Rick Riordan Quotes

I have vertigo. Vertigo makes it feel like the floor is pitching up and down. Things seem to be spinning. It's like standing on the deck of a ship in really high seas.

After a lot of laps, you start to get dizzy.

No spinning," I said. I wasn't sure my head or heart could take it. Up close, he was so warm, and so beautiful. I was already dizzy enough.

But I have vertigo... I lose my equilibrium easily. I can lean out to look at something and just keep leaning and not realize I'm about to fall.

It gives me vertigo to watch TV dramas.

Vertigo is the conflict between the fear of falling and the desire to fall.

Most days it feels as if the world is whirling around me and I am standing still. In slow motion, I watch the colors blur; people and faces all become a massive wash.

He that is giddy thinks the world turns round.

When I first signed to RCA, I was sort of excited and shocked that it was happening. But over the next couple of years, it really started to feel like that game you play when you're a little kid - the one where you put your nose on a bat and then spin around and try to walk.

This is the thing: I get motion sickness.

I get seasick quite badly.

It makes one’s head heavy and giddy, as if one were not looking back down the receding perspectives of time but rather down on the earth from a great height, from one of those towers whose tops are lost to view in the clouds

Seasick," Scatty mumbled. "That's exactly what it feels like. Only worse.

At first I felt dizzy - not with the kind of dizziness that makes the body reel but the kind that's like a dead emptiness in the brain, an instinctive awareness of the void.

I clutched at the brow. The mice in my interior had now got up an informal dance and were buck-and-winging all over the place like a bunch of Nijinskys.

I am increasingly afflicted by vertigo where words mean nothing

I go round and round in circles, really, really fast, on a big wooden bowl.

I do have a fear of heights.

Basically, I really love work that puts the reader into a kind of vertigo, into a real doubt, and a beautiful way to convey that, a really perfect metaphor for that, is to make the reader also experience doubt.

Around 1978, I got really, really sick of waking up in hotel rooms when I don't know where I am.

The thing that can get kind of annoying is, when you travel so much, how hectic it gets. I was being interviewed once - it was a phone interview - and they said, 'Where are you right now?' and I didn't know where I was.

My senses of space, of distance, and of direction entirely vanished. When I looked for the ground I sometimes looked down, sometimes up, sometimes left, sometimes right. I thought I was very high up when I would suddenly be thown to earth in a near vertical spin. I thought I was very low to the ground and I was pulled up to 3,000 feet in two minutes by the 500-horsepower motor. It danced, it pushed, it tossed. . . . Ah! la la!

I get stoned, I can't get home, I'm calling long distance on a public saxophone. My head is achin', my back is breakin', feel I got run over by Captain Coconut and his dog named Rover.

My face is muffled in my mother's clothing. Her rhinestones injure me. See: my feet are going. Fish flee the forefinger of my aunt. The sun streams over the geraniums. What has this to do with what I feel, with what I am.

If you take an Oriental person and spin him around several times, does he become disoriented?