Quotes About Eyes

If there is a God who made us and we did wrong before His eyes—as George says—at least we did wrong only because we were as God made us, and I do not think that He should set traps. Oh, you should know better than George! Let us not bring all that back into the world again—the angry God, the mean God—the one who does not tell us the rules of the game, and then strikes us when we break them. Let us not bring Him back.

Tears of gratitude filled my eyes.

Her hair looked like her hair in the dream and her eyes looked like her eyes in the dream, and as for her body, he couldn't tell, she was wearing a mumu.

To others, the universe seems decent because decent people have gelded eyes. That is why they fear lewdness. They are never frightened by the crowing of a rooster or when strolling under a starry heaven. In general, people savour the "pleasures of the flesh" only on condition that they be insipid.

If the pirate with a scarf had been more poetically minded he'd have thought that her eyes were like a thousand emeralds, glittering in a far-off pirate treasure chest. But he wasn't, so he just thought that she had really really green eyes, a bit like seaweed.

On a day-to-day basis when I'm not working I like to look fresh with rosy cheeks and bright eyes.

There's a common personality type to software developers - one I certainly fall into. We're more comfortable staring at a screen than staring into someone's eyes. Engineers can be brilliant in the workplace, and something less-than-brilliant everywhere else.

When you have birds you stare at them a lot and their eyes are recessed on their head. When they look at something they tilt their head in a quizzical expression.

I am inspired by anything beautiful. Sometime it's a pair of eyes or flowing gorgeous hair, other times it's the sky or a sunset. I've been inspired by supple skin or the texture of a soft shirt.

Babies have big heads and big eyes, and tiny little bodies with tiny little arms and legs. So did the aliens at Roswell! I rest my case.

I think there is a certain charm to the hand drawn image that I like. My problem with CGI is that it's so rich in texture that my eyes actually get tired. Everything is in focus down to the littlest leaf.

Anybody who knows me... when I'm tired, I sleep with my eyes open.

Filming is long - you get very tired, and your skin breaks out and you get lumps and bumps. It's easier if you're allowed to have bags under your eyes.

The designs were based on quite a lot of research of what a movie musical is, filtered through the eyes of today. If we'd gone strictly with the '20s, the movement would have been impaired.

She knew I could tell with one glance, one look, one simple instant. It was her eyes. Despite the thick makeup, they were still dark-rimmed., haunted, and sad. Most of all though, they were familiar. The fact that we were in front of hundreds of strangers changed nothing at all. I'd spent a summer with those same eyes-scared, lost, confused-staring back at me. I would have known them anywhere.

I could see her blush, even through her tan, but her eyes were steady and unapologetic.

His eyes were green and cold and brilliant with murder.

The tourmaline eyes were both grave and wicked, and Violet felt herself blushing.

She hadn't been a beautiful woman when she was alive; her jaw was too heavy, eyes too small. But she'd clearly been a woman with appaling force of character; the heavy jaw was almost balanced by the uncompromising line of her mouth, and those small, flat, gray eyes reminded me of the one time I had come face to face with a rattlesnake somewhere out in the Grasslands to the west of the Bastion.

She looked at me, her eyes mocking and mean and sad all at the same time.

The eye sockets of their skulls are dark, like they've got all the night inside their heads.

He was big, taller than me and bulky, with dark red-brown hair queued back like a flashie, and light brown eyes that looked as clever and fake as glass.

The man wore black velvet, and on every branch of his wide-spreading antlers a tiny white candle burned serenely, anchored in its own wax. The man's dark, lambent eyes met Sean's, and Sean knew, then and ever after, that the stag-headed man understood him and loved him as no one in his life would.

I'm drowning in the depths of her eyes. The bottomless sea of perfection and uniqueness is what I see. How can a remarkable woman love me?