Terminal Velocity Quotes

I wonder if any of them can tell from just looking at me that all I am is the sum total of my pain, a raw woundedness so extreme that it might be terminal. It might be terminal velocity, the speed of the sound of a girl falling down to a place from where she can't be retrieved. What if I am stuck down here for good?

He hit terminal velocity and kept accelerating,

Did you really say y'all to me? Did i actually make a political statement to which your non sequitur reply was, 'Are y'all vegetarians?

For their surface area, insects weigh very little. A beetle, falling from a high altitude, quickly achieves terminal velocity: air resistance prevents it from falling very fast, and, after alighting on the ground, it will walk away, apparently none the worse for the experience… In contrast, human beings are characteristically maimed or killed by any fall of more than a few dozen feet: because of our size, we weigh too much for our surface area.

She tore her mouth of his and screamed at the top of her lungs as they plummeted headfirst at terminal velocity, his wings still wrapped around her and doing shit-all to stop their fall. Over her own scream and the tearing wind, the sound of his laughter pierced her heart. She'd never heard him laugh before.

In 1970 I realized that the Sixties were passing me by. I had never even smoked a joint, or slept with anyone besides my husband. A year later I had left Nicky, changed my name from Ellen to Rain, and moved to a radical lesbian commune in California named Red Moon Rising, where I was playing the Ten of Hearts in an outdoor production of Alice in Wonderland when two FBI agents arrived to arrest the Red Queen .

The result, a few moments later, was that the glider came snapping over the top just as its connection to the last flynk was severed. In a few seconds it had been hauled two thousand meters straight up and let go with a velocity of a few hundred kilometers per hour. Meanwhile, every other flynk in the chain had decoupled itself fore and aft, causing the entire chain to disintegrate into a linear cloud of identical fragments, each headed in a different direction. Each flynk, sensing that it was aloft and alone, automatically deployed large tail vanes that turned it from a bullet into a badminton shuttlecock. The flynks rapidly slowed down to their terminal velocity, turned nose down, and began to fall toward the ground. A slight canting of the vanes caused them to begin spinning like maple seeds, further slowing their descent, and in this manner the entire swarm began to descend in the direction of an empty lot adjacent to the flynk barn.

& in that moment, Mairie knew she wasn't just falling in love w/ this man. She was free falling. It was terminal velocity.

most terminations are due to poor hiring processes. It is difficult to correct a hire when the person really doesn’t fit the position. Sometimes we think that all a failing person needs is more training, but the majority of failure is not due to a lack of training. If you start with a “meatball” and train it, all you end up with is a trained “meatball.” Motivated people, suited to the task, will self-train if that is what they need to succeed. Training is certainly necessary, but don’t rely on it to correct a poor hire. In the big picture, salespeople fail because they don’t set achievable goals, they can’t handle failure and are frustrated by it, or they forget that their purpose is to serve the customer. These are the traits you want to qualify in the hiring process, in addition to their motivation level. One way to identify whether an applicant has these traits is to look at the person’s record of past performance, his or her track record of success.

He hit terminal velocity and kept accelerating, speed

He hit terminal velocity and kept accelerating

leaned over the railing, gripping the metal, and heard a muffled cry and the flapping of fabric retreating downward at terminal velocity. He

The world would reel, but then again, wasn't it already reeling? Was there some kind of terminal velocity of terrible things, a finite limit the world could take? Or was that just the human soul?

nonlinear force—like, say, the terminal velocity of rectitude or the angular acceleration of dumb luck.

Now that we’re sleeping together, I need him to check in with me regularly. Every day? Every hour? I’m not sure what exactly regularly means. Maybe Hank can devise a mathematical formula, like the one that measures the speed of terminal velocity, to assess how many phone calls it takes to satisfy my notion of regularly. It could be an SAT question. Something like, if x = most people and y = Elizabeth, which of the following four equations expresses the difference between normal need and Elizabeth’s need? Until someone comes up with an answer, all I know is that I feel desperate all the time.

Among these have been an unhealthy number of near-death moments, many of which I look back on now and wince. But I guess our training in life never really ends--and experience is always the best tutor of all. Then there are the most bizarre: like jet-skiing around Britain in aid of the UK lifeboats. Day after day, hour after hour, pounding the seas like little ants battling around the wild coast of Scotland and Irish Sea. (I developed a weird bulging muscle in my forearm that popped out and has stayed with me ever since after that one!) Or hosting the highest open-air dinner party, suspended under a high-altitude hot-air balloon, in support of the Duke of Edinburgh’s kids awards scheme. That mission also became a little hairy, rappelling down to this tiny metal table suspended fifty feet underneath the basket in minus forty degrees, some twenty-five thousand feet over the UK. Dressed in full naval mess kit, as required by the Guinness Book of World Records--along with having to eat three courses and toast the Queen, and breathing from small supplementary oxygen canisters--we almost tipped the table over in the early dawn, stratosphere dark. Everything froze, of course, but finally we achieved the mission and skydived off to earth--followed by plates of potatoes and duck à l-orange falling at terminal velocity. Or the time Charlie Mackesy and I rowed the Thames naked in a bathtub to raise funds for a friend’s new prosthetic legs. The list goes on and on, and I am proud to say, it continues. But I will tell all those stories properly some other place, some other time. They vary from the tough to the ridiculous, the dangerous to the embarrassing. But in this book I wanted to show my roots: the early, bigger missions that shaped me, and the even earlier, smaller moments that steered me.

body falling from a high place eventually reaches a terminal velocity, after which it falls no faster and so hits rock bottom no harder. Renee’s fatal crash was well documented,