Quotes About Eyes

Vu iz do a vasser on a zamd? Vu is do a melech on a land? Dos vasser fun oyg iz on zamd. Der melech in kortn iz on land. Where is there water without sand? Where is there a king without land? Tears from the eyes are withoud sand. The king of cards has no land. (p. 72)

J. B. Morton, who wrote: "Vegetarians have wicked, shifty eyes and laugh in a cold, calculating manner. They pinch little children, steal stamps, drink water, and favor beards.")

If the body is the register of the real, then reading with one's feet is real in a way reading with one's eyes alone is not.

The happiness in her eyes made my heart hurt.

His one sorrow was not solitude, it was that other gulls refused to believe the glory of flight that awaited them; they refused to open their eyes and see.

His eyes were as blank and bright as doorknobs.

His eyes were like the shoelaces of a harpsichord.

Dan Nilsson even remarks of compound eyes that 'It is only a small exaggeration to say that evolution seems to be fighting a desperate battle to improve a basically disastrous design.

Her eyes burnt like the blue in a gas flame. They were ferocious things. For some moments her eyes were all he was aware of. And they were looking at him. But there was no look in them. It was as if she were just drinking him up. Was she assessing him? Judging him? He didn't know. Maybe it was this sureness that made him both resentful and unsure.

His eyes rolled in their sockets like a panicked horse's.

Jocelyn. You'll keep your eyes on me, Princess. I want you to remember this. From now on whenever you look into my eyes I want you to remember how well we fit together.

Some of the freckles I once loved are now closer to liver spots. But it's still the eyes we look at, isn't it? That's where we found the other person, and find them still.

But it's still the eyes we look at, isn't it? That's where we found the other person

I feel sorry for novelists when they have to mention women's eyes: there's so little choice, and whatever colouring is decided upon inevitably carries banal implications. Her eyes are blue: innocence and honesty. Her eyes are black: passion and depth. Her eyes are green: wildness and jealousy. Her eyes are violet: the novel is by Raymond Chandler.

But it's still the eyes we look at, isn't it? That's where we found the other person, and find them still.

A girl could forget her precise location in the universe when a man looked at her with eyes like those.

How had she ever thought his blue eyes placid as a lake? But there was untold power in any water: to buoy, to drown, to toss, to carry one to the safety of shore.

The duke was sitting silently in the corner, long legs casually outstretched, arms loosely crossed over him, surveying the room with ironic eyes. They lingered on her; he gave her the faintest of smiles. It was almost impossible to believe that this was the man who had said to her 'I want you naked beneath me.' Apart from the rush of blood to various places in her body when she thought it, she could almost imagine it hadn't happened at all.

It was a fine hat. Had a plume... Made her eyes so green... Very good color---green, Bullton agreed wistfully. Particularly for eyes, Kit mused. But I'm partial to hazel. Hazel is green with blue and bits of gold in it, he explained to Bullton. Are you, sir? Are you really partial to hazel? Bullton solemnly wanted to know. Very, very partial, Kit said dreamily.

He just hadn't expected to have his equilibrium roughly jostled by a pair of blue eyes this evening. He couldn't remember ever seeing eyes quite that color before. So achingly lovely they made him restless. He felt oddly as though he needed to do something about them.

Such a blue, his eyes were. Like the center of a flame, as though some internal furnace lit them. She was tempted to hold her hand up to them, to see if she could feel heat.

But she bravely kept her eyes open; she was both lost and found in the soft, burning depths of his eyes.

His eyes reflected the open grey of the autumnal sky.

Though it was dark, I could see how his eyes came alive with enthusiasm and the way he used his hands to illustrate with surprising grace. There were hidden depths beneath that impassive exterior. A sweet kernel shielded by a tough shell; dancing fire concealed in stone.