My viewpoint is an odd one. I live on the brink of a cliff and I can’t see anyone else; there’s a fog, there’s a break in connection. They all have fog lamps, or x ray glasses or something but I don’t. It sucks. Sometimes I squint through the fog and I can see them, but other times my eyes get tired and the fog is thick and they can’t see me very well and I just wrap my arms around my knees and sit in a corner, apart.
Not sure why I didn’t see it before from this vantage point, but I knew that it was different than anything that I had ever seen before. The light from the sunset was rolling down over the hills and sparkling across the water. Today he’d said two words to me that erased years of doubt from my father. Just ‘I Know” was all he needed to say. But from this viewpoint I could see our future and I knew that he and I would have a few more moments to share before he was gone.
there wasn’tenough time i thought from the vantage point in thought bubbles emit stewardship and likenesses with swtichy witches what was that word got going then flew with them on their backs but i didn’t ask for it and how do they really think i’d write in sentences?
Each individual have their own way of thinking which may or may not match with the rest. Therefore, a person’s viewpoint regarding a situation or thing is likely to differ from the rest. Viewpoint, literally would mean a point of view as an individual’s perspective.
The viewpoint from above always made the earth look both larger and smaller that it really was. Larger in that it was looming in the window, smaller in that if you lifted your gaze you could see the nigh unfathomable depths of space echoing behind it.
Viewpoint! I mean what exactly is that? Does mine even matter? People like to say it does but that’s a bunch of crap. Bull crap! No one cares. At least none of my friends. I guess can I even really call them friends? I mean what is my viewpoint on that?!
Many beginning writers have a problem with discovering what viewpoint they want to use when writing a piece of fiction. I feel it is arbitrary until you actually figure out what you want your novel to stand for, what your fiction says about the real world. Until then, don’t even think about it. Just write what comes out of you. Concerning yourself with silly details will only muddle the point.
it’s too dark to see anything from down below so I am climbing and climbing and climbing and I still can’t see so I’m still climbing and I don’t know what I’m going to see from the top, or what I’m even expecting, but I’m hoping it will be beautiful because this climbing is getting tiring and I don’t know how much higher I can go without falling but I need to see.
the man can see anything from a specific viewpoint. So he needs to see what his viewpoint is. No matter what it it..whatever you see is going to form your perceptions. So we should stop being judgemental, that is the only resolution.
From my viewpoint on top of the hill, I could see the mini ant-cars in the parking lot. I began to cry, for there was no way I could save my baby brother now. I could just barely make out his shape enter in the car, and I screamed out; Hoping he would hear me.
He didn’t
standing where I am standing,
you were and are a mistake.
you pulled me to you with your
tears and your words tailored
to my scars but when liquid
freezes it makes you shiver,
makes you bleed.
From his viewpoint on the corner Ohara could watch the apartment all day. It was cold, and his feet were numb. This was his third day staking out the wife’s apartment. He had already confirmed that the two children were there, and the grandmother visited regularly, but he had yet to see the mother go in or come out. He was in his usual, and very effective, disguise, sitting on a fold-up chair with a row of counting machines attached to a clipboard on his knees. Everybody just assumed he was doing some kind of traffic survey for the city, and forgot him immediately. He could have been dressed up like Lady Gaga and people still would not notice him.
Though the sight of the missjudged lied mysteries.
The carefree act, well that was just an ACT.
Fist bumps and smiles littered his path.
Though, in the eyes…. Lied pain, sorrow, death.
What HAD happened?
the night was full of diamond shaped glass shards, as she layed the canvas on top of the roof. It was vegas in her school, and they wanted the real shy like garments to shine above when they partiet there during the next few days. Maria was in the ceiling, gluing the glass to trips of stings, and unsure if she would like to look down or not.
In her viewpoint everyone judged her. And she could continue to live her life to try to please everyone and be miserable, or she could live her life and try to make it the best that she could, the choice was hers.
What I think about a certain topic, whether you agree or dont. It doesnt matter because its my point of view. People in our world hve different viewpoints and that is what makes life interesting.
They had a odd viewpoint of the place. It was high up yet seemed down low in a way. They could hear the noise, but was not overflown in it. It was a nice viewpoint of the ocean.
Everything looks small from up here. The people, the houses, even the trees acquire a miniature aspect. From up here, everything looks so much tidier. the chaos and imperfection that is inherent in seeing anything from too close is gone. Roads are smooth and unmarred, unbroken by holes or destruction.
I shift my footing just a little, wondering if and how I want to come back down.
From her viewpoint, the plan was simple. Get in. Steal the necklace. Get out. That’s it. No fancy footwork, no background espionage music. Just turn off the alarms, sneak in, and take the thing. From her viewpoint, there was nothing difficult about this job whatsoever.
It was cold, up here. Cold and dark, her thoughts felt slow and sluggish, as though they were being filtered through bathwater. She gazed at the gardens from her viewpoint, the flowers leaving an ache in her chest and a bitter taste in her mouth. Lies, all of it lies.
there wasn’t anything i could say that would change her viewpoint. i could tell. her jaw was set. her eyes cast down on the floor. it was as if she had closed off from the world and was existing completely in and of herself. i didn’t know what to say. i wasn’t the best person to talk to her about it either. An uncomfortable silence enveloped us as we waited for the bus.
She gazed down, down, down from the viewpoint, the screaming masses below chanting her name. She swayed and put on her best, fakest smile, shivering in the cool air. Oh, god. This was hell. A single rose was thrown from the crowd, the thorns glistening.
I think I saw you once when you were younger. I could watch you from afar on the beach as you walked on the waterfront boardwalk. There you were in your pink dress and polkadots with that little basket on your arm. You would pick some of the flowers along the little garden pots for your grandfather. I liked seeing you smile. I never had the courage then to say how I felt, but I think you knew. But here we are and I’ve finally told you about my viewpoint, my first glance of who you were and the gratitude to see you become you are today.
there’s a place I see
reaching out from mindless spaces
places seeking names
places seeking destinies
all within the obstinate darkness
holding back our stunted imaginations
The key to a happy life is to decide to see your life as happy. If they can be two interpretations to a given situation the adopt the viewpoint that creates the greater happiness. Plain and simple.
Colors spiraling down confetti-languid as the streamers took their leave, subtle announcement that the party was at its end. The tinsel on the tree crinkled as she touched it, in melancholy sympathy as the last guests left. He looked after them, a hint of fear and an overloading menace rising in him as they smiled and turned from the door – if he could only draw them back, twist them into the seats to stay a little longer so he wouldn’t have to be alone with her…
Tipping, thrust over the glass floor, the sky streaming up above her, clouds bumping, stumbling into each other in their rotund buoyancy, hair screaming from her hear, arms wailing as they flapped, birdlike, to keep her from that sorrow doom, she thought: “from this viewpoint, he doesn’t seem nice at all.”
It didn’t make any sense. His way of looking at the world, his way of looking at everything. He was so stubborn and angry and he left such a bitter taste in my mouth. I hated him and I hated his selfish, arrogant viewpoint. I wanted to know what had made him so jaded, why he was so sad.
You placed your briefcase onto the counter of the prosecutor’s bench, opening it and taking out the evidence laid out by the chief prosecutor Miles Edgeworth. You took out everything, fresh in the ziploc bags.
From where you stood, you felt eyes on you.
You glanced up to see the innocent look of Phoenix Wright. When you caught eye contact with him, he quickly flushed and looked down, embarrassed. You smiled.
If only you didn’t have such vastly different viewpoints.
My viewpoint on life is that we all live for a reason, we all have a place on this earth, and we all love, to be loved. Negative things may seem to outweigh to positive, but this is only what meets the eye. It is not what it seems. Change your viewpoint.
She steps forward to the mirror, and places her hand on the cold glass. She stares at her hand, pale and frail. Then she looks up to see the rest of her reflection.
She blinks. Once. Twice. Maybe some more, to reassure her that her mind is playing tricks on her.
A viewpoint, refracted, broken up like a kaleidoscope, holds more color than your words. But the spectrum is limited, and there are dozens of more, differently hued rainbows to inspect if you opened your mind a little wider. After all, if you push the door only a crack ajar, no large amount of light is going to sift through. You think you have everything figured out when the galaxies around you are untouched. You haven’t seen anything yet.
“..from the newer, higher viewpoint, the scouts were able to direct their clan’s war parties more effectively, allowing them to flank the enemy without giving away their position. Because of this…”
“Urgh, this is so boring,” she moaned under her breath, shooting their guide a fierce glare.
“Shh! Mrs Halder almost heard you,”
She shrugged “Who cares? Getting yelled at’s gotta be more interesting than THIS,”
The view at the Grand Canyon was absolutely amazing! It was so breathtaking to see. I would love to go back some time and see the beautiful view again in the near future.
My viewpoint is an odd one. I live on the brink of a cliff and I can’t see anyone else; there’s a fog, there’s a break in connection. They all have fog lamps, or x ray glasses or something but I don’t. It sucks. Sometimes I squint through the fog and I can see them, but other times my eyes get tired and the fog is thick and they can’t see me very well and I just wrap my arms around my knees and sit in a corner, apart.
Not sure why I didn’t see it before from this vantage point, but I knew that it was different than anything that I had ever seen before. The light from the sunset was rolling down over the hills and sparkling across the water. Today he’d said two words to me that erased years of doubt from my father. Just ‘I Know” was all he needed to say. But from this viewpoint I could see our future and I knew that he and I would have a few more moments to share before he was gone.
there wasn’tenough time i thought from the vantage point in thought bubbles emit stewardship and likenesses with swtichy witches what was that word got going then flew with them on their backs but i didn’t ask for it and how do they really think i’d write in sentences?
Each individual have their own way of thinking which may or may not match with the rest. Therefore, a person’s viewpoint regarding a situation or thing is likely to differ from the rest. Viewpoint, literally would mean a point of view as an individual’s perspective.
The viewpoint from above always made the earth look both larger and smaller that it really was. Larger in that it was looming in the window, smaller in that if you lifted your gaze you could see the nigh unfathomable depths of space echoing behind it.
Viewpoint! I mean what exactly is that? Does mine even matter? People like to say it does but that’s a bunch of crap. Bull crap! No one cares. At least none of my friends. I guess can I even really call them friends? I mean what is my viewpoint on that?!
Many beginning writers have a problem with discovering what viewpoint they want to use when writing a piece of fiction. I feel it is arbitrary until you actually figure out what you want your novel to stand for, what your fiction says about the real world. Until then, don’t even think about it. Just write what comes out of you. Concerning yourself with silly details will only muddle the point.
it’s too dark to see anything from down below so I am climbing and climbing and climbing and I still can’t see so I’m still climbing and I don’t know what I’m going to see from the top, or what I’m even expecting, but I’m hoping it will be beautiful because this climbing is getting tiring and I don’t know how much higher I can go without falling but I need to see.
the man can see anything from a specific viewpoint. So he needs to see what his viewpoint is. No matter what it it..whatever you see is going to form your perceptions. So we should stop being judgemental, that is the only resolution.
From my viewpoint on top of the hill, I could see the mini ant-cars in the parking lot. I began to cry, for there was no way I could save my baby brother now. I could just barely make out his shape enter in the car, and I screamed out; Hoping he would hear me.
He didn’t
standing where I am standing,
you were and are a mistake.
you pulled me to you with your
tears and your words tailored
to my scars but when liquid
freezes it makes you shiver,
makes you bleed.
From his viewpoint on the corner Ohara could watch the apartment all day. It was cold, and his feet were numb. This was his third day staking out the wife’s apartment. He had already confirmed that the two children were there, and the grandmother visited regularly, but he had yet to see the mother go in or come out. He was in his usual, and very effective, disguise, sitting on a fold-up chair with a row of counting machines attached to a clipboard on his knees. Everybody just assumed he was doing some kind of traffic survey for the city, and forgot him immediately. He could have been dressed up like Lady Gaga and people still would not notice him.
Though the sight of the missjudged lied mysteries.
The carefree act, well that was just an ACT.
Fist bumps and smiles littered his path.
Though, in the eyes…. Lied pain, sorrow, death.
What HAD happened?
the night was full of diamond shaped glass shards, as she layed the canvas on top of the roof. It was vegas in her school, and they wanted the real shy like garments to shine above when they partiet there during the next few days. Maria was in the ceiling, gluing the glass to trips of stings, and unsure if she would like to look down or not.
In her viewpoint everyone judged her. And she could continue to live her life to try to please everyone and be miserable, or she could live her life and try to make it the best that she could, the choice was hers.
What I think about a certain topic, whether you agree or dont. It doesnt matter because its my point of view. People in our world hve different viewpoints and that is what makes life interesting.
They had a odd viewpoint of the place. It was high up yet seemed down low in a way. They could hear the noise, but was not overflown in it. It was a nice viewpoint of the ocean.
Everything looks small from up here. The people, the houses, even the trees acquire a miniature aspect. From up here, everything looks so much tidier. the chaos and imperfection that is inherent in seeing anything from too close is gone. Roads are smooth and unmarred, unbroken by holes or destruction.
I shift my footing just a little, wondering if and how I want to come back down.
From her viewpoint, the plan was simple. Get in. Steal the necklace. Get out. That’s it. No fancy footwork, no background espionage music. Just turn off the alarms, sneak in, and take the thing. From her viewpoint, there was nothing difficult about this job whatsoever.
It was cold, up here. Cold and dark, her thoughts felt slow and sluggish, as though they were being filtered through bathwater. She gazed at the gardens from her viewpoint, the flowers leaving an ache in her chest and a bitter taste in her mouth. Lies, all of it lies.
there wasn’t anything i could say that would change her viewpoint. i could tell. her jaw was set. her eyes cast down on the floor. it was as if she had closed off from the world and was existing completely in and of herself. i didn’t know what to say. i wasn’t the best person to talk to her about it either. An uncomfortable silence enveloped us as we waited for the bus.
She gazed down, down, down from the viewpoint, the screaming masses below chanting her name. She swayed and put on her best, fakest smile, shivering in the cool air. Oh, god. This was hell. A single rose was thrown from the crowd, the thorns glistening.
See it? Over there! Yes, that’s it! What does it mean?! I think… well, you know…um. No, I don’t know.
I think I saw you once when you were younger. I could watch you from afar on the beach as you walked on the waterfront boardwalk. There you were in your pink dress and polkadots with that little basket on your arm. You would pick some of the flowers along the little garden pots for your grandfather. I liked seeing you smile. I never had the courage then to say how I felt, but I think you knew. But here we are and I’ve finally told you about my viewpoint, my first glance of who you were and the gratitude to see you become you are today.
there’s a place I see
reaching out from mindless spaces
places seeking names
places seeking destinies
all within the obstinate darkness
holding back our stunted imaginations
She looked down. Everything seemed so far. She was terrified. How did I even get here? When will I come down from this high?
The key to a happy life is to decide to see your life as happy. If they can be two interpretations to a given situation the adopt the viewpoint that creates the greater happiness. Plain and simple.
Stay:
Colors spiraling down confetti-languid as the streamers took their leave, subtle announcement that the party was at its end. The tinsel on the tree crinkled as she touched it, in melancholy sympathy as the last guests left. He looked after them, a hint of fear and an overloading menace rising in him as they smiled and turned from the door – if he could only draw them back, twist them into the seats to stay a little longer so he wouldn’t have to be alone with her…
Tipping, thrust over the glass floor, the sky streaming up above her, clouds bumping, stumbling into each other in their rotund buoyancy, hair screaming from her hear, arms wailing as they flapped, birdlike, to keep her from that sorrow doom, she thought: “from this viewpoint, he doesn’t seem nice at all.”
It didn’t make any sense. His way of looking at the world, his way of looking at everything. He was so stubborn and angry and he left such a bitter taste in my mouth. I hated him and I hated his selfish, arrogant viewpoint. I wanted to know what had made him so jaded, why he was so sad.
Out of all options
in the world to get VIEWPOINTs
Only few are right.
Therefore consider
that mostly all your viewpoints
Are or likely wrong.
You placed your briefcase onto the counter of the prosecutor’s bench, opening it and taking out the evidence laid out by the chief prosecutor Miles Edgeworth. You took out everything, fresh in the ziploc bags.
From where you stood, you felt eyes on you.
You glanced up to see the innocent look of Phoenix Wright. When you caught eye contact with him, he quickly flushed and looked down, embarrassed. You smiled.
If only you didn’t have such vastly different viewpoints.
My viewpoint on life is that we all live for a reason, we all have a place on this earth, and we all love, to be loved. Negative things may seem to outweigh to positive, but this is only what meets the eye. It is not what it seems. Change your viewpoint.
She steps forward to the mirror, and places her hand on the cold glass. She stares at her hand, pale and frail. Then she looks up to see the rest of her reflection.
She blinks. Once. Twice. Maybe some more, to reassure her that her mind is playing tricks on her.
It isn’t.
On the other side of the mirror, is…nothing.
A viewpoint, refracted, broken up like a kaleidoscope, holds more color than your words. But the spectrum is limited, and there are dozens of more, differently hued rainbows to inspect if you opened your mind a little wider. After all, if you push the door only a crack ajar, no large amount of light is going to sift through. You think you have everything figured out when the galaxies around you are untouched. You haven’t seen anything yet.
“..from the newer, higher viewpoint, the scouts were able to direct their clan’s war parties more effectively, allowing them to flank the enemy without giving away their position. Because of this…”
“Urgh, this is so boring,” she moaned under her breath, shooting their guide a fierce glare.
“Shh! Mrs Halder almost heard you,”
She shrugged “Who cares? Getting yelled at’s gotta be more interesting than THIS,”
Meu ponto de vista sempre é o melhor
I see your perspective like a figure,
I shake hands, read palm,
no buzzer.
The view at the Grand Canyon was absolutely amazing! It was so breathtaking to see. I would love to go back some time and see the beautiful view again in the near future.
The Grand Cannon view looks nice.