Quotes About Furtive

He started keeping a journal — had been, in fact, secretly doing so for some time: the furtive act of a deranged person.

All quiet at the Tilden. Except for the obese wife of a wealthy industrialist, the furtive face of a raw food quack and the memory of a silk-shirted hoodlum tossing a bill on the carpet for you to crawl and fetch. All quiet except for the tortured face of a grey-eyed, ash-blonde lovely with a showgirl's body and a conscience heavier than a carload of sins. Mouth, a slash of red; eyes that pleaded for pity, understanding. And lips that told nothing…

In the street, the gaze of desire is furtive or menacing.

Sometimes in the afternoon sky the moon would pass white as a cloud, furtive, lusterless, like an actress who does not have to perform yet and who, from the audience, in street clothes, watches the other actors for a moment, making herself inconspicuous, not wanting anyone to pay attention to her.

Sometimes in the afternoon sky a white moon would creep up like a little cloud, furtive, without display, suggesting an actress who does not have to 'come on' for a while, and so goes 'in front' in her ordinary clothes to watch the rest of the company for a moment, but keeps in the background, not wishing to attract attention to herself.

Politicians argued successfully for cuts in expenditure and more openness. Consequently, secret services became more answerable to politicians than they ever had been, just at a time when they needed to be more furtive.

You called me a natural con artist and asked me what other secrets I was hiding. I didn't answer because I already knew, in some deep, primal way, what furtive truth you were referring to: That I was destined to fall in love with you.

y el dinero. Lo conocía a fondo: el ritmo sin descanso, el olor, el sabor a sangre amarga, el acecho furtivo, el lenguaje que se hablaba en el mercado.

When I liked something I tasted it hesitantly, furtively, as though it were extremely bitter.

Into the face of the young man who sat on the terrace of the Hotel Magnifique at Cannes there had crept a look of furtive shame, the shifty, hangdog look which announces that an Englishman is about to talk French.

he was a sleekit, spying yadswiver