Point, in a way

Usage examples of aim.

Africa had been abysmal, though in truth his aim had been more to occupy himself and to avoid his father, than to add to his income.

James Warburg affidavit is not aimed at the original boo but rather at an anti-Semitic book circulated over a decade later.

The man aims for that rapidly vanishing afterglow, alone on a darkly painted sea, a single, tiny figure chasing a sun that has already deserted him.

He stood upon an eminence--he might Have been a very father to his people, But all his aim and pleasure was to raise Himself and his own house: and now may those Whom he has aggrandized, lament for him.

Once again, he found himself looking at the dark bulk of the aggressor ship as it came about and aimed its weapons ports.

It was evident that he did not like the vicomte and was aiming his remarks at him, though without looking at him.

Amid the smoke, deafened by the incessant reports which always made him jump, Tushin not taking his pipe from his mouth ran from gun to gun, now aiming, now counting the charges, now giving orders about replacing dead or wounded horses and harnessing fresh ones, and shouting in his feeble voice, so high pitched and irresolute.

Erza passed them, got within a length, flew at the hare with terrible swiftness aiming at his scut, and, thinking she had seized him, rolled over like a ball.

He left his home in Tangier in 1325 aiming, in the first instance, to make a pilgrimage to Mecca.

Jesus, aiming to detach the mind from this world by concentrating on the horrors of hell, the saving truth of the gospel story, and the example of Christ.

The French cavalrymen, more used to the sword than the carbine, were aiming high, but that common fault was small consolation amidst their bullets.

He had a speck of luminous paint on the sight at the tip of the barrel to help aiming at night.

He could not see the pilot, but he had a fair idea where the man would be huddled on the floor, and he was just aiming at that part of the floor when the helicopter veered sharply up the cliff.

Crack, crack, crack, their trigger hands in constant motion, ejecting old shells, chambering fresh ones, not really aiming as they yanked off their bullets, the recoils jolting them.

His back felt so naked, so white in the gloom that he kept expecting to glance around and see the kid aiming with a smile at the cleft between his shoulder blades.