Best 36 of Gaze quotes - MyQuotes
Quando gli ematomi si fossero riassorbiti e l'artigliata di Freya si fosse trasformata in cicatrice, Ofelia avrebbe rivisto il viso che conosceva. Lo sguardo però, non sarebbe più stato come prima. A forza di vedere illusioni aveva perso le proprie, e andava bene così. Quando le illusioni spariscono rimane solo la verità.
I got lost In your ocean-green eyes And I drowned In the sweetest desire Of your warm gaze Wave after wave With no chance To survive.
When we gaze with our eyes, we speak with our hearts.
Unfortunately for him he looked more like an innocent man on America’s terror watch-list rather than a gallant Viking possessing all the benefits of modernity. More like a villain in a Western fairy tale with his slicked-bouffant obsidian hair rather than the long sun-like curls that all great saviors of the poor have been obliged to possess. I squinted to the side towards him for a second and he caught my gaze almost immediately; his inky irises were comfortable enough to hold my stare indefinitely, his pupils seemed entirely ravenous as opposed to the feminist preferred oceanic turquoise, which for them is a physical demarcation of emotional sensitivity. He seemed like an uncanny bad guy any which way I looked at him, except of course, by his actions thus far…
and the afterglow... of your gaze...is the only sweater that I need.
He felt that race was not a characteristic that was a part of his identity, but one that was projected upon him by the gaze of others who looked on him; as such it was ephemeral, there and gone as soon as the gaze was broken.
You live through each memory you have hidden inside me. Through the places, we had been to and through the songs, which only we have sung and heard. Every night, I lie down and look at the sky gazing the universe in its eye. Watching the breeze and the stars carry the pieces of us and deliver it to the infinity and every time I wonder if you are doing the same somewhere.
Everytime he looked at her she felt brighter inside, and she yearned to keep his attention, to hold his gaze.
...her [Albertine's] intense and velvety gaze fastened itself, glued itself to the passer-by, so adhesive, so corrosive, that you felt that, in withdrawing, it must tear away the skin.
Speaking with her always felt like sitting on a seashore. Hearing the waves and feeling them crashing into my feet, While gazing the setting sun and the way he colours the whole sky. I never got tired of it.
Being with her always felt like gazing the stars and into the infinity, reading a book which never ends. She had no boundaries, all she knew was to shine, and live without any walls around her on every page.
You can start with those crazy-ass eyes. They've got an 'I'm going to get you sucka' look to them. Blue as death and flickering with strabismal menace...he has the gaze of a soul-stealer.
She never answered. She couldn’t. All she could do was stare, reaching toward him with her gaze alone, pulling him to drown in the sorrow of those depthless black pools.
Hey, why you are staring at me with a gaze like something I have done wrong, waiting wrong to be done by me...
now the question we must ask is...what kind of _practices_ [theology] motivates, what kind of _gaze_ onto others, the guest, the new arrivant, it offers us to carry with us; _not_ who my neighbors are _but_ to whom I am being a neighbor.
She gazed at him alluringly and grinned. No further words were necessary.
Do not avert your eyes. It is important that you see this. It is important that you feel this.
When eyes have died in its gaze, know the heart had died in its blaze.
It was a gaze that held the comfort of familiarity. There was no mystery, no enigmatic depth, but unrestrained length, the length of years—the laughter of childhood games and Christmas carols of home— lining its pathways with simple, yet easily overlooked, understanding.
A. G. Stranger
His eyes were deeply entrancing, in a dangerous, luscious way and he had them on her as if he coveted her more than anything or anyone else in this world. She sensed his gaze falling upon her time and time again. Her heart pounded more than it should and her cheeks picked-up a seemingly perennial red tint. She wondered whether he thought of her as a mere other pray to feed on its heart or there was something special to that look he shackled her with.
There is nothing to be found in human eyes, and that is their terrifying and dolorous enigma, their abominable and delusive charm. There is nothing but that which we put there ourselves. That is why honest gazes are only to be found in portraits. The faded and weary eyes of martyrs, expressions tortured by ecstasy, imploring and suffering eyes, some resigned, others desperate... the gazes of saints, mendicants and princesses in exile, with pardoning smiles... the gazes of the possessed, the chosen and the hysterical... and sometimes of little girls, the eyes of Ophelia and Canidia, the eyes of virgins and witches... as you live in the museums, what eternal life, dolorous and intense, shines out of you! Like precious stones enshrined between the painted eyelids of masterpieces, you disturb us across time and across space, receivers of the dream which created you! You have souls, but they are those of the artists who wished you into being, and I am delivered to despair and mortification because I have drunk the draught of poison congealed in the irises of your eyes. The eyes of portraits ought to be plucked out.
Michael Bassey Johnson
Poetry is inspired by the elements of random thoughts, an overflow of gazing at the unseen.
For example, the gaze of a painted woman's face following the viewer around the room would be an appreciated accomplishment for the Zweighaupt Powerhouse, but for the Vienneses there would be something wrong with it, and the attention should not be returned.
She raised her head when she heard my step, and her gaze met my own, over the matron's dipping shoulder, and her eyes grew bright. I knew then how hard it had been to keep, not just from Millbank but from her. I felt that little quickening. It was just as I imagine a woman must feel, when the baby within her gives its first kick. Does it matter if I feel that, that is so small, and silent, and secret?
Whoever said that time doesn't stop for anyone, apparently had never seen her smile, looking me in the eye, not shying away from the hold my gaze had on her. Whoever said that you can't hold all the happiness of this world within you, obviously had never wrapped her frame into their arms, arms that were coiled around perfection. Whoever said that you can't fly, evidently hadn't been in love ever.
Why do you reduce art to an autobiography? Once a piece of art is concluded and ejected into the world it changes with every single pair of eyes and becomes an endless object of transformation. The spectator makes it his or her own. Don't decontextualize it and call it truth, call it your perspective.
She didn't know how to react to his non-sexualisation of her, and as she stared at his silent face, she recognized a familiar pain, a sense of not being there.
There is no need for arms, physical violence, material constraints. Just a gaze. An inspecting gaze, a gaze that each individual under its weight will end by [internalising] to the point that they are their own overseer, each individual thus exercising surveillance over, and against themself.
And then there was the way you cast your gaze, A coldness so chilling that it could cause a fire.
At issue for Peladan is the potency of the visual image: art's ability to construct images for viewing that can mobilize, concentrate and redirect instinctive responses. He brings out into the open the recognition underlying all decadent art; that is, the political function of the fascinated gaze.
What a face this girl possessed!—could I not gaze at it every day I would need to recreate it through painting, sculpture, or fatherhood until a second such face is born.
Looking but not seeing is the hearing but not understanding of the eye.
Malak El Halabi
Your black pupils. Your dilated pupils. Inviting and impudent. Enticing and insolant. Two invitations to... A different sky.
Lailah Gifty Akita
Take a walk with me through nature and let’s gaze on the marvelous wonders of creation.
Shannon A. Thompson
His resonating stare fluttered through my memory, and I shivered. I hadn’t seen kindness in his pupils. I only saw intensity, and, I hated to admit it, but he was beyond intimidating. He was overwhelming. (Jessica)
your gaze across my cheeks turned them into strawberry fields.