Sentence examples for a sort of exquisite from inspiring English sources

"It reminds me of TVGoHome in that it's formed out of a sort of exquisite rage, but it's also so terrifically and fully imagined — the speculative fiction element is sublime".

They also play a sort of exquisite corpse game in which they toss aside their personal diaries (they each keep one, although Yoon Miru's is simply a log of everything she eats "because then [being alive] feels real") to tell a story together, line-by-line.

A: Sort of.

With the sort of exquisite timing not seen from a Manchester-based comic since the death of Bernard Manning, Bridge stops for a nanosecond, wonders whether to take the proffered mitt, looks Terry up and down dismissively, and decides not to bother, sauntering off and getting on with life.

The same sort of exquisite refinement and sensibility characterizes the disputed portrait supposedly of the poet Antonio Broccardo (c. 1506).

But when his mother tells him, "You're determined to turn this into a tragedy and you can't," we believe her, largely because she is played by Diana Rigg as the sort of exquisite ogre nobody can resist.

In portraying the civilized savagery of the Marquise de Merteuil (Ms. Huppert) and Vicomte de Valmont (Ariel Garcia Valdès), her partner in erotic crime, Mr. Wilson turns the sort of exquisite forms with which he made his reputation into the visual equivalent of a perfume that masks the stench of putrefying flesh.

People Everywhere (Still Alive) has a delicate funk lilt, Hawaiian or Thai guitar, a disco-lite rhythm, syn-drums and gently aching chord sequence which brings to mind the sort of exquisite pop-disco fluff they might have played to death in a Spanish discotheque in 1976.

Critics often dismissed Galliano as a sort of dressmaking Barnum: his clothes were exquisite, but he was too much the showman — and his outfits often seemed more suited to the pageantry of public relations than to profits.

He is an exponent of what might be thought of as a Slow Foot movement, asserting that a sort of virtue is forged in the discipline of wearing exquisite, handmade shoes, even if they cramp the metatarsals.

In astute, luminous jaunts through city streets and parks, Rohmer constructs an exquisite web of coincidences that he elevates into a sort of destiny.