Sentences with phrase «same magical way»

Not exact matches

Whenever Tesla's engineers find an improvement, they send a magical brainwave through the ether to your car, the same way your smartphone gets updated.

They can also learn the ways of Yahweh the invisable magical diety whose strength is the same as a unicorn, really bible I think he'd be stronger then that.

I think most fans feel the same way — there is a certain thrill of believing that this year could be a magical one.

The friendly vibe and familiar faces remain the same, the shore - side hometown locale brings me peace, and I'm comforted by these memories and the way they transport me back to those magical, challenging, transformative, wonderful and precious early days of our family.

There's something magical about the power of suggestion in both productions and the similarities are more acute than that even; in the same way Nichols» tiptoeing across Texas tantalized audiences with glimpses of an otherworldliness so too does The Darkest Universe, if only to a much subtler and perhaps slightly less assured degree.

Most of Armando Iannucci's work («Veep», «In The Loop») is an out and out laugh riot, usually depicting the act of trying to govern mired in institutional ineptitude the same way Terry Gilliam's Brazil was a magical fantasy story trying to happen in a world of bureaucrats and red tape.

For those in the know, hitting a top speed nitro in Fairhaven whilst blasting Strange Talk's Cast Away is euphoric in the same way as drifting in Outrun to Magical Sound Shower.

One must think of these works in relation to one another under a common criteria, much in the same way that we can examine a catalog of Italian neorealist films or a compilation of magical realist novels.

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,

«I wanted to tell a children's tale my way, with pictures, but in the same way that children's books always have something vaguely magical and a child at the center,» says Mikula.

The best way, and for all practical purposes, probably the only way, to get other countries to abandon coal is to give them a seemingly magical new technology that is lower cost than coal, with the same 24 × 7 baseline power reliability, but without the CO2 emissions.