Everything was quiet now. It was even too freaky quiet. The house seemed big without anyone else inside. It felt lonely; like a ghost town.
He felt a deep urge to put some order in this chaos. Leaning against a large standing-stone by the wayside, he drew out his dreambook and began to write.
She took a moment to lament her lack of parasol. Every time she left the house, she felt keenly the absence of her heretofore ubiquitous accessory.
The vastness of possibilities in space reminded me that while my life felt important, it was tiny in the scheme of things. Human civilization was only a blink on the radar of time.
The stranger was as white as a gallon of milk, and I felt the desire to pour his soul into my coffee. I’d drink him like the ghost of my grandpa.
After a lot of stalling and posturing, I finally admitted I had feelings for her. Most notably I felt anger and resentment, and a few less positive emotions.
I spoke the word “moo” into a glass of water, hoping to change the structure of each water molecule into the shape of a cow. I felt like drinking a steak.
I felt something inside me rush up from tailbone to fingertips and explode in a fierce, joyful tide: that berserk rage that had nowhere to go until now.
My life felt so cluttered and obstructed that I could hardly breathe. I inhabited a closed, concentrated world, airless and without exits.
She felt the depth of her losses before they were realized, and she wondered, Is there still hope? Did she even dare hold on to such a tenuous thing as hope?
I felt bad for the girls in my school, who flocked to prom like it was the second coming of Christ, complete with double-rainbows and unicorns.
Sheer male interest filled his gaze which was entirely focused on her. She'd never before felt so female, so utterly desirable, so wanton.
It felt good to be surrounded by books, by all this solid knowledge, by these objects that could be ripped page by page but couldn't be torn if the pages all held together.
And in the movement of the sun, I felt something I hardly know how to name: some huge, cosmic love.
I felt tears prick my eyes as I looked down at the model again, looking at that girl and boy on the curb. Forever in that place, together.
She looked at the last thing she had written and she felt calm. Then she crossed the words out vehemently, scribbling until even the shape of the sentence was destroyed.
I felt once more how simple and frugal a thing is happiness: a glass of wine, a roast chestnut, a wretched little brazier, the sound of the sea. Nothing else.
I always knew I was brainy. It struck me when I was a child that I wanted to be an adult because I never felt I belonged among children whose minds were so much simpler than mine.
I threw my 20th birthday party at Brown, and I didn't even have to say to anyone not to put pictures on Facebook. Not a single picture went up. That was when I knew I'd found a solid group of friends, and I felt like I belonged.
There are times when it's absolutely appropriate to march up to someone, stick out your hand and introduce yourself, and times when it's best to let your male cameraman or producer do the talking and hang back until you've felt out the situation.
Your purpose is to make your audience see what you saw, hear what you heard, feel what you felt. Relevant detail, couched in concrete, colorful language, is the best way to recreate the incident as it happened and to picture it for the audience.
