip away from her. She was surprised by how confident she felt. How alive.
We live - on a spinning planet in a world of spin.
rippling response stroking over his cock.
Action is at bottom a swinging and flailing of the arms to regain one's balance and keep afloat.
Wiggle like a stick, wobble like a duck, that's what you do when you do the Hucklebuck.
Mist devils spun in the air, dispersed then reassembled, gyrating above the ground, vapor-gamboling.
The world is a wheel always turning.
A tire spins aimlessly, being pulled a different direction by forces larger and stronger and with little consideration of its wasted effort. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you can't leave the road you're on.
We wail, batten, sport, clip, clasp, sunder, dwindle, die: