texture refers to the feel of the surface. cotton has soft texture while rock has a har one. it reminds me of a picture in Vogue magazine where a girl was lying on fur. we have studied about texture as part of the syllabus.
The texture of the sand was grainy and harsh; it reminded me of my childhood, all the summers I spent roaming the California beaches with my sisters and brother. I remembered the scent of hot dogs and hamburgers mingled with that of the sea and wind as my parents barbequed and the children played in the water.
Lauren
Rough like my heart. Or is it soft? All texture is is just a simple word founded upon how we feel. What is your hearts texture? Right now? Is it plush, or jagged from the world?
Bart Bartholomule
The texture of the chair kept her thoughts for a brief while, each etched curve of the cold, cut flesh beneath her led a troubled mind away from incomplete work. There was something morbidly soothing about leather.
It was the texture of his skin that made her question how any single man could be so perfect. It was beautiful. She had never seen anything more soft and inviting. There was no question that she was in love with everything he was.
She wondered if he saw the same things written on her skin, or if only she could read them in his.
its something you feel and can see. something you can taste and will make or break a meal. its because of a texture you can see age and newness.because of texture life is always filled with dimension
its hard and jagged touch it and you will feel it. i think of a white wall and sitting in my bed just staring at those shapes in the wall run your fingers over it and you feel the bumps and grain.
jennifer
texture is how you feel. not how but what it feels like
rough or smooth
soft or hard
how thick/thin
its the sense of safety in a nice chair or the comfort and softness of your beds comforter
sam
I happen to fart today and it smelled very bad. I didnt know what to think of it. the odor was quite offensive to those who smelt it. It was like getting punched in the face.
Landferd
Textures are, amazing. Without them, the world is blank. Boring. Well, thats how my adventure got started. Yep. It all started with watering the front lawn. Yeah. It’s true. Here’s the story of how it all happened.
I rubbed my thumb against his calloused hands, a reminder of the turmoils he’s faced during his lifetime. Days spent toiling under the sun, in arid climate, doing work not too kind to the softness of one’s skin. His appearance was so vastly different from the youthful twenty-three year old I had fallen in love with so many years ago. The decade had an astonishing effect on his whole being, not only the texture of his skin.
Em
i love the feeling of silk texture on my bed sheets,. i feel like a million bucks, so silky and smooth. or coffee silky with texture. the texture of cotton the cotton of our life.
aurora Mendoza
I feel texture in the air, in the wind, in the subtle heave you take as you near me. It’s a day in fall, and you look so beautiful with your tufts of brunette hair billowing in the wind, your cologne meandering towards me. Your beauty is so textured, yet intangible.
Em
I look at the world. I look at the design in the little things. The deep grooves on the trees bark. The furry ridge of the leaf and I wonder what my textures are. Not only on the outside but what lies deep in me. The dark, the wonder, the unknown.
his voice felt almost multi-textured. the quality of it left a chill in my skin. it’s not something i’ve felt before or something i would ever like to have revisit my body again. but as i think about it now, i have a faint recollection that i’ve heard it somewhere before… some time ago before i found myself in this wild predicament. but where? it took me about five minutes to remember that the voice i just heard at my front door was that of the man who killed my father seven years ago.
now i was frozen and numb.
The meaning of life in all its forms. Nothing else matters if you can’t see the texture of life. It’s smooth in some parts, rough in others, unpalpable in still others.
thenakedlistener
My fingers are embedded in the sand that I sit on. I can feel every grain of sand, every tiny shell that was missed by children with buckets. I can feel the rocks that have yet to be ground into sand; they stand out from the rest, but only for now.
her hands had a texture. something i had not felt before, as if the canyons and caverns of her skin held a mystery in them. a story that i was seeking to unlock, a history i wanted to explore. if only she’d let me in
B.B. Harris
I am vijayaraj from india. I have completed B.E computer science in karpagam college of engineering and now working as linux system engineer in amulya infotech.
whta use of this website.
Please let me know soon.
vijay
Texture is the most amazing dance company run by the most amazing man. I want to be in Texture when I grow up. It’s all I want, ever. Like actually though. If there’s one thing that will fulfill my needs in life it will be getting a job with Texture.
Leslie
The moonlight was soft. It caressed her face like a gentle shower as she stood on the edge of the cliff with only the breeze. She inhaled. And she flew.
Adam
I love to eat oatmeal, it is so healthy and delicious. But once in a while the texture makes me think it is like vomit in my mouth. I still eat it anyways…
textura é aquilo que podemos tocar ou não, um relevo ou alguma coisa assim. não seeeeei. não deu isso ainda?
bruns
Just like we listen, speak and taste – we feel. Whether its the coarse surface of a tree trunk or the smooth familiar feeling of your comfy bed, we look at texture for reassurance, for validity and for comfort.
dream.
The one word that is my life. That word is what I am, its what I do. If your dream doesn’t scare you, then you have to dream a bit bigger. Just dare to dream
melanie
dream
melanie
Pete laid a hand on the smooth, shiny saddle. The texture was inviting, but when he looked up at the face of the stubborn horse he had been assigned, all the pleasant anticipation of going for a ride drained out of his heart and he wished that he had stayed at home with the stack of work he’d originally planned for the day.
Roughly scraping against his skin. The claws were like diamond sandpaper as they skittered up his back. He didn’t know what these things were or why they seemed intent on climbing up to his face. But, he knew he had better things to do than getting decapitated by these mutant monkeys.
Japan,Venice,Ireland
Its funny you mention that wor, texture.. I was just looking at my skin, examining all the creases yet still it has this smooth feeling.. I love his skin. the smell, the touch, the color. We have a good texture together, I think. Lots of creases but its never uncomfortable.
Its so good to finally be comfortable in my own skin.
Its funny you mention that wor, texture.. I was just looking at my skin, examining all the creases yet still it has this smooth feeling..
I love his skin. the smell, the touch, the color.
We have a good texture together, I think. Lots of creases but its never uncomfortable.
Hayley
She ran her fingers over the woven placemat, tracing its rows, studying its surface with her fingers. Anything to take her mind off what was in front of her. Anything to distract her from his parents disapproving stares.
blackandwhitedreamer
The texture of the grits were just annoying to the man who had mistakenly ordered them thingking it was cream of wheat wanna-be. But instead he had this mixture in front of him that he could not stand.
Joe
The fabric falls across her cheek, so soft to the touch. And yet it is rough. So many at once. Like a swing across the trunk of a tree. Swinging in the breeze. Clouds overhead. Droplets falling down over the blades of grass. Soft and cool, new
Ellen
The outcrop was megacrystic, large crystals of plag and fine grained monzonite compose the texture. This is where there is little to find, until we found the vein with malachite…
It is rocky or smooth. It depends what the texture is made of. Is it alive and organic? Is it dead, was it ever alive to begin with? It could be anything. Texture
Taylor White
Rough and painful, but beautiful. The nylon lace jags against her childlike, pubescent thighs. As do the monsters of time, the fabric eat at her childhood. The alluring new undergarment marks a fresh era of the little fraction of life she lived. She did not know that this petite piece of adulthood would bring such pain.
My hands caressed the different textures, feeling for just the right one. After all, when a girl is choosing her wedding dress material, she’s gotta be careful. One wrong choice and the whole day is ruined. I had already chosen the style of the dress, a ball gown with an empire waist and lace flowers along the bodice. One word described it: perfect.
Gabby
It’s the feel of your hands against mine, and the rush of wind between my toes. It’s the hint of fear and the sound of our voices bouncing off the walls. It’s the way you hold me close. It’s the feel of mahogany as I close the door on you and your love.
texture refers to the feel of the surface. cotton has soft texture while rock has a har one. it reminds me of a picture in Vogue magazine where a girl was lying on fur. we have studied about texture as part of the syllabus.
The texture of the sand was grainy and harsh; it reminded me of my childhood, all the summers I spent roaming the California beaches with my sisters and brother. I remembered the scent of hot dogs and hamburgers mingled with that of the sea and wind as my parents barbequed and the children played in the water.
Rough like my heart. Or is it soft? All texture is is just a simple word founded upon how we feel. What is your hearts texture? Right now? Is it plush, or jagged from the world?
The texture of the chair kept her thoughts for a brief while, each etched curve of the cold, cut flesh beneath her led a troubled mind away from incomplete work. There was something morbidly soothing about leather.
It was the texture of his skin that made her question how any single man could be so perfect. It was beautiful. She had never seen anything more soft and inviting. There was no question that she was in love with everything he was.
She wondered if he saw the same things written on her skin, or if only she could read them in his.
The texture of this bed is so dope. What is it?
-I dunno. Cloth I guess.
-I gotta get me some of this.
-You want it? I got more covers in the closet.
-Seriously?
-Yeah. I think.
-That should improve my bedding experience.
its something you feel and can see. something you can taste and will make or break a meal. its because of a texture you can see age and newness.because of texture life is always filled with dimension
its hard and jagged touch it and you will feel it. i think of a white wall and sitting in my bed just staring at those shapes in the wall run your fingers over it and you feel the bumps and grain.
texture is how you feel. not how but what it feels like
rough or smooth
soft or hard
how thick/thin
its the sense of safety in a nice chair or the comfort and softness of your beds comforter
I happen to fart today and it smelled very bad. I didnt know what to think of it. the odor was quite offensive to those who smelt it. It was like getting punched in the face.
Textures are, amazing. Without them, the world is blank. Boring. Well, thats how my adventure got started. Yep. It all started with watering the front lawn. Yeah. It’s true. Here’s the story of how it all happened.
I rubbed my thumb against his calloused hands, a reminder of the turmoils he’s faced during his lifetime. Days spent toiling under the sun, in arid climate, doing work not too kind to the softness of one’s skin. His appearance was so vastly different from the youthful twenty-three year old I had fallen in love with so many years ago. The decade had an astonishing effect on his whole being, not only the texture of his skin.
i love the feeling of silk texture on my bed sheets,. i feel like a million bucks, so silky and smooth. or coffee silky with texture. the texture of cotton the cotton of our life.
I feel texture in the air, in the wind, in the subtle heave you take as you near me. It’s a day in fall, and you look so beautiful with your tufts of brunette hair billowing in the wind, your cologne meandering towards me. Your beauty is so textured, yet intangible.
I look at the world. I look at the design in the little things. The deep grooves on the trees bark. The furry ridge of the leaf and I wonder what my textures are. Not only on the outside but what lies deep in me. The dark, the wonder, the unknown.
his voice felt almost multi-textured. the quality of it left a chill in my skin. it’s not something i’ve felt before or something i would ever like to have revisit my body again. but as i think about it now, i have a faint recollection that i’ve heard it somewhere before… some time ago before i found myself in this wild predicament. but where? it took me about five minutes to remember that the voice i just heard at my front door was that of the man who killed my father seven years ago.
now i was frozen and numb.
The meaning of life in all its forms. Nothing else matters if you can’t see the texture of life. It’s smooth in some parts, rough in others, unpalpable in still others.
My fingers are embedded in the sand that I sit on. I can feel every grain of sand, every tiny shell that was missed by children with buckets. I can feel the rocks that have yet to be ground into sand; they stand out from the rest, but only for now.
her hands had a texture. something i had not felt before, as if the canyons and caverns of her skin held a mystery in them. a story that i was seeking to unlock, a history i wanted to explore. if only she’d let me in
I am vijayaraj from india. I have completed B.E computer science in karpagam college of engineering and now working as linux system engineer in amulya infotech.
whta use of this website.
Please let me know soon.
Texture is the most amazing dance company run by the most amazing man. I want to be in Texture when I grow up. It’s all I want, ever. Like actually though. If there’s one thing that will fulfill my needs in life it will be getting a job with Texture.
The moonlight was soft. It caressed her face like a gentle shower as she stood on the edge of the cliff with only the breeze. She inhaled. And she flew.
I love to eat oatmeal, it is so healthy and delicious. But once in a while the texture makes me think it is like vomit in my mouth. I still eat it anyways…
textura é aquilo que podemos tocar ou não, um relevo ou alguma coisa assim. não seeeeei. não deu isso ainda?
Just like we listen, speak and taste – we feel. Whether its the coarse surface of a tree trunk or the smooth familiar feeling of your comfy bed, we look at texture for reassurance, for validity and for comfort.
dream.
The one word that is my life. That word is what I am, its what I do. If your dream doesn’t scare you, then you have to dream a bit bigger. Just dare to dream
dream
Pete laid a hand on the smooth, shiny saddle. The texture was inviting, but when he looked up at the face of the stubborn horse he had been assigned, all the pleasant anticipation of going for a ride drained out of his heart and he wished that he had stayed at home with the stack of work he’d originally planned for the day.
Roughly scraping against his skin. The claws were like diamond sandpaper as they skittered up his back. He didn’t know what these things were or why they seemed intent on climbing up to his face. But, he knew he had better things to do than getting decapitated by these mutant monkeys.
Its funny you mention that wor, texture.. I was just looking at my skin, examining all the creases yet still it has this smooth feeling.. I love his skin. the smell, the touch, the color. We have a good texture together, I think. Lots of creases but its never uncomfortable.
Its so good to finally be comfortable in my own skin.
Its funny you mention that wor, texture.. I was just looking at my skin, examining all the creases yet still it has this smooth feeling..
I love his skin. the smell, the touch, the color.
We have a good texture together, I think. Lots of creases but its never uncomfortable.
She ran her fingers over the woven placemat, tracing its rows, studying its surface with her fingers. Anything to take her mind off what was in front of her. Anything to distract her from his parents disapproving stares.
The texture of the grits were just annoying to the man who had mistakenly ordered them thingking it was cream of wheat wanna-be. But instead he had this mixture in front of him that he could not stand.
The fabric falls across her cheek, so soft to the touch. And yet it is rough. So many at once. Like a swing across the trunk of a tree. Swinging in the breeze. Clouds overhead. Droplets falling down over the blades of grass. Soft and cool, new
The outcrop was megacrystic, large crystals of plag and fine grained monzonite compose the texture. This is where there is little to find, until we found the vein with malachite…
It is rocky or smooth. It depends what the texture is made of. Is it alive and organic? Is it dead, was it ever alive to begin with? It could be anything. Texture
Rough and painful, but beautiful. The nylon lace jags against her childlike, pubescent thighs. As do the monsters of time, the fabric eat at her childhood. The alluring new undergarment marks a fresh era of the little fraction of life she lived. She did not know that this petite piece of adulthood would bring such pain.
And she did not know that it did not have to.
The cuts of the diamond, the stealth of the band; her fingertips refused the absence of its snugness.
Maybe she could learn to forgive a serial cheater.
The ring was stuck anyway.
My hands caressed the different textures, feeling for just the right one. After all, when a girl is choosing her wedding dress material, she’s gotta be careful. One wrong choice and the whole day is ruined. I had already chosen the style of the dress, a ball gown with an empire waist and lace flowers along the bodice. One word described it: perfect.
It’s the feel of your hands against mine, and the rush of wind between my toes. It’s the hint of fear and the sound of our voices bouncing off the walls. It’s the way you hold me close. It’s the feel of mahogany as I close the door on you and your love.