Sentence examples for I feel beneath from inspiring English sources

He added: "What is really interesting for me is playing with that juxtaposition of people saying: 'Oh, your life is fabulous and glamorous, you're travelling around the world, you're playing the Royal Opera House' – when the truth of my reality is that when I'm performing, the din of the question of my fatness, of the depression that I feel beneath the surface, permeates and never stops.

Wolfe once wrote of the house, where he lived from 1906 to 1916, "And again, again, in the old house I feel beneath my tread the creak of the old stairs, the worn rail, the whitewashed walls, the feel of darkness and the house asleep, and I think, 'I was a child here; here the stairs, and here was darkness; this was I, and this was Time".

But it perfectly captures the lingering resonating I feel beneath the bustle of commerce on the crowded city streets, the pretty sparkling lights, tinny tunes, smell of evergreens, and jolly laughter surrounding me.

And so I felt, beneath the reconfigured surface of things, the tension of the old orthodoxies.

But now, in a world made even more splintered by the events of Sept. 11, 2001, and its aftermath, I feel the ground beneath me shifting, the world less welcoming.

I am staring blankly forward, seemingly emotionless, yet my insides are twisting into knots as I feel the floor beneath my feet shake and hear the windows rattle in a panic as the storm begins to build.

When DeWitt instructs me to close my eyes and lift one foot off the floor, my entire body starts shaking and I feel the roll wobble beneath me as I teeter to each side, gripping from my core to stay aloft.

A few years ago, maybe four or five, I don't know, my memory is going, I had lunch with Shane Black, the gifted screenwriter of movies like Kiss Kiss Bang Bang and he said to me, about turning 50, "I feel my mortality unfurling beneath me".

When I think of what might have happened to him, I feel an abyss open up beneath me.

How else to explain the tug of longing I feel every time I walk beneath the time-warping elevated tracks on New Utrecht Avenue and pass the forlorn lime-green doorway crowned by a weather-beaten awning that announces, in stark white letters, The Mosque of the Crimean Turkso?

I feel the hard metal bunk beneath me, right through my mashed down mattress.