It was the pattern of the dress that did him in. One look and he was lost in thought; the way it fell on her waist, the way she it flounced when she walked, the mesmerizing colors that jumped at him. Without thinking he reached out and grabbed her dress only to realize where he was touching…shit.
I was wondering lately, why tiger bread is called tiger bread, when it’s pattern resembles more that of a girraffe. I was waiting for some changes, and then it happened. Some kid wrote a letter about this, few days later I bought Girrafe bread for a first time.
i saw the pattern from all the way outside the shop. After hours of searching with my friends, i finally saw something that seemed to be the right one. And then again, it was his eye color. it was a deep brown that shown. the dress was full length and off the shoulder with a sweetheart neckline. It was perfect. i rushed into the shop and made a beeline for it. the dress had really pretty embroidery on the net sleeves and bottom and a bit on the neck. The pattern kept repeating and it was nothing less than beautiful.
I hate the pattern of the carpet. It’s ridiculous. I sell the carpet. I think you need a new carpet. Wait, I even think, I have the perfect carpet for you.
Life is a pattern, never changing. A circle with no end, as all circles are. A pattern of life is always the same. Each pattern unique to each different person, but a never ending circle nonetheless.
Colors, shapes, letters, numbers, and other things that repeat. Friends that come and go and come back again. Months and seasons that come every year. The days of the week that happen every seven days. Dreams that appear every night as we sleep.
shapes colors names circles striped plaid next last first middle a b c d years spring summer fall winter months days hearts poem rhyme rhythm beat songs chorus numbers school
the same thing. Day after day. It’s all over the walls. All over the life. But I’m going to break it. I’m going to break out of the this mathematical problem & be from this. To live my own life, it is beautiful. A beautiful life indeed.
Was there some pattern to the data? It was 4am in the morning, Sylvia had fallen asleep on her laptop next to him, her online game music still on repeat, and he was trying to figure out the next puzzle in the mystery hunt, some bitmap image of 1048576 pixels.
The pattern was evident. Right side, left side, right side, left side. It was a game. Who would break first? Her or me? And I sure as hell wouldn’t back down without a fight.
The pattern of my shoe was printed in the sand. The dog playing in the sea calmed me down. ‘Don’t walk so fast.’ my friend said. ‘It’s not my fault you can’t keep up!’
I see patterns in the sky. They curl and twirl into shapes and structures. They move and glide and twist into the things we dream about. Dragons and castles where witches reside and knights who fight for to save the princess.
The rug was covered in a crazy pattern and I knew that i had to have it. Yellow zig zags intersecting with blue and green. It would look perfect on the hardwood floor in the beach house.
I love patterns. Put them together, Blind people with patterns. Irregular is still a pattern. Spots and stripes are never too much. Patterns in a pattern are hypnotic. Bring on the patterns!
Have you ever looked at your finger? The whorls and whirls. The lines and creases. It’s really quite beautiful. Less so now that finger was lying in the palm of my hand. Dirty and missing the rest of its body. But whose body?
everything follows a pattern. the way you behave with people. your relationships. everything. there’s a pattern to it. you’re hurt by someone? you’ll still choose the same kind of a person. AGAIN. why? because we follow a pattern, because that is familiar.
Patterns are what keeps us from going crazy. Is that a weird thing to say? Well, it’s the truth. It provides us a sense of norm and regularity which prevents us from succumbing to going wild and uncoordinated. Patterns are beautiful, but there’s more to it than beauty. It keeps us from going insane. True story :)
The pattern of my life – promise myself this time it’ll be different, yet nothing changes and I’m still disappointed in myself. “Today will finally be the day I eat healthily and do my homework to get my life back on track.” The end of the day comes and I realise I’ve eaten everything in sight and haven’t done any work. I’m a self-loathing lazy fat-ass. That’s the pattern.
The quilt he sat on was old, it smelled of moth balls and that strange dusty scent all old linen seemed to acquire over the years. He traced his finger along the stitches, the corner where a patch had started to come away. The pattern was important to someone once. Now it’s just eyecandy to distract himself from the boredom.
She washed her hands and looked back at the bed. His hair was mussed and his eyes shut. The quilt swung over his hips and the pillow rumpled where she’d lain. His scent was still on her skin. One tear hit the hardwood and she thought about staying. Not gonna happen. She picked up her bag and left without a sound.
Patterns are everywhere in life. Life is constantly repeating, but changing, forming new patterns and new designs in the everyday. The world works and moves like fractals. You may not be able to see the connections, but when you zoom out and look where we all came from, you’ll see that we all come from the same quilt.
there’s a pattern in your life, in fact a negative pattern or two, you repeat over and over. that pattern is what you’re supposed to work on, a pattern that you need to oust from your life.
A good mix of lines that show art
when lines are put together nicely. In pretty/creative way.
It was the pattern of the dress that did him in. One look and he was lost in thought; the way it fell on her waist, the way she it flounced when she walked, the mesmerizing colors that jumped at him. Without thinking he reached out and grabbed her dress only to realize where he was touching…shit.
A pattern is a way that lines are put together in a good nice way.
like a quilt .
pattern is a shape that makes people be creative.
when I think of a pattern I think of a cool mess of lines.
the way of life for people. a continous way of something. whether its a design or the behavior of something.
The pattern on the rug reminded him of snakes and he felt that they were winding themselves around his limbs before he woke up with a jolt!
I was wondering lately, why tiger bread is called tiger bread, when it’s pattern resembles more that of a girraffe. I was waiting for some changes, and then it happened. Some kid wrote a letter about this, few days later I bought Girrafe bread for a first time.
i saw the pattern from all the way outside the shop. After hours of searching with my friends, i finally saw something that seemed to be the right one. And then again, it was his eye color. it was a deep brown that shown. the dress was full length and off the shoulder with a sweetheart neckline. It was perfect. i rushed into the shop and made a beeline for it. the dress had really pretty embroidery on the net sleeves and bottom and a bit on the neck. The pattern kept repeating and it was nothing less than beautiful.
I hate the pattern of the carpet. It’s ridiculous. I sell the carpet. I think you need a new carpet. Wait, I even think, I have the perfect carpet for you.
Life is a pattern, never changing. A circle with no end, as all circles are. A pattern of life is always the same. Each pattern unique to each different person, but a never ending circle nonetheless.
Similarities between our tattoos, the swirls and curls, put them together and it makes an albatross.
Colors, shapes, letters, numbers, and other things that repeat. Friends that come and go and come back again. Months and seasons that come every year. The days of the week that happen every seven days. Dreams that appear every night as we sleep.
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The glaring missed stitch in the tapestry bellowed. A discrepancy, a sin. The shadows under Theresa’s eyes, all for nought, she broke down and cried.
shapes colors names circles striped plaid next last first middle a b c d years spring summer fall winter months days hearts poem rhyme rhythm beat songs chorus numbers school
the same thing. Day after day. It’s all over the walls. All over the life. But I’m going to break it. I’m going to break out of the this mathematical problem & be from this. To live my own life, it is beautiful. A beautiful life indeed.
Was there some pattern to the data? It was 4am in the morning, Sylvia had fallen asleep on her laptop next to him, her online game music still on repeat, and he was trying to figure out the next puzzle in the mystery hunt, some bitmap image of 1048576 pixels.
shapes, confusing, hard on the eyes, colors, blankets, clothes, animal print, grade 1, numbers, kids, follow, knitting,
Quilt, Math in 2-4 grade IXL 1st grade. Something that repeats it self, forming a pattern.
shape art a quilt is made with patterns. there are patterns in life. some say destiny. the shirt has patterns. pattern is rhythm.
The pattern of my drawing had amazed me. I had no idea I was able to draw like this. It was a personal masterpiece. I must share this with the world.
The pattern was evident. Right side, left side, right side, left side. It was a game. Who would break first? Her or me? And I sure as hell wouldn’t back down without a fight.
The pattern of my shoe was printed in the sand. The dog playing in the sea calmed me down. ‘Don’t walk so fast.’ my friend said. ‘It’s not my fault you can’t keep up!’
I see patterns in the sky. They curl and twirl into shapes and structures. They move and glide and twist into the things we dream about. Dragons and castles where witches reside and knights who fight for to save the princess.
lovely set of shapes that can aspire to anything.
The rug was covered in a crazy pattern and I knew that i had to have it. Yellow zig zags intersecting with blue and green. It would look perfect on the hardwood floor in the beach house.
I love patterns. Put them together, Blind people with patterns. Irregular is still a pattern. Spots and stripes are never too much. Patterns in a pattern are hypnotic. Bring on the patterns!
Have you ever looked at your finger? The whorls and whirls. The lines and creases. It’s really quite beautiful. Less so now that finger was lying in the palm of my hand. Dirty and missing the rest of its body. But whose body?
everything follows a pattern. the way you behave with people. your relationships. everything. there’s a pattern to it. you’re hurt by someone? you’ll still choose the same kind of a person. AGAIN. why? because we follow a pattern, because that is familiar.
Patterns are what keeps us from going crazy. Is that a weird thing to say? Well, it’s the truth. It provides us a sense of norm and regularity which prevents us from succumbing to going wild and uncoordinated. Patterns are beautiful, but there’s more to it than beauty. It keeps us from going insane. True story :)
THis pattern broad an complex.
is it showing my life of everone elses.
I wish you could see it the way I do.
This is a pattern I don’t want to lose.
The pattern of my life – promise myself this time it’ll be different, yet nothing changes and I’m still disappointed in myself. “Today will finally be the day I eat healthily and do my homework to get my life back on track.” The end of the day comes and I realise I’ve eaten everything in sight and haven’t done any work. I’m a self-loathing lazy fat-ass. That’s the pattern.
flowers. they are beautiful. they are the beauty of this life
there are some kind of poisonous flowers you know. but they are still very very attractive
so I think, pattern is like poisonous flowers. I’d like it to be
The quilt he sat on was old, it smelled of moth balls and that strange dusty scent all old linen seemed to acquire over the years. He traced his finger along the stitches, the corner where a patch had started to come away. The pattern was important to someone once. Now it’s just eyecandy to distract himself from the boredom.
She washed her hands and looked back at the bed. His hair was mussed and his eyes shut. The quilt swung over his hips and the pillow rumpled where she’d lain. His scent was still on her skin. One tear hit the hardwood and she thought about staying. Not gonna happen. She picked up her bag and left without a sound.
Patterns are everywhere in life. Life is constantly repeating, but changing, forming new patterns and new designs in the everyday. The world works and moves like fractals. You may not be able to see the connections, but when you zoom out and look where we all came from, you’ll see that we all come from the same quilt.
there’s a pattern in your life, in fact a negative pattern or two, you repeat over and over. that pattern is what you’re supposed to work on, a pattern that you need to oust from your life.
The world is made of patterns. Forms itself according to templates. We can understand these if we try – but it does take effort.