Perfect Sync Quotes

I was suddenly struck by how dissimilar we were. It occurred to me that if Grace and I were objects, she would be an elaborate digital clock, synced up with the World Clock in London with technical perfection, and I’d be a snow globe – shaken memories in a glass ball.

Everything needs to work in sync and to the best of its ability for a business to prosper.

And that’s how it was. We walked the same way, no more running, no more fear, no more secrets. Just me and her, in sync and together, even though we came from two separate sides of the spectrum. I was her perfect future and she was my perfect love and that was how every good love song should end. So it ends....at least for now.

Keefe closed the distance between them. And then… everything was new. The soft press of his lips against hers. The way their breath seemed to fall perfectly into sync while her heart and her brain screamed, FINALLY! Some tiny part of her had always wondered if kissing could really be as great as everyone claimed. But kissing Keefe was So. Much. Better. He

Keefe closed the distance between them. And then... everything was new. The soft press of his lips against hers. The way their breath seemed to fall perfectly into sync as her heart and brain screamed FINALLY! Some tiny part of her had always wondered if kissing could really be as great as everyone claimed. But kissing Keefe was So. Much. Better. He was the one to finally pull away, leaning back to study her in the shimmering light. "You're okay, right? No regrets?" She grinned. "Absolutely none." His relieved smile was the sweetest thing she'd ever seen- but it faded a little as he leaned his forehead against hers. "I don't want to mess this up," he whispered. "Please don't let me mess this up." "I won't," she promised, tilting her chin up to steal another quick kiss.

Are you kidding?” Sophie and Fitz asked, once again in perfect unison. Elwin chuckled. “I’m sure if Keefe were here, he’d have a lot to say about how in sync you two are getting.” “Just more proof that Fitzphie’s the best,” Fitz told him, with a wink that shouldn’t have made Sophie’s heart flutter. But hearts could be foolish things.

And that was the sound of my rhythm..Syncing up perfectly with someone else’s.

Amazing, isn’t it? That hearts that once beat in sync could be so perfectly and forever separated. That’s the whole process of life, I think: a long, slow process of separation. It can be cured only by the reabsorption into everything, into the single heartbeat of time.

She nodded, her gaze locked on his mouth. He could tell she wanted it on hers, and for once, they were perfectly in sync. Having no idea what he was doing, he kissed her again, another no-holds-barred, tongues tangling, rock-his-fucking-world kiss that left him staggered and her apparently unable to speak as they tore apart for air and waited for the world to right itself. Didn’t happen.

The most powerful creative state to bring your desires into reality is by bring the conscious and subconscious into unison then keeping your heart and mind in perfect sync.

need instead to find people who are in sync with our beat and form a more perfect union with those who hear the same rhythm! It is time for us to find the thing we were created to do, the people we were meant to affect, and the power that comes from alignment with purpose. Having had unique opportunities to sit at the table

When you find your path in life and are in sync with your primary missions in this lifetime, everything else just falls into place.

Maybe we need to stop choosing people purely by résumés and rationales that have led us headfirst into disappointment. We need instead to find people who are in sync with our beat and form a more perfect union with those who hear the same rhythm! It is time for us to find the thing we were created to do, the people we were meant to affect, and the power that comes from alignment with purpose. Having had unique opportunities to sit at the table with champions in

The science of yoga is, quite simply, the science of being in perfect alignment, in absolute harmony, in complete sync with existence. The

What could be more real than the chemestries of our bodies being in perfect sync? And I don't think I want you, I know it." ~Ethan

We need instead to find people who are in sync with our beat and form a more perfect union with those who hear the same rhythm! It is time for us to find the thing we were created to do, the people we were meant to affect, and the power that comes from alignment with purpose.

Emma,” he said, teary. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I always have. You and I . . . we fit like the gears of a machine, like interlocking pieces that join together effortlessly, turning in tandem, perfectly in sync. “I believe in us, sweetheart. I believe that I am good for you and that I am a better man because of you. And I want to spend the rest of my life by your side. So, Emma Blair, here it is: Will you marry me?”.

Dillan didn’t just kiss. He slow danced. We moved in sync. I wanted to lose myself in him. In his touch. Right then the world seemed like such a perfect place.

Maybe he wasn’t perfect, but he was mine. Our lives were in sync. Our goals for the future aligned. Wow, that sounds really unsexy.

I knew that life couldn’t be like a romance novel, where someone could fall hopelessly in love with her soul mate the moment they met eyes across a crowded room. Preposterous. Or that you could be whisked off into a world of fantasy and excitement by a handsome stranger, instantly connect, and be in perfect sexual sync from the second his mammoth male member teased your delicate flower petals.

IF YOU EVER FEEL YOURSELF GIVING IN TO YOUR INNER EVIL TWIN, KNOW THIS: In every battle, from lip-syncing to real life, presence always trumps perfection. Confidence trumps competence, so wear it like an accessory.

I smiled, then I spoke what lay in my soul. “Before this, I did not know that home was a heartbeat. Or two, in my case. Beating in perfect sync with my own. Yours and Sapphira’s, the cleansing lullaby to my sins.” “Red . . .” “Repentance is a form of sorrow, AK. Grace is a form of joy. We have shed tears for every sin we have sowed. It is now time for us to smile. Smile and chase the light. Embrace the blessings we have been given. Together.

My intruder leaned into the dim light, revealing a face both beautiful and terrifying. He wasn’t human. No, he was far too perfect and mystical for that. Markings, resembling tattoos, flashed with jeweled colors beneath his dark, fathomless eyes. His blue hair swayed, out of sync with the wind gushing through my window.

Our bodies moved in sync, our breaths shaky. It was an undeniable connection and I never ever wanted it to end. We remained that way as he took me to a place where only bliss existed, and we were perfectly right. We were locked bodies and scarred souls completely exposed. And it was okay because I wanted him to have a piece of mine. And I gave it to him.

But somehow they felt like too much and not enough all at the same time. So she tilted up on her toes and leaned forward, meeting his eyes as she lined her lips up with his—careful to leave a tiny wisp of space. A chance for him to change his mind. Keefe closed the distance between them. And then… everything was new. The soft press of his lips against hers. The way their breath seemed to fall perfectly into sync while her heart and her brain screamed, FINALLY!

Warriorship is an infinitely nuanced subject. A true warrior desires nothing so much as to be perfectly appropriate, “in sync” with space and time in each and every moment. The perfection of warrior timing results in a kind of invisibility. Walking between the super strings of karma, or bound activity, the warrior engages in kriya, or spontaneous action. This is the actionless action spoken of so eloquently by Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita. Only the natural perfection of kriya ensures that a warrior’s actions will be of real benefit to those she serves. Walking between and in a state of total non-distraction, a warrior’s invisibility is identical to her invincibility. In the warrior heart is a dynamic stillness that is unperturbed by any arising of this world, by any impediment or seeming obstacle. Even when we have not realized this perfection, it is our warrior hearts, still mostly unknown to us, that lead us steadily on to realization.

We had each other of course, but not in the perfectly synced way our television counterparts did. We didn't live in the same apartment building and pop in unannounced to make grilled-cheese sandwiches or coach each other for job interviews. We weren't always available for emergency brunches or last-minute trips to Jamaica. Instead, we had complicated, independent lives wending down many different paths, lives that sometimes had us working sixteen-hour days, or moving out of state, or navigation fledging romance. We saw each other the way most urban professionals do - by booking dates days or weeks in advance. That meant we were frequently alone, with time.

I’ve learned to get really good at this—say one thing when I’m thinking about something else, act like I’m listening when I’m not, pretend to be calm and happy when really I’m freaking out. It’s one of the skills you perfect as you get older. You have to learn that people are always listening. [...] Sometimes I feel as though there are two me’s, one coasting directly on top of the other: the superficial me, who nods when she’s supposed to nod and says what she’s supposed to say, and some other, deeper part, the part that worries and dreams and says “Gray.” Most of the time they move along in sync and I hardly notice the split, but sometimes it feels as though I’m two whole different people and I could rip apart at any second.

People stepping up and down should not be a problem, and even the 1-Hertz sideways back-and-forth movement of humans walking should not have been a problem, as everyone is likely to be stepping at different times. For anyone pushing with their right foot, another person would be pushing with their left, and all the forces would pretty much cancel each other out. This sideways resonance would only be a problem if enough people walked perfectly in step. This is the “synchronous” in “synchronous lateral excitation” from pedestrians. On the Millennium Bridge, people did start to walk in step, because the movement of the bridge affected the rhythm at which they were walking. This formed a feedback loop: people stepping in sync caused the bridge to move more, and the bridge moving caused more people to step in sync.

The science of yoga is, quite simply, the science of being in perfect alignment, in absolute harmony, in complete sync with existence.

Eden by Maisie Aletha Smikle In the garden Eden Streams of tranquility glide Flowers magnificently bloom Adam, Eve and animals freely roam Springs sprout Waterfalls emerge Angels smile Earth and Heaven were once in sync Absent was the sting of sin There were no frost To bite the grass Causing trees to freeze There were no fierce heat To kindle a blaze There were no winds That were unkind There were no raindrops That weren't welcome All were in perfect peace All were in harmony so sweet The garden Eden Was the home of the people Handmade by the Father Precious were they Adam and Eve God's first human masterpieces They were loved God gave them a home And grew for them a lovely garden God gave them pets of all species He gave them glorious healing spas and herbs God gave them fruits and food of every kind Everything Adam and Eve had to their hearts desire An envious snake Probably a BOA Saw joy peace love and happiness And hated joy peace love and happiness BOA vowed to destroy love peace joy and happiness BOA wanted to create distrust and enmity instead BOA conspired against love peace joy and happiness And conspired to have Adam and Eve thrown out of their home BOA snatched love joy peace and happiness BOA caused the first family Adam and Eve To be thrown out of their home naked A home that was God's unencumbered gift BOA was happy when happiness left When joy love and peace took flight and went And distrust and enmity remain Where BOA can hiss and strike it's venom of loathe Until people are down Naked and have no home BOA is truly a disgrace Indeed BOA is a scrooge

Our bodies fit together like two puzzle pieces as we moved to the sensuous rhythm, hips swaying in perfect sync.

The way he’s constricting around my cock has me wanting to confess every emotion and feeling I still have for him.  It’s euphoric the way we fit so perfectly together like this. Our bodies are still sweating, even under the hot water, our hearts racing and beating in sync.

Chocolate Brownie Bomb.” We both say at the same time. Our words are in sync, like our bodies were the other night. She purses her lips, eyeing the treat. “Wanna share? It’s huge.” I ask her. I eat more than my share of chocolate and should probably not indulge in the entire confection all on my own. “Yes. Perfect.

I can hear him breathing steadily, and after a moment I realise that we are breathing perfectly in sync. This is going to sound weird, but I feel like we are a pair of lungs, separate and connected at the same time. And this is something I like. Something I want. Maybe with just one other person, or maybe with a few people, or maybe with everyone in the world.

So often, the boys would all stand under a lamppost "doo-wopping." Everybody wanted to sing. Everybody wanted to sing lead. Nobody could get it just right. It was the only time they were not in harmony. But this was the fifties, and music was in the air. It was everywhere. For this group of boys standing under a curbside spotlight, the music was off-key, it was out of sync, it was perfect. The grace note of their young lives.

Oh, I see how it is.” Matt reached both his arms into the air. “Hang on, let me just do a few stretches.” Then he rolled his head from front to back. “Loosen up a bit.” His little spectacle made me laugh, a genuine These are my friends; why not enjoy myself? kind of laugh, and my body finally relaxed. “Hey, laugh all you want, but just remember half of my team is completely sober. We have a fifty-percent advantage.” He slung his arm around Taylor. “Or disadvantage—have you never seen me play beer pong? I kind of suck,” she admitted. “Shh, babe, this is the mental game. We’re just psyching them out. I know you can’t play for shit.” I lifted my hair into a ponytail and pulled a hair tie from my wrist. “You do realize we can hear you, right?” “You do realize I can hear you too?” Taylor added. “I mean, way to boost my confidence right before the big game,” she teased. “I know, babe, and I’m sorry, but look—it’s working. Isla’s getting ready for a throwdown. She’s pulling her hair up and she’s all ‘Hold my purse.’ ” “Purse?” Taylor mouthed. I shrugged and forced back another smile. Game face, right? Landon chuckled. “Okay, okay, let’s go. Someone needs to get their ass kicked before they just pass out altogether. I’m winning this game by merit, not default.” As the game started, I found myself letting go. Colby drifted from the forefront of my thoughts. Forgotten were Landon’s supposed feelings for me. And I had fun. I laughed at how incredibly off our aims were. And when one of us succeeded by chance, we’d turn to one another and high-five without even a second thought. We were in sync. We were having fun. And we were winning. The perfect team. Landon tossed the final ball. It bounced effortlessly into a cup, and I squealed as he covered his mouth with his hand. “Ohh, is that what I think it is?” he mocked the losing team. “Isla, correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe we just kicked some serious ass.” I stared at the table and nodded, my expression one of mock-seriousness. “Why Landon, I believe you are correct.” He then busted out some sort of celebratory end zone dance. Laughing, I nudged him and shook my head. “Okay, okay.” But when he wouldn’t stop, I finally grabbed both his hands. “Oh my god, we won. Now don’t spoil that with whatever this is!” He flipped his hands so that he was now holding my wrist and tugged me into his arms. Then he pumped one hand into the air and shouted, “Victory!

I was struck by how out of sync the Common Core is with what I consider to be good teaching.

Inside the club, Alex immediately heads for the dance floor with me. I ignore the gawking stares from Fairfield students from my side of town as I pull Alex close to me and we move as one to the beat. We move together as if we’ve been a couple forever, every movement in sync with each other. For the first time I’m not afraid of what people think of me and Alex together. Next year, in college, it won’t matter who came from what side of town. Troy, a boy I danced with the last time I came to Club Mystique, taps me on the shoulder as the music makes the dance floor vibrate. “Who’s the new stud?” he asks. “Troy, this is my boyfriend, Alex. Alex, this is Troy.” “Hey, man,” Alex says as he holds out his hand and quickly shakes Troy’s. “I have a feeling this guy won’t make the same mistake the other one did,” Troy says to me. I don’t answer, because I feel Alex’s hands around my waist and back and it feels so right to have him here with me. I think he liked me calling him my boyfriend, and it felt so good to say it out loud. I lean my back against his chest and close my eyes, letting the rhythm of the music and the movement of our bodies mold together.

The most recent writers on genius, creativity’s greatest manifestation, agree that it can appear at any point in the life cycle, not just in childhood. They reject the nineteenth-century romantic belief that it exists only in a small set of heroic people. They find three factors key to what they see as a more general phenomenon. First is a grandiose and mystical sense of the world, what Einstein called “cosmic religiosity.” Such an elevated mood can appear in the hypomanic phase of the up-down cycle of someone with a bipolar disorder, as depression lifts and elation appears. The second element of genius is an ability to concentrate obsessively on a goal and to strive for perfection in reaching it. The third element is a resonance to one’s historical era, being in sync with current ideals, living when one’s gift or invention can be appreciated.5

Alex and I have always been like thunder and lightning. Close together and part of the same storm, but never clashing in perfect sync. I had given up hope long ago that things would happen between us but also felt that in another universe, a different lifetime, our fates would collide.

You and I . . . we fit like the gears of a machine, like interlocking pieces that join together effortlessly, turning in tandem, perfectly in sync.

It occurred to me that if Grace and I were objects, she would be an elaborate digital clock, synced up with the World Clock in London with technical perfection, and I’d be a snow globe — shaken memories in a glass ball.

Some companies like Airbnb and Instragram spend a long time trying new iterations until they achieve what growth hackers call Product Market Fit (PMF); others find it right away. The end goal is the same, however, and it’s to have the product and its customers in perfect sync with each other. Eric Ries, author of The Lean Startup, explains that the best way to get to Product Market Fit is by starting with a “minimum viable product” and improving it based on feedback—as opposed to what most of us do, which is to try to launch publicly with what we think is our final, perfected product.

But He is a God of love only as far as His justice, holiness, and righteousness will permit! His justice never contradicts His love and His love is in perfect harmony with his justice. If your doctrine makes them oppose one another, your theology is out of sync with Scripture.

iPhone just synced perfectly with toaster. All is well.

Are you going to dance with me tonight?" I ask. "Hell, yeah." "Colin never wanted to dance with me." "I'm not Colin, querida, and never will be." "Good. I've got you, Alex. I realize it's all I need and I'm ready to share it with the world." Inside the club, Alex immediately heads for the dance floor with me. I ignore the gawking stares from Fairfield students from my side of town as I pull Alex close to me and we move as one to the beat. We move together as if we've been a couple forever, every movement in sync with each other. For the first time I'm not afraid of what people think of me and Alex together. Next year, in college, it won't matter who came from what side of town.

Red wine and Hennessy She fell out of her bottle when she fell into love, cup running over, overflowing emotions in glass- red stained palet, on a pallet on the grass, to a quilt on the floor -affixed between lips and red lipstick on a shirt that he wore. A familiar place, she know she's been here before Reminiscent of the evening On his shirt that she tore ............ Drop by drop, puddle in glass getting lower- impressions in her gut, rim of her glass, hour glass figure moves counter clockwise - while absorbing the contents of merlot. Hard liquor and fine wine ............. Red Wine and Hennessy A wicked twist on some champagne tips French nails, manicures over grapes Whoever said wine and liquor don't mix? Last night I had six Bottle caps, corks, bedazzled juice Merlot was her name - slim waist - good taste slinger neck, red lace. Long stem, pedestal - hands embraced her face ............. room temperature, her body temperature ... personality of two, she's mellow and chill... aged to perfection- pop the seal- watch the erection ... splatters on the floor- covers the rug, Residue of red lipstick- Merlot stained lips match the kiss on his neck ............ Chasing fantasy through the Red Sea While chasing that with a white BC How much will she pour- how much will she drink How much more before her ship sinks ........... A full body lush, blackberry crush Medium sized Bordeaux Intense velvety plum I asked her where she's from She said she's international She's longer thinking rational .......... Sips in sync with blinking eyes She sips too much to realize Every time you pour into me, my bottle gets more empty- Glass falling to the floor She staggers to the door Glass shatters her feet She stumbles to her seat She's still asking for more But she falls to the floor Red lipstick in the mud She covers up the blood ............ She lays in her wine She forgot about the time Clock on the wall Footsteps in the hall Pounding in her head She rushes to the bed ......... She lays motionless ... but her head is racing Her heart is pacing Her lungs are gasping - air, she needs air Rolls to her side, brings her self to sit up She gags and gags until She throws it all up- ........... Wakes up the next morning Dazed and confused She's laying in a bed That she's not used to She moves slowly, where did everyone go? She checks the time- it's a quarter pass 4 sounds on the other side of the door Are Muffled by the sound of a knock at the door ........... Looks around for her little red dress Notices a blotch - a red stain on her breast Lipstick smeared an accessory to her mess She reached for her clothes and saw a note on the desk. .......... Dearly beloved, I want to see you again I'd love to have to back I think we make a great blend I tried to wake you Because I had to go And Oh by the way, my name is merlot "Little Black Bird

But when they both sat on the stools that rose out of the floor, she realized their movements were perfectly in sync—every step, every smile, every flick of their wrists or hair. Even every blink. It was seriously eerie. “Miss Foster,” the blond female said, and Sophie was relieved they didn’t talk in sync as well.

A tougher runner isn’t one who is blind with ambition or confidence, but one who can accurately assess the demands and the situation. The magic is in aligning actual and expected demands. When our assessment of our capabilities is out of sync with the demands, we get the schoolchildren version of performance. Starting a project with reckless confidence, only to look up and realize the work it entails. When such a mismatch exists, we’re more likely to spiral toward doubts and insecurities, and to ultimately abandon our pursuit. When actual and expected demands align, we’re able to pace to perfection, or outside of the athletic realm, perform up to our current capabilities. It’s why experienced writers don’t go into their first draft expecting perfection. They understand it’s going to be messy, and often not that good. Contrary to old-school toughness wisdom, a touch of realistic doubt keeps us on track and makes it more likely that we will persist. Toughness is about embracing the reality of where we are and what we have to do. Not deluding ourselves, filling ourselves with a false confidence, or living in denial. All of that simply sends us sprinting off the line, only to slow to a walk once reality hits. Being tough begins long before we enter the arena or walk on stage. It starts with our expectations.

They're on display. Indi's making sure her body catches the light as it changes colour off his smartatt reads, always a spectacular angle, never missing a beat, turning and placing his partner in an impressive sequence of positions, switching every few minutes in response to some internal timer, performing as ever for whoever his audience is: does he see his own life in third-person? Their bodies are impeccable, their movements in perfect sync, he wants to give them full marks, share, subscribe. This isn't their first time, and he has many questions: is this another Flow that they're secretly recording, or is this how the audience-obsessed behave even when they're alone?

PARA isn’t a filing system; it’s a production system. It’s no use trying to find the “perfect place” where a note or file belongs. There isn’t one. The whole system is constantly shifting and changing in sync with your constantly changing life.

This is the key process behind a laser. It’s called stimulated emission, and you can see that it offers a way to increase the number of photons flying along a certain line. Every time a photon hits an excited atom, it duplicates itself, amplifying the amount of light traveling in that direction, which is precisely what the acronym laser stands for: Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation. The emission is said to be stimulated (as opposed to spontaneous) because the incoming photon provoked the excited atom into spitting out the new photon. What matters most, however, is that the emitted photon is indistinguishable from the one that spawned it. If you think of these photons not as particles but as tiny waves of light, they’d be perfectly synchronized.

So she tilted up on her toes and leaned forward, meeting his eyes as she lined her lips up with his—careful to leave a tiny wisp of space. A chance for him to change his mind. Keefe closed the distance between them. And then… everything was new. The soft press of his lips against hers. The way their breath seemed to fall perfectly into sync while her heart and her brain screamed, FINALLY! Some tiny part of her had always wondered if kissing could really be as great as everyone claimed. But kissing Keefe was So. Much. Better.