Quotes About Eyes

We start by sinking a barge, I decided. Then I blinked and looked at the Erlking. Can we sink a barge? The shadow-masked Erlking tilted his head slightly to one side, his burning eyes narrowed. Wizard, please.

She might be the Archive, but she's still a kid, Kincaid. He frowned and looked at me. So? So? Kids like cute. He blinked at me. Cute? Come on. I led him downstairs. On the lower level of the Oceanarium there's an inner ring of exhibits, too, containing both penguins and--wait for it--sea otters. I mean, come on, sea otters. They open abalone with rocks while floating on their backs. How much cuter does it get than small, fuzzy, floating, playful tool users with big, soft brown eyes?

Hell's bells, Susan, you don't know what you've done. You've got to get out of here. She snorted. Like hell. I mean it, I said. You're in danger. Relax, Harry. I'm not letting anyone lick me, and I'm not looking anyone in the eyes. It's kind of like visiting New York.

Thomas took a slow breath. His silver eyes grew even brighter. It was creepy as hell and fascinating. I was hoping you knew a good spot. I sure as hell can't take him to my place. Molly's voice sharpened. I don't even have a place, she said. I still live at my parents' house. Less whining, Thomas said, his voice cool. More telling me a place to take him where he won't be killed.

They were huge, six feet long not including the tail, and as high as my belly at their shoulders. Their entirely human eyes shone, as did their bared fangs.

wolf's fur was speckled with drops of blood that had beaded on it like rain. The gravel in the alley shone in the half-light from the distant street lamps. The wolf's muzzle, a little shorter and broader than I had seen on Wild Kingdom, was drawn back, black lips from fangs striped white and red like peppermints. Its eyes were blue, rather than any proper lupine shade, and gleamed with a sort of demented awareness.

Esmerelda's blue and green eyes could have made Stevie remember being hired by Mister Snuffleupagus, if that was what she wanted.

The eyes are a window to the soul. Literally. Looking someone steadily in the eyes is an uncomfortable, intense experience for anyone. If you don't believe me, pick a stranger sometime, and just go up to them and stare them in the eye until that moment when there's a sudden acknowledgement of lowered barriers, that moment that inspires awkward silences and racing hearts.

Walk up to someone without speaking, and look them in the eyes. There's a certain amount of leeway for a second, or two, or three. And then there's a distinct sensation of sudden contact, of intimacy.

She was a creature of sorrow turned to such rage that her beauty had become a knife that stabbed at the eyes of any who looked upon it.

I thought you said clouds of acid were for amateurs," Fidelias remarked. "That was not a cloud. It was a wall." He closed his eyes, and muttered, "Whining demon. You are welcome.

Patiently, more gentle than rain, she made me clean, while I drifted, my eyes closed.

Tell them you came, and saw, and looked into my eyes and saw the shadow of the guard receding. Thoughts in time and out of season, the hitchinker stood by the side of the road and levelled his thumb in the calm calculus of reason. [...] Why does my mind circle around you? Why do planets wonder what it would be like to be you? All your soft wild promises were words, birds, endlessly in flight.

i am troubled, immeasurably by your eyes.

I found and island in your arms and country in your eyes.

We are content with the 'given' in sensation's quest. We have been metamorphosised from a mad body dancing on hillsides to a pair of eyes staring in the dark.

He kept his back turned and his eyes closed, feeling no shame or anger but only an increasing sickness of soul.

Grief is different. Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life. Virtually everyone who has ever experienced grief mentions this phenomenon of "waves.

Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life.

Why make this call and not just say what you wanted? His eyes. His blue eyes. His blue imperfect eyes.

Grief is different. Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness

There is an airport in Hermosillo, and Hermosillo is only eighty-five miles about Guaymas, but to fly is to miss the point. The point is to become disoriented, shriven, by the heat and the deceptive perspectives and the oppressive sense of carrion. The road shimmers. The eyes want to close.

The bell over the door tinkled and Sheriff Grant walked in, followed by the most intimidating hunk of man that Hannah had ever laid eyes on.

The woman who opens the door has a blue stain on her shirt and dark hair wound into a messy knot and the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. They're pale, like a lioness's, nearly golden, but they also look like they've done their fair share of crying, and we all know that a sky with clouds in it is much more interesting than one that doesn't have any.