Eyes The True Expression Quotes

Emily looked into his eyes. They were blank, unreadable. That was the worst kind of person, the scariest - the one who'd learned to keep his feelings out of his eyes. Or who didn't feel anything at all. Emily had known people like that; they were the destroyers. They took things - everything you worked for, all your silly dreams - and smashed them beneath their boots for no reason at all. ~ Lisa Unger

Look into my eyes,
they will tell you how much I love you. ~ Luffina Lourduraj

What the Eyes See our soul Will Feel iT. ~ Jan Jansen

So it's true what they say about girls from Bama," he replied and I turned my attention to him.
"What do you mean?"
His eyes scanned down my body and back up to my face. A grin stretched slowly across his face. "Tight jeans, tank tops, and a gun. Damn, I've been living in the wrong fucking state. ~ Abbi Glines

One reason I'm such a wayward prognosticator of rightwing trends is that I'm incapable of blacking out enough neural sectors to see the world through reptilian-brained eyes, a prerequisite for any true channeling of the mean resentments and implanted fears that drive hardcore conservatives. ~ James Wolcott

Yes, I want you."
Payne stopped, and then looked over her shoulder again. After a moment, she said, "You are a fine healer and you have done your job, as you so aptly pointed out. We have no further cause to speak."
When she resumed walking, his footsteps approached fast and he caught her, wheeling her around. "If I didn't keep my pants on, I couldn't have kept myself out of you."
"Really."
"Give me your hand."
Without looking, she held one unto him. "Why ever for - "
He moved fast, putting her palm between his legs, and pressing her into the hot, hard length at his hips.
"You're right." He moved against her, his pelvis undulating, the arousal pushing against her palm as he started to breathe deeply. "Even as I tried to tell myself otherwise, I knew that if I got naked, you were going to stay a virgin only long enough for me to get you on your back. Not romantic, but really, totally fucking true."
As her lips parted, his eyes dropped to her mouth and he growled, "You can feel the truth, can't you. It's in your g**damn hand."

-Manny & Payne ~ J.R. Ward

Good morning."
"Fuck you," she growled, still confused.
"I wore you out, huh?"
Raven's angry panicked eyes narrowing, she glared at me. "If anyone was worn out, it was you. I'm surprised I didn't break your dick."
"Who said you didn't?" I said, causing her to smirk. "I might need a little cast for it."
Raven finally smiled for real. "It wouldn't be the first time."
"We could test it out," I said, wiggling my eyebrows.
"I need to leave."
"It's barely six."
"Sleeping over is a mistake."
"True," I said, tossing aside the sheets to show how a little cast wasn't in my future. "Of course, I don't know if walking will be an option after I'm done with you. Better for you to go while you can still move. ~ Bijou Hunter

He thrust his hand in the air and summoned his sword of pure white flame. The gods and goddesses cowered. Throwing his head back and laughing, Surt grew to his full giant size. "You minor, forgotten, pathetic deities! So easy to bend to my will. Not one of you would dare to defy me!"
I chose that moment to shape-shift into a bee, buzz up Surt's teeny-tiny nose, and jab him with my stinger.
With a howl of pain, Surt dropped his sword and shrank to his previous size. I changed into my true form.
"I dare."
I whipped one end of my golden garrote around his neck and yanked it tight. Then I snatched up his flame sword and with one upward flick, sliced off his pubescent nose. "Jack and Magnus send their regards."
Surt lunged for me. I transformed into a bighorn sheep and head-butted him right where his nose used to be. Then I changed back to human, tightened the garrote until his eyes bulged, and threatened him with his own sword. "Come at me again," I warned, "and you'll regret it."
I surveyed the stunned deities. "If one einherji can do this, imagine what all of us can do. And will do, come Ragnarok. We are not destined to win, but we will fight with honor. We would welcome you on our side of the fight. But, if you must side with him" - I gave the garrote a vicious tug and was rewarded with a gurgle from Surt - "know this: I will personally hunt you down on the Last Battlefield of Vigridr and see that you are sent straight to Ginnungagap. The choice i ~ Rick Riordan

It is true that the eyes dominate the ears in our time. ~ Karlheinz Stockhausen

He [the artist] ought to have 'these powerful organs of expression' - colour and chiaroscuro - entirely at his command, that he may use them in every possible form, as well as that he may do with the most perfect freedom; therefore, whether he wishes to make the subject of a joyous, solemn, or meditative character, by flinging over it the cheerful aspect which the sun bestows, by a proper disposition of shade, or by the appearances that beautify its arising or its setting, a true "General Effect" should never be lost sight of. ~ John Constable

He takes his time breathing. He takes his time shifting in his seat. He takes his time studying my eyes, choosing his words, touching two fingers to his lips. He seems to have dominated the concept of time. Impatience is likely not a word in his vocabulary. "I've heard . . . stories. About you." Smiles. "I simply wanted to know if they were true. ~ Tahereh Mafi

Damen said, with helpless honesty, "Laurent, I am your slave."

The words laid him open, truth exposed in the space between them. He wanted to prove it, as though, inarticulate, he could make up for what divided them. He was aware of the shallowness of Laurent's breath, it matched his own; they were breathing each other's air.

He reached out, watching for any hesitation in Laurent's eyes. The touch he offered was accepted as it had not been last time, fingers gentle on Laurent's jaw, thumb passing over his cheekbone, soft. Laurent's controlled body was hard with tension, his rapid pulse urgent for flight, but he closed his eyes in the last seconds before it happened. Damen's palm slid over Laurent's warm nape; slowly, very slowly, making his height an offering, not a threat, Damen leaned in and kissed Laurent on the mouth.

The kiss was barely a suggestion of itself, with no yielding of the rigidity in Laurent, but the first kiss became a second, after a fraction of parting in which Damen felt the flicker of Laurent's shallow breathing against his own lips.

It felt, in all the lies between them, as if this was the only true thing. It didn't matter that he was leaving tomorrow. He felt remade with the desire to give Laurent this: to give him all he would allow, and to ask for nothing, this careful threshold something to be savoured because it was all Laurent would let himself have. ~ C.S. Pacat

Come here," he growled, his body so heavy with need that he was afraid he would explode into fragments if he took one step.
She shook her head slowly, her tongue deliberately moistening her full lower lip. "I only want my true lifemate. I hunger tonight. My body is hungry." Her hand drifted slowly, enticingly, over her satin skin, and his eyes followed the graceful movement while his body raged at him.
Gregori covered the distance between them in a sudden surge, catching her up, the momentum taking them to the wall. He held her prisoner there, his mouth fastened on hers, commanding her response, feeding, devouring, his hands claiming her body for his own. "No one else will ever touch you and live," he snarled, his mouth burning a trail of fire down her throat to her breast. He fed hungrily, his teeth grazing the creamy fullness. "No other, Savannah."
"Why, Gregori? Why can no other touch my body like this?" she whispered, her mouth on his skin, her tongue lapping at his pulse. "Tell me why my body is only yours and your body is only mine."
His hands cupped her bottom, brought her hard against him. "You know why, Savannah."
"Say it, Gregori. Say it if you believe it. I won't have lies between us. You have to feel it in your heart as I do. You have to feel it in your mind. Your body has to burn for mine. But most of all, in your deepest soul, you have to know I'm your other half."
He lifted her, set her up high on the rim of the sleeping cham ~ Christine Feehan

Why do I love you? Because you looked into my eyes and saw me. Behind the painted beauty, the forced expressions, the practiced gestures and habitual politeness, you saw me - the pure, vulnerable core that is my true essence. Somehow, in a kind but knowing glimpse you stripped away the façade, and I will never forget the relief it was to finally be seen. ~ Richelle E. Goodrich

In any war story, but especially a true one, it's difficult to separate what happened from what seemed to happen. What seems to happen becomes its own happening and has to be told that way. The angles of vision are skewed. When a booby trap explodes, you close your eyes and duck and float outside yourself.. The pictures get jumbled, you tend to miss a lot. And then afterward, when you go to tell about it, there is always that surreal seemingness, which makes the story seem untrue, but which in fact represents the hard and exact truth as it seemed. ~ Tim O'Brien

People who profess to have no faith, do not actually have no faith. They simply do not have faith as defined by the rest of the people. Many people who do not have faith as defined by the rest - do have a faith in many other good things - honesty, dedication, inner strength, and so on and so forth. And if you ask him (or her) why do they abide by these beliefs if there be no external force to damn them if they do not abide, they will answer and say, that it is because it is who they are, it is what they believe in, and that to them any other way is abominable. He (or she) does have a faith. It is just not expressed on one of the main paths of expression that most of the population walk on. They are just different in their faith, that is all. Religion should be rightly termed "The love of the beautiful." For anyone who has a true love and devotion to what is beautiful, does have a faith. That is his faith, that is his religion. ~ C. JoyBell C.

Well," he sighed, squeezing my hand back. "I guess we were both running away in different ways."
"What do you mean?"
Dad shook his head. "Your mother took a Mustang. I took a whiskey bottle." He reached up and readjusted his glasses, an unconscious habit-he always did it when he was making a point. "I was so devastated by what your mother did to me that I forgot how horrible drinking is. I forgot to look on the bright side."
"Dad," I said, "I don't think there is a bright side to divorce. It's a pretty sucky thing all around."
He nodded. "Maybe that's true, but there are a lot of bright sides to my life. I have a job I like, a nice house in a good neighborhood, and a wonderful daughter."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh God," I muttered. "Don't go all Lifetime movie on me. Seriously."
"I'm sorry," he said, smiling. "But I mean it. A lot of people would kill for my life, but I didn't even consider that. I took it-and you-for granted. I'm so, so sorry for that, Bumblebee. ~ Kody Keplinger

The divorce papers remained unopened in the crisp yellow envelope. He had thrown it on his desk without a backward glance. Between his lashes, his dark chocolate eyes burned with fury but there was something else in the depths that she hadn't seen in a long time, passion. ~ Suzan Battah

Almost nothing can be gained from pinball. The only payoff is a numerical substitution for pride. The loses, however, are considerable. You could probably erect bronze statues of every American president (assuming you are willing to include Richard Nixon) with the coins you will lose, while your lost time is irreplaceable.

When you are standing before the machine engaged in your solitary act of consumption, another guy is plowing through Proust, while still another guy is doing some heavy petting with his girlfriend while watching "True Grit" at the local drive-in. They're the ones who may wind up becoming groundbreaking novelists or happily married men.

No, pinball leads nowhere. The only result is a glowing replay light. Replay, replay, replay - it makes you think the whole aim of the game is to achieve a form of eternity.

We know very little of eternity, although we can infer its existence.

The goal of pinball is self-transformation, not self-expression. It involves not the expansion of the ego but its diminution. Not analysis but all-embracing acceptance.

If it's self-expression, ego expansion or analysis you're after, the tilt light will exact its unsparing revenge.

Have a nice game! ~ Haruki Murakami

On the planet O there has not been a war for five thousand years, she read, and on Gethen there has never been a war." She stopped reading, to rest her eyes and because she was trying to train herself to read slowly. "There has never been a war." In her mind the words stood clear and bright, surrounded by and sinking into an infinite, dark, soft incredulity. What would that world be, a world without war? It would be the real world. Peace was the true life, the life of working and learning and bringing up children to work and learn. War, which devoured work, learning, and children, was the denial of reality. But my people, she thought, know only how to deny. Born in the dark shadow of power misused, we set peace outside our world, a guiding and unattainable light. All we know to do is fight. Any peace one of us can make in our life is only a denial that the war is going on, a shadow of the shadow, a doubled unbelief. So as the cloud-shadows swept over the marshes and the page of the book open on her lap, she sighed and closed her eyes. thinking, "I am a liar." Then she opened her eyes and read more about the other worlds, the far realities. ~ Ursula K. Le Guin

...but Marcel in the novel does not merely remember what happened to him when he was younger and lived the life of a dilettante, in most cases he invents, he speculates, imagines makes up stories about himself and the other characters in the novel. Yes, Marcel constantly invents, right before our eyes, what he thinks happened, or might have happened, or ought to have happened, especially since, in many instances, he was not present himself to witness what happened, or if he was present he was unable to hear or see what was happening. That is, in fact, the key to this novel: that Marcel does not simply remember what he tells us, but that he speculates on the basis of what he thinks he remembers. Therefore, it is not memory but imagination that engenders the novel. A la recherche du temps perdu is not simply a work of fiction that looks backward to retrieve the past, it is above all a novel that looks forward towards its own future, towards its own making, as it reflects on its creative process. And that is also true of much contemporary fiction, or what has been called New Fiction, Metafiction, Anti-fiction, Postmodern Fiction, or Surfiction. ~ Raymond Federman

We are afraid of what we will do to others, afraid of the rage that lies in wait somewhere deep in our souls. How many human beings go through the world frozen with rage against life! This deeply hidden inner anger may be the product of hurt pride or of real frustration in office, factory, clinic, or home. Whatever may be the cause of our frozen rage (which is the inevitable mother of depression), the great word of hope today is that this rage can be conquered and drained off into creative channels …
…What should we do? We should all learn that a certain amount of aggressive energy is normal and certainly manageable in maturity. Most of us can drain off the excess of our angry feelings and destructive impulses in exercise, in competitive games, or in the vigorous battles against the evils of nature and society. We also must realize that no one will punish us for the legitimate expression of self-assertiveness and creative pugnacity as our parents once punished us for our undisciplined temper tantrums. Furthermore, let us remember that we need not totally repress the angry part of our nature. We can always give it an outlet in the safe realm of fantasy. A classic example of such fantasy is given by Max Beerborn, who made a practice of concocting imaginary letters to people he hated. Sometimes he went so far as to actually write the letters and in the very process of releasing his anger it evaporated.
As mature men and women we should regard our minds as a true democ ~ Joshua Loth Liebman

Failure is normal expression of an action's re-action. learning is secondary in this process .it is only prime to recognize true capacity within ourselves.it is a tool to transform the same person in new one with new value and outlook towards the same old world. ~ Ratna M.munshi

I am already used to taking on the same sins. For a Fairy Tail Mage, the true sin is averting one's eyes ... and no longer being able to believe in anyone! ~ Hiro Mashima

The reindeer are immortal. They are, in fact, the eight demiurges of reindeer-kind, and this accounts for their flying. Their names might sound whimsical, but they are the closest the human tongue can come to approximating the true names of the caribou lords. Rudolph, far from being the adorable, earnest fellow of the tale, is in fact Ruyd-al-Olafforid, the All-Destroying Flame of the Yukon. His mother was Kali and his father was an ice floe. His nose appears red because his body is full of coals, and his eyes flare with a terrible conflagration of the soul. The tips of his antlers are like candles in the snowy wind. He is not vengeful, but he is the light in the dark of winter, consuming and giving life at the same time. Your carrots only make the lord of flame stronger. ~ Catherynne M Valente

The grip of her eyes is so hard that he can barely breathe. She entices him to crash into her and explore her depths. But he is already soaked in different waters. ~ Faraaz Kazi

Though they were separated by two screens and vast amounts of empty space, she could feel the link being forged between them in that look. A bond that couldn't be broken. Their eyes had met for the first time, and by the look of pure amazement on his face, she knew he felt it too.
Heat crept up into her cheeks. Her hands began to shake.
"Aces," Carswell Thorne murmured. Dropping his feet to the ground, he leaned forward to inspect her closer. "Is that all hair?"
The bond snapped, the fantasy of one perfect true-love moment disintegrating around her. ~ Marissa Meyer

Ben, everything is going to get better," he heard her say in the void. "Really. It has to get better, because it can't get worse."
Ben opened his eyes with a jolt, staring at himself in the mirror. That's not true, he suddenly thought. It can definitely get worse. As he nodded at Sara and pretended to smile, he understood that it was the first intelligent thought he had ever had. ~ Dara Horn

Fine, go get the dildos."

"Oh, my God." Alec placed his hands on either side of his face. "This is the best day of my life."

Keela bit down on her lower lip. "What do you want me to do to them?"

His eyes welled up. "It's finally happening."

Bronagh covered her mouth with her hand when she couldn't control the giggle that erupted from her. Alec's attention zoned in on her and her mouth.

"You … you're playing … aren't you?" he whispered, legit tears falling from his eyes.

Keela laughed then, too.

"That was cruel, Aideen," Alec whispered and wiped his tear stained cheeks. "So fucking cruel. Don't ever talk to me again. I don't like any of you anymore."

He stormed out of the kitchen with Keela laughing as she ran after him. I looked to Kane and Nico when they grunted and found them staring at me.

"What?" I asked.

Nico blinked he eyes. "You shouldn't lie like that, not about threesomes. It's hurtful."

"It's only hurtful because this is one threesome that isn't comin' true and it's killin' all of you."

Kane chimed in. "That doesn't make it any less evil to lie about it. You got poor Alec's hopes up."

"Just Alec's?" I grinned.

Kane glared at me. "Mine and Dominic's too."

"Damn right," Nico snarled.

I laughed. "You're all too easy to play with."

"You made Alec cry."

And I actually felt gui ~ L.A. Casey

I was five steps away when he called, "Perseus."
I turned.
There was a different light in his eyes, a fiery kind of pride. "You did well, Perseus. Do not misunderstand me. Whatever else you do, know that you are mine. You are a true son of the Sea God. ~ Rick Riordan

I am a knight - " "So I've noted. Tell me - did Cersei have you knighted before or after she took you into her bed?" The flicker in Lancel's green eyes was all the admission Tyrion needed. So Varys told it true. Well, no one can ever claim that my sister does not love her family. ~ George R R Martin

Gentleman," I purr smoothly in greeting.
Ezra and Cort circle me like sharks scenting blood. I know who they are, but not who is who since they're wearing black hoods over their heads. It covers them to the shoulder and has holes for the eyes and mouth. Their clothing is identical Italian designer label suits. Even their shoes are the same. Their eyes glow like steel ball-bearings from the safety of their masks. The mouths are different- one serious, one snarky- both ruby-red and kissable.
While they circle Fate and me several times taking our measure, the other Master stands in a sphere of his own confidence. He's older and I don't mean just in age, but knowledge. Ezra and Cortez feel like babies compared to this man. I bet he's who I really have to impress.
I wait, always meeting their eyes when their path moves them back to my face. I don't follow them with my gaze- I wait.
"Hello," the hood with the serious lips speaks in a smooth deep tone. I know it's not his true voice, but the one Kris calls The Boss. His eyes are kind and assessing.
No one pays Fate any mind as she cowers at my thigh. I hold their undivided attention. Curly-locks is quiet- watchful- a predator sighting its quarry. Snarky mouth is leering at my chest and I smirk. Caught ya, Cortez Abernathy.
"I seem to be at a disadvantage conversing with you while you're hooded. I can't see you, but you can see me." I try to get them to out themselves. It's a longshot.
"And who are ~ Erica Chilson

While your life is the true expression of your faith, whom can you fear? ~ Julia Ward Howe

An intelligent person, looking out of his eyes and hearkening in his ears, with a smile on his face all the time, will get more true education than many another in a life of heroic vigils. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson

Look out there. Can you feel them? Incredible to think - other human beings out there. You strain your eyes the whole day long, see nothing, hear nothing, still can't believe it somehow - but know it's true. Other warm bodies, hearts pumping blood. That ought to make us feel less lonely, or safer, it seems. Then why is it so shocking? Because - they don't belong here. The possibility of life in this place is more terrifying than the place itself. Can it be that we're really here? ~ Ted Tally

Men are seldom underrated; the mercury in a man finds its true level in the eyes of the world just as certainly as it does in the glass of a thermometer. ~ Josh Billings

Love was more than just a fleeting desire, or a brief glimpse into a fairy tale, or a flash of playful flirtation in her beautiful hazel eyes. It was more than infatuation with a person's best qualities, or reluctant acceptance of their less appealing traits. Real love meant loving the whole person, in every form, in every state, in every way. It was what transformed the ordinary monotony of everyday life into extraordinary moments of warmth and compassion and joy. ~ Jacqueline E. Smith

...A huge "army" of immature guys with blinders over their eyes, looking for UNCONDITIONAL LOVE, are going nowhere. Such men are all ending up to be eternal dating losers, because they are simply wasting huge amounts of effort, trying hard and hoping to find something that does not exist on the planet.
To achieve the goal of personal happiness, we have to be honest with ourselves first of all. We need to be brave enough and smart enough to look into the mirror at our true selves, without our comfortable masks of lies or hypocrisy.

LET'S FACE IT:
There are always reasons why we feel love for another person; we don't love someone for no reason at all. We love them for the qualities they possess, which we admire; for those amazing, bright emotions they evoke from within ourselves; for the love and care that we so acceptingly receive from them; and for what good feelings we experience being around them, etc.

Be HONEST with yourself! ~ Sahara Sanders

People can tell when you're happy with being you and when you're not. It's only cheesy because it's true. As I've gotten older and grown into my body, I've started realizing that the way you carry yourself and that light coming out of your eyes are the most attractive things about you. ~ Hayden Panettiere

She had just given Liger his food when a tap sounded on the connecting door. Priss's heart leaped into her throat.
With excitement.
Not dread, or annoyance, or even indifference.
Pure, sizzling stimulation. Suddenly she was wide-awake.
Tamping down her automatic smile, Priss leaned on the door. "Yeah?"
"Open up."
Still fighting that twitching grin, Priss tried to sound disgruntled as she asked, "Why?"
Something hit the door - maybe his head - and Trace said, "I heard you up and moving around, Priss. I have coffee ready, but if you don't want any - "
Being a true caffeine junkie, she jerked open the door. "Oh, bless you, man." She took the cup straight out of Trace's hand, drank deeply and sighed as the warmth penetrated the thick fog of novel sentiment. "Ahhhh. Nirvana. Thank you."
Only after the caffeine ingestion did she notice that Trace wore unsnapped jeans and nothing else. Her eyes flared wide and her jaw felt loose. Holy moly.
"That was my cup," Trace told her, bemused.
But Priss could only stare at him. Despite the delicious coffee she'd just poured in it, her mouth went dry.
When she continued to stare at him, at his chest and abdomen, her gaze tracking a silky line of brown hair that disappeared into his jeans, Trace crossed his arms.
Her gaze jumped to his face and she found him watching her with equal fascination.
A little lost as to the reason for that look, Priss asked with some belligerence, ~ Lori Foster

Batshit Kind of Love
The type of love that can't be described with words ...
The type of love that can't be measured by time ...
The type of love that inspires haters to hate ...
The type of love that makes no sense to those around you ...
The type of love that exists in the beautiful eyes in which you can see all of your tomorrows ... all of your children and grandchildren ...
The type of love that makes you feel like forever will not be long enough ...
The type of love that is born out of a relationship that is built on honor, respect, and truth ...
That is our love ... That is our connection ...
The batshit kind of love that makes no sense at all ...
and at the same time ... all the sense in the world ...
That is us ...
You and me; a WE. ~ Steve Maraboli

A Gift for You
I send you ...
The gift of a letter from your wise self. This is the part of you that sees you with benevolent, loving eyes. You find this letter in a thick envelope with your name on it, and the word YES written boldly above your name.
My Dear,
I am writing this to remind you of your 'essence beauty.' This is the part of you that has nothing to do with age, occupation, weight, history, or pain. This is the soft, untouched, indelible you. You can love yourself in this moment, no matter what you have, or haven't done or been.
See past any masks, devices, or inventions that obscure your essence.
Remember your true purpose, WHICH is only Love.
If you cannot see or feel love, lie down now and cry; it will cleanse your vision and free your heart.
I love you; I am you. ~ SARK