“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Water rushes down the hillside into the valley, and there is a constant give-and-take between the village below, say, or the meadows, and the mountain. [...]

[...] I rushed through a series of such scenes. [...]

save us, rushing with

[...] I believe it was I who then asked her to repeat what she had said, over the noise which was something like a rushing wind. [...]

—she was a numbskull, hardly worth your notice, and he came rushing in, to find what? [...]

“Perhaps what we are has always waited, hidden in the possibilities of creation, dispersed and unknowing — in the rain and wind that swept across Europe in the thirteenth century — in the heaving mountain ranges — in the clouds that rushed through the skies of other times and places. [...]

[...] I jumped out of bed, rushed into the living room. [...]

[...] Now, the cars went rushing through the rain. [...]

[...] Now do not rush me.

[...] One night, really angry at not hearing from him, I did go with Rob to a nearby bar—only to rush home at the last minute so as not to miss the session!

[...] None of us suspected that Seth would give Mark detailed information about the inner organization for which he worked, or help him understand personal problems, or delight in telling him what had gone on at sales conferences that Mark had already attended — or with a great rush of humor tell him the exact amount of a new raise he had just been given. [...]

[...] For by this time in our experience, yours and mine, the creative self was rambunctiously rushing forward, despite all the cautionary statements of many ancient and modern documents, and our books were being read by millions.

[...] There is a rush to develop a new inoculation against the newest virus. [...]

You need not feel that you must rush, Joseph, for Ruburt, in taking our notes. [...]

[...] For the poet did not simply string words together, but sent out a syntax of consciousness, using rhythm and the voice, rhyme and refrain as methods to form steps up which his own consciousness could rush.

And a rush of motion shifts / my dry wrists /
minute yet violent, / so that I startle (shudder) /
who have been / motionless so long. [...]

[...] There is no blending or merging, willy-nilly, into a gigantic ever-rushing-on spirit of life. [...]

[...] It had made no sound except for the rush of air through its wings. [...]