Quotes About Fascination

The first day I met Bryce Loski, I flipped. Honestly, one look at him and I became a lunatic. It's his eyes. Something in his eyes. They're blue, and framed in the blackness of his lashes, they're dazzling. Absolutely breathtaking.

She was a pretty girl, and I was moved by her prettiness. Her hair was brown at the verge of red, and curly. Her face was still a little freckled. But it was her eyes that most impressed me. They were nearly black and had a liquid luster. The brief, laughing look that she had given me made me feel extraordinarily seen, as if after that I might be visible in the dark.

Snowflakes fascinate me... Millions of them falling gently to the ground... And they say that no two of them are alike! Each one completely different from all the others... The last of the rugged individualists!

I can't get that Little Red-Haired Girl out of my mind. ~ Charlie Brown

She smiled, tilted her head, and . . . have you ever seen video of melting glaciers where huge chunks, the size of skyscrapers, break off and crash into the sea? If hearts could do that, then when her hair slid from behind her ear and down her eyes, and the right side of her lip turned up, I heard my heart crack down the middle.

I don't understand why this isn't enough for you. Why the world isn't enough for you. Why you are so obsessed with magic when you have all the wonder of humanity around you.

I said: I don't ever find people uninteresting. On the contrary, I find them so fascinating and so highly-flavoured that after small helpings, I have to go away and chew them slowly and analyse the taste of them.

If people know how it's done, all the magic goes.

She was so hot and so... hidden. He could live a million years and never know her. A really good daydream, a piss-poor girlfriend.

If we allow ourselves to be exactly where we are in the moment—fully present, noticing whatever is happening inside us and outside us—we can trade in judgment, fear, and shame for curiosity and fascination. Through awareness we start easing our demands, expectations, rituals, and self-grasping. We

Gretchen Lowell was beautiful in a very grown-up way, in a sophisticated, confident way. It was more than beauty; it was the power of beauty. She radiated it.

Why X?" Libby asked. "Because X is the most mysterious letter," May told her. "And things with X's in them are pretty cool.

I could fall in love with this woman.

She couldn't tear herself away from his beautiful face, his furred chest, his tight trousers. As usual, the top buttons were unfastened, and her gaze was held captive by the male mysteries buried below. How she craved to see him in the altogether! To run her hands across that marvelous torso! To massage and caress as he permitted his other paramours to indulge themselves on a regular basis!

He needed Sarah's sweet courtesy, was desperate to suffer through her virginal oohs and aahs, to bask in her fascination. The feel of her smooth hands, with those slender, questing fingers roving over him, was like a healing salve to his battered body and spirit. She amused herself with his chest, rifling through the springy hair, exploring the ridges and valleys until her maneuvers felt as natural as breathing, as though she'd touched him just so a hundred times before.

There was a deceptive air about her that fascinated him; she was natural yet beguiling, and he'd calculated that copulation with her would be a refreshing development, that she would bring something to his sexual intercourse that had been lacking for a long while. By doing nothing at all, she formented a diverse jumble of sentiment that had him craving more than a heedless carnal encounter. Perhaps his heart had not turned to stone, after all.

Sometimes it is hard to explain why you find a person beautiful.

Maybe when you start liking people, you start liking everything about them.

Fantasies, visions, hallucinations or whatever we call those irrational powers that illuminate our inner life fascinate me. I'm particularly intrigued by the creative intelligence that scripts our dreams. And I love how this dramatic energy finds its way to the page, into the one form that most precisely defines who we are: story.

I for one have always believed in the unicorn... The unicorn has managed to weave itself a very haunting reputation.

When he looked up and saw me walking toward him, he winked, causing me to stop dead in my tracks and gape. Clearly, his winks were some sort of superpower, because I swear that if he asked me to jump from the roof of a tall building and then winked, I'd jump.

His quick brain, wise in the ways of women, endeavoured to riddle her attitude and just failed. Was she very deep, or very simple?... her fascination almost thrilled him.

...I had seen to gather herself out of the atoms of the mist. She was so fair to look on, so radiantly beautiful, so exquisitely voluptuous, that the very instinct of man in me, which calls some of my sex to love and to protect one of hers, made my head whirl with new emotion.

@AnonymousVoyeur, tweet, 2012