When I encouraged him to tell me his story in his own way, he began — rather strangely, I thought — by telling me how, a few months before the accident, he had had a sudden "compulsion" to sell his house in Sag Harbor, which he loved and in which he and his family had lived for five years.
Ideally bald, sun-tanned, and clean-shaven, he began rather impressively with that great brown dome of his, tortoise-shell glasses (masking an infantile absence of eyebrows), apish upper lip, thick neck, and strong-man torso in a tight-ish tweed coat, but ended, somewhat disappointingly, in a pair of spindly legs (now flanneled and crossed) and frail-looking, almost feminine feet.
My day begins rather early.
This is art that begins rather than ends with breakage.
Remember lectures are where your understanding begins rather than it ending.
In Rozema's film, the apocalypse begins rather sensually, with talented cinematographer Daniel Grant capturing a female dancer in closeup.
What begins rather stiffly, as if acknowledging that this is an overheard correspondence, soon relaxes into something fine and leisurely.
As elsewhere, he begins with rather simple and obvious claims but quickly proceeds to complex and contentious ones.
Things began rather unremarkably.
The day began rather quietly.
