Foucault Gaze Quotes

You might loosen your corset strings," he advised. "It will make your journey more pleasant."
"I'm not wearing a c-corset," she said without looking at him.
"You aren't? My God." His gaze slid over her with expert assessment. ~ Lisa Kleypas

Amar reached out to cup the back of my neck. I shuddered. I had forgotten how cold his hands were, like the soul of winter had tangled itself in his fingers. He stared at me and his gaze had all the finality of death--it was ferocious and terrible, a ravel of locked horns. He was searching me. I knew exactly what he was looking for--
Himself.
I twined the bracelet together, letting it hover mere inches from his skin. I had no expectation, no method, no strategy. I was blind and clinging to a bruised piece of hope. But it was all I had.
"You once said your soul could never forget mine," I said, sliding the mended bracelet around his wrist. "Do you remember now?"
He inhaled sharply, like something had rent through him. Around his wrist, the bracelet glowed like a caught star.
"Jaani," he breathed, staring at me.
He clutched his chest, an amazed smile turning his face incandescent. I grinned so widely that I thought the air would bend around us, pushing us together. His fingers entwined in my hair and he tilted my face up. ~ Roshani Chokshi

Money is only one kind of power. Faith is power, too. Love is power. Slaughter and madness are both roads to power. Certainly, symbols are power – you wear one wherever you go, that purse you carry. And you wear others when you decide to dress yourself, how to look at men and women, how to carry your body and direct your gaze. And all these symbols can raise people to labour or war. ~ Seth Dickinson

The lipstick is a dark, dark red. The kind Hollywood stars wear. Not a shade good girls in Davisburg wear to the movies. I try it on anyway and gaze at my reflection in the mirror.

I don't look sick. I certainly don't look like that kind of girl.

What does that kind of girl look like, anyway? ~ Robin Talley

From the top of a high rock, I obtained a good few of the most extensive and dreary wilderness I ever beheld. It chilled the heart to gaze on these barrens of Labrador. Indeed, I now dread every change of harbor, so horridly rugged and dangerous is the whole coast and country to the eye, and to the experienced man either of the sea or the land. ~ John James Audubon

In New York, he tried in vain to forget her. The first few days were tinged with melancholy and regret and JT thought he would never recover. Anyway: recover why? And yet, with the passage of time, in his heart he understood that he'd gained much more than he'd lost. At least, he said to himself, I've met the woman of my dreams. Other people, most people, glimpse something in films, the shadow of great actresses, the gaze of true love. But I saw her in the flesh, heard her voice, saw her silhouetted against the endless pampa. I talked to her and she talked back. What do I have to complain about? ~ Roberto Bolano

Then as for those who gaze upon many beautiful things but don't see the beautiful itself, and aren't even capable of following someone else who leads them to it, and upon many just things but not the just itself, and all the things like that, we'll claim that they accept the seeming of everything but discern nothing of what they have opinions about. ~ Plato

Then Er Lang was looking at me ruefully. "You have taken at least fifty years of my life!"
I was stricken. "Take it back!"
"I can't. But fortunately, my life span is many times yours."
"How long can a dragon live?"
"A thousand years, if he is lucky. Not all of us are, of course." He raised an eyebrow.
"I'm sorry." I couldn't look him in the eye. Instead, my gaze was drawn to the strong line of his throat. If he had given me blood, I would surely have killed him. But Er Lang was struggling to sit up.
"I should have stopped you sooner. Though I now understand why men succumb to ghosts." He spoke lightly, but my ears blazed with mortification.
"You were the one who put your tongue in my mouth!" I blurted out, regretting it instantly. To talk about other people's tongues was the worst, revealing the depths of my inexperience. And yet, the memory of his made me shiver and burn, as though I had a fever. It hadn't been like this with Tian Bai; it was easy to understand where I stood with him. But he had been courting me, whereas Er Lang was an entirely different commodity. We did not have that sort of relationship, I reminded myself.
But he merely gave me a wry glance. "I was a little carried away."
"Thank you," I said at last. I realized it was the first time I had thanked him formally. ~ Yangsze Choo

Waiting is directed at nothing: any object that could gratify it would only efface it. Still, it is not confined to one place, it is not a resigned immobility; it has the endurance of a movement that will never end and would never promise itself the reward of rest; it does not wrap itself in interiority; all of it falls irremediably outside. ~ Michel Foucault

I'm talking about your lovely long arms and your perfectly shaped legs... I find I am quite jealous of those stockings for knowing the feel of you, the warmth of you." She shifted, unable to keep still beneath the onslaught of his words. "I'm talking about that corset that hugs you where you are lovely and soft... is it uncomfortable?"
She hesitated. "Not usually."
"And now?" She heard the knowledge in the question.
She nodded once. "It's rather- constricting."
He tutted once, and she opened her eyes, instantly meeting his, hot and focused on her. "Poor Pippa. Tell me, with your knowledge of the human body, why do you think that is?"
She swallowed, tried for a deep breath. Failed. "It's because my heart is threatening to beat out of my chest."
The smile again. "Have you overexerted yourself?"
She shook her head. "No."
"What, then?"
She was not a fool. He was pushing her. Attempting to see how far she would go. She told the truth. "I think it is you."
He closed his eyes then, hands fisting again, and pressed his head back against the side of the desk, exposing the long column of his neck and his tightly clenched jaw. Her mouth went dry at the movement, at the way the tendons there bunched and rippled, and she was quite desperate to touch him.
When he returned his gaze to hers, there was something wild in those pewter depths... something she was at once consumed and terrified by. "You shouldn't be so quick with the truth," ~ Sarah MacLean

Do you like manga?" she asked after a minute. "Anime?"
"Anime's cool. I'm not really into it, but 1 like Japanese movies,
animated or not."
"Well, I'm into it. I watch the shows, read the books, chat on the boards, and all that. But this girl I know, she's
completely into it. She spends most of her allowance on the books and DVDs. She can recite dialogue from
them." She caught my gaze. "So would you say she belongs here?"
"No. Most kids are that way about something, right? With me, it's
movies. Like knowing who directed a sci-fi movie made before I was born. ~ Kelley Armstrong

But she was compelling: the moods passed like clouds over the clear green water of her gaze, and something about her movements, the line of her neck and braided hair, caught the eye and held it. ~ Katherine Arden

Good luck with that." I turn to face him. "She's predisposed to hate you. Convinced you'll be my downfall. Says you've got heartbreaker written all over you."
Dace grips the wheel tighter,eyebrows quirked, gaze stricken in a way that makes me feel bad for saying it, but it's only a moment later when he laughs and says, "Funny,that's the same thing Chepi said about you." Addressing my confusion when he adds, "That day at the gas station, when I saw you sitting on the curb,talking on the phone-Chepi caught me looking and warned me right then and there to keep my distance,to not get involved. ~ Alyson Noel

If you, free as you are of every weight
had stayed below, then that would be as strange
as living flame on earth remaining still.
And then she turned her gaze up toward the heavens. ~ Dante Alighieri

The European who comes to America plunges into the virgin forest with wonder and delight; while the American who goes to Europe finds his greatest pleasure, at first, in hunting up the memorials of the past. Each is in quest of novelty, and is burning with the desire to gaze at objects of which he has often read. ~ James Fenimore Cooper

He thinks, if you were born in Putney, you saw the river every day, and imagined it widening out to the sea. Even if you had never seen the ocean you had a picture of it in your head from what you had been told by foreign people who sometimes came upriver. You knew that one day you would go out into a world of marble pavements and peacocks, of hillsides buzzing with heat, the fragrance of crushed herbs rising around you as you walked. You planned for what your journeys would bring you: the touch of warm terra-cotta, the night sky of another climate, alien flowers, the stone-eyed gaze of other people's saints. But if you were born in Aslockton, in flat fields under a wide sky, you might just be able to imagine Cambridge: no farther. ~ Hilary Mantel

What I saw in Vikram's gaze rooted me to the spot:
understanding. Those secrets had coaxed a shadowed part of us to step into the light. Understanding felt like a hand reached for and found in the dark. No one had ever looked at me that way because no one, until now, could. ~ Roshani Chokshi

I didn't want you to apply just because I'm going to be in New York. Or hell, even worse, not apply because I'm going to be there. I was going to tell you in person. And then the scout shows up at the game tonight, and what was I supposed to do? My mom is freaking out; you're freaking out." He throws his hands in the air in frustration. "I've totally fucked this up."
It hits me then, the truth of the situation. He made his decision about Columbia on his own, and he wanted me to be able to do the same. Of course.
Hell, if it hadn't been for the storm bringing us together like it did, I probably would have turned down NYU rather than risk going off to New York with him, and that's the truth.
I drop my gaze to the ground and take a deep breath, cursing myself for being such an idiot.
"No, you haven't," I say at last, raising my eyes to meet his confused ones.
"Haven't what?"
"Fucked it up." I take a tentative step toward him. "I get it now. God, Ryder. Why do you have to be so perfect?"
"Perfect? I've been in love with you for so long now, and I've never managed to get it right, not once."
I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning. "News flash--I think you've finally got it this time."
His smile makes my heart leap. "Do you have any idea what was going through my head when you first told me about NYU? I couldn't believe it. It was like…like a gift fell right into my lap. Like winning the lottery. All this time I thought going off to ~ Kristi Cook

Being with you . . ." he began, drawing my eyes back to his face. His were dazed, unfocused, like he was looking within and without. "Being with me?" I prompted after almost a minute, curious, a bubble of something reluctantly hopeful expanding in my chest. So of course, a joke slipped out. "Is as the prophesy foretold?" Abram's gaze sharpened on mine. He smiled, a real smile. His left dimple making its first appearance, stealing my breath before his words could. "It's living artistry, Mona." Abram's gaze turned cherishing, earnest. "Being with you is like living in a song. ~ Penny Reid

When Kestrel opened her eyes, she was lying in her bed. Someone had built a fire, which sent ripples of orange light over the ceiling. An oil lamp burned on the night table, casting her father's face into extremes of shadow and bone. He had drawn a chair close and perhaps had been sleeping in it, but his eyes were alert.
"Your knee needs to be tapped," he said.
She looked at it. Someone--her father?--had cut away the right legging at her thigh, and below the sheared black cloth her knee was swollen to twice its normal size. It felt tight and hot.
"I don't know what that means," Kestrel said, "but it doesn't sound very nice."
"Irex dislocated your kneecap. It slipped back into place, but the blow must have torn your muscle. Your knee's filling with blood. That's what's causing you so much pain: the swelling." He hesitated. "I have some experience with this kind of wound, on the battlefield. I can drain it. You'll feel better. But I would have to use a knife."
Kestrel remembered him cutting her mother's arm, blood weaving through his fingers as he tried to close the wound. He looked at her now, and she thought that he was seeing the same thing, or seeing Kestrel remember it, and that they were mirroring each other's nightmare.
His gaze fell to his scarred hands. "I've sent for a doctor. You can wait until she comes, if you prefer." His voice was flat, yet there was a small, sad note that probably only she would have heard. "I wouldn't suggest this ~ Marie Rutkoski

She had seen those eyes dark with brooding anger and cold as ice, she'd seen his gaze veiled like a spiderweb and shattering like a gate under pressure. But she'd never seen them as they were now. Full of wondering joy and disbelief, and an almost frightened awe. ~ L.J.Smith

I know," Aren says. "But I wanted to apologize. I don't want Taltrayn to convince you I'm the bad guy."
At that, I give a short laugh. "You are the bad guy, Aren."
He frowns, and I realize he's taking my words the wrong way.
"What I mean is you're the . . . well, the rebel. Kyol's the good guy. He's made mistakes, yes, but he loves me."
He cocks his head to the side. His gaze makes my skin tingle. The step he takes toward me is hesitant, careful, and when his silver eyes peer down at me, I stop breathing. His lips are so close. I remember the way they felt pressed against mine. I remember his taste, the heat of his edarratae.
The smallest distance separates us when he whispers, "You don't think I'm in love with you?"
"I . . . ~ Sandy Williams

With one gaze into her eyes, all words fell away. And it didn't matter at all. In this place of hearticulation, there was no need for words. This love spoke a language all its own, a grammarless lexicon of longing and union. Who needs syllables when you can hear each other's souls? ~ Jeff Brown

There is no power relation without the correlative constitution of a field of knowledge, nor any knowledge that does not presuppose and constitute at the same time power relations ~ Michel Foucault

Coming forward with a placating smile, Win handed him a piece of paper. "Of course we would never want to force you into a loveless marriage, dear. But we have put together a list of prospective brides, all of them lovely girls. Won't you take a glance and see if any of them appeals to you?"
Deciding to humor her, Leo looked down at the list. "Marietta Newbury?"
"Yes," Amelia said. "What's wrong with her?"
"I don't like her teeth."
"What about Isabella Charrington?"
"I don't like her mother."
"Lady Blossom Tremaine?"
"I don't like her name."
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Leo, that's not her fault."
"I don't care. I can't have a wife named Blossom. Every night I would feel as if I were calling in one of the cows." Leo lifted his gaze heavenward. "I might as well marry the first woman off the street. Why, I'd be better off with Marks."
Everyone was silent. ~ Lisa Kleypas

When we gaze at the magnificence of an ancient monument and ascribe its achievement to one man, we are guilty of spiritual embezzlement. We forget the army of craftsmen, unknown and unsung, who preceded him in the darkness of the ages, who toiled humbly - all heroism is humble - each contributing his small share to the common treasure of his time. A great building is not the private invention of some genius or other. It is merely a condensation of the spirit of a people. ~ Ayn Rand

Once more he became silent, staring before him with sombre eyes. Following his gaze, I saw that he was looking at an enlarged photograph of my Uncle Tom in some sort of Masonic uniform which stood on the mantlepiece. I've tried to reason with Aunt Dahlia about this photograph for years, placing before her two alternative suggestions: (a) To burn the beastly thing; or (b) if she must preserve it, to shove me in another room when I come to stay. But she declines to accede. She says it's good for me. A useful discipline, she maintains, teaching me that there is a darker side to life and that we were not put into this world for pleasure only. ~ P.G. Wodehouse

The world is not what it appears to be. Behind this surface life, where we experience the play of life and death, there is a deeper life which knows no death; behind our apparent consciousness, which gives us the knowledge of objects and things…there is…pure…consciousness…Truth…is experienced only by those who turn their gaze inward. ~ Swami Prabhavanada

My love, lie down beside me.
Let us gaze at the stars above.
Wonder with me
At how we came to be.
Hold me now and for all eternity ~ Lily G. Blunt

To my unsuspecting love.
When I look into your eyes, I lose all sense of time and place. Reason robbed, clear thought erased, I am lost in the paradise I find within your gaze.
I long to touch your blushing cheek, to whisper in your ear how I adore you, how I have lost my heart to you, how I cannot bear the thought of living without you.
To be so near to you without touching you is agony. Your blindness to my feelings is a daily torment, and I feel driven to the edge of madness by my love for you.
Where is your compassion when I need it most? Open your eyes , Love, and see what is right before you: that I am not merely a friend, but a man deeply, desperately , in love with you.
Longing for you. ~ Julianne Donaldson

Caroline rose. She studied him for a moment before sitting on his knee.
He wasn't quite sure exactly how it happened. If pressed, he would have asked for three or four hundred pages to write a description of the series of impossibly graceful bendings and movements that ended with her perched there with one hand on his shoulder. He didn't understand - and he was sure that it defied physics - how Caroline could be so light on that tiny patch of his legs, and yet so weighty in the way her presence affected him. Her gaze, for instance, probably clocked in at about fifty or sixty tons, to judge from the effect it was having on him.
He never wanted to move. Never, ever, ever. Let the heat death of the universe come along and he'd be quite happy to still have Caroline Hepworth sitting just like that, on his knee, looking at him without speaking. The tiny light of the shaded lantern was irrelevant. He saw everything, as if it were the brightest of middays.
It was so perfect, so hoped for, that Aubrey knew it couldn't last. He glanced around.
'What are you doing?' Caroline asked very, very softly.
'Looking for whoever is going to interrupt us.'
'That's a pessimistic outlook.'
'Wars, especially, have a habit of ignoring the lives of people.'
'If you follow that through, it suggests living for the moment is best.'
'Live without planning? Without dreams? That sounds rather limited.'
'And that sounds rather like Aubrey. ~ Michael Pryor

He was fully anticipating her lips being bright red to go with her toenail polish. Damn, he loved red lipstick.

But before he could get to those lips, she used them, to say, "Oh, dammit, it's you."

Owen's gaze bypassed her mouth to fly to her eyes.
Because he'd know that voice anywhere.

Madison Allain was home.

A day early.

Not that an extra day would have helped him prepare. He'd been thinking about her visit for a week and was still as wound tight about it as he'd been when Sawyer had told him that she was coming home. For a month.

Owen stood just watching her, fighting back all of the first words that he was tempted to say.

Like, "Damn, you're even more gorgeous than the last time I saw you."

Or, "I haven't put anyone in the hospital lately."

Or, "I've missed you so damned much."

Just for instance.

He wiped his hands on his jeans. Okay, he was supposed to be nice to her. That meant treating her like she was one of the tourists who frequented this dock. Polite. Friendly,

But not I've-known-you-my-whole-life-and-kissed-you-a-whole-bunch friendly. Just mildly hey-how's-it-goin' friendly.

Nice. Polite. A little friendly - but not too much. He could do that. Though it probably meant not saying things like, "I still remember how your nipples taste. ~ Erin Nicholas

His gaze turned cold as he faced her. 'Sure, she's attractive. A stone wall would be attractive if it looked like that. It's her attitude I don't like. There's more to love than just getting your itches scratched. ~ Stephen R. Donaldson

As we gaze upon the wonders of creations, we look up towards the heights of a God who is merciful in His ways and magnificent in His deeds. The life of worship always points us upwards. ~ Matt Redman

There is a sort of myth of History that philosophers have ... History for philosophers is some sort of great, vast continuity in which the freedom of individuals and economic or social determinations come and get entangled. When someone lays a finger on one of those great themes
continuity, the effective exercise of human liberty, how individual liberty is articulated with social determinations
when someone touches one of these three myths, these good people start crying out that History is being raped or murdered. ~ Michel Foucault

Time? Time freezes
as they gaze
into each other's eyes.
No beginning, no end,
in sight, a deep vast ocean,
a universe is reflected.
Like a key to a lock,
they are.
All the days that have been,
all the days to come;
they stand in a place
beyond
and within it all. ~ Nancy Navene

Beyond the clouds, above people, beneath the skin, inside people, we're waiting for you. We see you now, as you read. We'll see you when you stop thinking about these words. Above and inside your face, we know your secrets. We know what you hide from yourself. You can't escape us. We hold your heart in the palm of our hand. If we like, we can squeeze it. If we like, we can crush it. There's nothing you can do to stop us. Our gaze notices your every single move and your every single word. Say a word now. Make a move. We smile at your words, as we smile at your silence. No one will be able to protect you. No one can protect you now. You're even less than you imagine. We've seen a thousand generations of men like you. It was our pleasure to let them walk on the lines of our hands. It was our pleasure to take everything away from them. We guided entire generations of men through tunnels we built that led nowhere. And when they arrived at nothing, we smiled. You're just like them. We're waiting for you above and inside your face. Continue on your way. Follow that line of our hand. We know where that tunnel you walk through will end. Keep on walking. We see you and smile. Beyond the clouds, we are fear. Beneath the skin, we are fear. ~ Jose Luis Peixoto

[To find a kiss of yours]

translated by Sarah Arvio.

To find a kiss of yours
what would I give
A kiss that strayed from your lips
dead to love

My lips taste
the dirt of shadows

To gaze at your dark eyes
what would I give
Dawns of rainbow garnet
fanning open before God -

The stars blinded them
one morning in May

And to kiss your pure thighs
what would I give
Raw rose crystal
sediment of the sun ~ Federico Garcia Lorca

The younger, certainly, had to the full that charm
of a constitutional freshness of aspect which may
defy for a long time extravagant or erring habits of
life; a physiognomy healthy-looking, cleanly, and
firm, which seemed unassociable with any form of
self-tormenting, and made one think of the nozzle of
some young hound or roe, such as human beings
invariably like to stroke - with all the goodliness, that
is, of the finer sort of animalism, though still wholly
animal. It was the charm of the blond head, the
unshrinking gaze, the warm tints: - neither more
nor less than one may see every English summer, in
youth, manly enough, and with the stuff in it which
makes brave soldiers, in spite of the natural kinship
it seems to have with playthings and gay flowers. ~ Walter Pater

I'm willing to bargain with you," he said gently, "for the same reason anyone tries to bargain-you have something I want." Desperately trying to prove to her she wasn't powerless or empty-handed, he added, "I want it badly, Elizabeth."
"What is it?" she asked warily, but much of the resentment in her lovely face was already being replaced by surprise.
"This," he whispered huskily. His hands tightened on her shoulders, pulling her close as he bent his head and took her soft mouth in a slow, compelling kiss, sensually molding and shaping her lips to his. Although she stubbornly refused to respond, he felt the rigidity leaving her; and as soon as it did, Ian showed her just how badly he wanted it. His arms went around her, crushing her to him, his mouth moving against hers with hungry urgency, his hands shifting possessively over her spine and hips, fitting her to his hardened length. Dragging his mouth from hers, he drew an unsteady breath. "Very badly," he whispered.
Lifting his head, he gazed down at her, noting the telltale flush on her cheeks, the soft confusion in her searching green gaze, and the delicate hand she'd forgotten was resting against his chest. Keeping his own hand splayed against her lower back, he held her pressed to his rigid erection, torturing himself as he slid his knuckles against her cheek and quietly said, "For that privilege, and the others that follow it, I'm willing to agree to any reasonable terms you state. And I'll even forewarn ~ Judith McNaught

For feverish mornings after he left, she lay awake in that guest room in their house, in the rumples of the sheet he had slept in. She would get him on every turn: his aftershave lingering on the sides of the pillow that sometimes caught her, waking up from her dreams of him, in nuclear nights, his gaze: drenching her like water drops on burning rocks. She herself didn't have any smell. He had to really lean in the first time to make out the attar amidst the freckles on her neck. And then there would be at least two, never only one: Jasmine and that other thing that he could never place- a smell that was between imitation pearls and the insides of a Durga Puja afternoon. On some days even in Simla, this she, would waft in by his collars nonchalantly.'
('Left from Dhakeshwari') ~ Kunal Sen

Absently, she brushed back some of the hair from her face, and she saw as Jaguar's eyes followed how the long strands slid across her throat. Though his dark skin did not show pallor as clearly as Lord Daryl's had, Turquoise could tell Jaguar had not fed yet, and she recognized the hungry look in his black eyes.
Testing, she stood, the movement appearing reluctant. "I"ll leave you to your work if you'd like."
He answered the way she had expected him to. Not raising his gaze from her throat, he said, "Come here." Though the words were an order, the tone left room for argument.
For a moment, Turquoise almost felt guilty. She was intentionally manipulating him. A feeding vampire is an easy target; most of them completely lost sense of their surroundings as they drew blood. Jaguar did not even try to catch her mind as his lips fell to her throat. If she had been armed, it would have been revoltingly easy to kill him. ~ Amelia Atwater-Rhodes

She pursed her lips. "Satisfied I'm not carrying a concealed weapon?"
"I have no idea where you'd keep one, if you were," he returned, sliding his gaze along the length of her.
"Thanks for noticing. ~ Suzanne Enoch

Look at you," he whispers harshly, gaze roaming all over my face from my eyes to my nose to my temple to my lips.
"Me?"
He gives a faint shake of his head. "What a rare and beautiful thing you are. ~ Karina Halle