Voyeur Quotes

She closes her eyes but can't fall to sleep, and so instead she conjures up again the substance of the dream ... Awake it doesn't take, though; it feels like someone else's life and she like a voyeur, watching from the outside. ~ Paul Murray

You're either going to walk through life and experience it fully or you're going to be a voyeur. And I'm not a voyeur. ~ Nicole Kidman

Just three words? Nothing about his physical health? His equipment? His supplies?'

'You got me,' she said. 'He left a detailed status report. I just decided to lie for no reason.'

'Funny,' Venkat said. 'Be a smart-ass to a guy seven levels above you at your company. See how that works out.'

'Oh no,' Mindy said. 'I might lose my job as an interplanetary voyeur? I guess I'd have to use my master's degree for something else.'

'I remember when you were shy.'

'I'm space paparazzi now. The attitude comes with the job. ~ Andy Weir

Great men were always average men, that summoned the courage, honor and will to do extraordinary things that would change the world. I feat of natural determination born of a perceived need. These men and women speak for each of us for all time, and their lives and deaths we watch come and go because it is so much easier to play Voyeur than Hero. ~ Tonny K. Brown

He held me much closer than Carl had. His grip was firm and possessive. It left no doubt in anyone's mind who I belonged to and that alone sent a thrill through me that I knew was wrong. He imprisoned me in the unwavering chains of his gaze, leaving me powerless to break away while he scrutinized my soul. I wondered what he was looking for.
"You came."
The hand on my waist slid over the swell in my spine where it connected to the rise of my backside. His palm flattened against the spot and I was drawn even closer, eliminating what modicum of space there had been between us. My soft frame was cradled seamlessly into the unyielding length of his in all the places that counted, thighs, pelvis, stomach … breasts. I couldn't even breathe without feeling the skim of my hardened nipples against his chest. I couldn't move without feeling his cock reaching for me through miles of fabric to prod into my midsection.
He was long and hard and I grew wet from that knowledge alone.
"Gabriel…"
"I couldn't leave without having this dance with you."
My fingers tightened around his shoulder. "Why?"
His quiet exhalation whispered over the curve of my cheeks, smelling of mint and despair. "Because the further away I got from you, the more it felt like if I kept driving, I would lose you for good and that scared me like nothing else. ~ Airicka Phoenix

I don't like being a voyeur, looking into other people's marriages. ~ Paul Begala

This is the difference between an ordinary scribe and a literary writer. The highest level of literary creation is when the characters in a novel possess life in the mind of the writer. The writer is unable to control them, and might not even be able to predict the next action they will take. We can only follow them in wonder to observe and record the minute details of their lives like a voyeur. ~ Liu Cixin

I watched you undress. Shame on you! ~ Ljupka Cvetanova

She has never been in the presence, before, of two people who are in love with each other. She feels like a stray child, ragged and cold, with her nose pressed to a lighted window. A toy-store window, a bakery window, with fancy cakes and decorated cookies. Poverty prevents her entrance. These things are for other people; nothing for her. ~ Margaret Atwood

I was born with a lazy eye. It didn't define me as a person. It did, however, define me as a voyeur. ~ Jarod Kintz

Yet the Narrator's quest is not only for his own identity and vocation. He seeks an understanding of art, sexuality and worldly and political affairs: he is a snoop and a voyeur; he comments and classifies; his taxonomic impulse makes the novel appear to be a vast compendium, replete with burrowing wasps and bedsteads, military strategies, stereoscopes, asparagus and aeroplanes. ~ Adam A. Watt

If we had 3 million exhibitionists and only one voyeur, nobody could make any money. ~ Albert Brooks

A little of him leaned to the muscularity of the homosexual. He would never practice, of course. The physical buttock act repelled him. Though sometimes he experienced a jolting warmth when Tom, one of his friends, bear-hugged him. Or gave him a bristled kiss on a bristled cheek. Certainly there was masculine voltage there. But it was safe. It was the rose border to the act. And like a voyeur, he could peer into the tropical garden from the safety of the rose border. He could experience male pillage of his sex mentally. Yes, it was safe. He would never step from the rose to the man-eating orchid. English rain and misty sun, yes. The hints, yes. But he would never take his machete into the jungle. ~ David Pinner

I focus on the words in front of me and continue reading the book that has now turned me into a voyeur through no fault of its own. ~ Ella Frank

I'm a voyeur. I say that with no embarrassment. If I could have a superpower, being invisible would be it, no question. I'm fascinated by human behavior; observing people and seeing how much story gets told without a lot of dialogue, and how much our brain fills in. ~ Thomas Schlamme

You think of travelers as bold, but our guilty secret is that travel is one of the laziest ways on earth of passing the time. Travel is not merely the business of being bone-idle, but also an elaborate bumming evasion, allowing us to call attention to ourselves with our conspicuous absence while we intrude upon other people's privacy - being actively offensive as fugitive freeloaders. The traveler is the greediest kind of romantic voyeur, and in some well-hidden part of the traveler's personality is an unpickable knot of vanity, presumption, and mythomania bordering on the pathological. This is why a traveler's worst nightmare is not the secret police or the witch doctors or malaria, but rather the prospect of meeting another traveler.

Most writing about travel takes the form of jumping to conclusions, and so most travel books are superfluous, the thinnest, most transparent monologuing. Little better than a license to bore, travel writing is the lowest form of literary self-indulgence: dishonest complaining, creative mendacity, pointless heroics, and chronic posturing, much of it distorted with Munchausen syndrome. ~ Paul Theroux

And walking back from the river I remember the galling loneliness of my adolescence, from which I do not seem to have completely escaped. It is the sense of the voyeur, the lonely, lonely boy with no role in life but to peer in at the lighted windows of other people's contentment and vitality. It seems comical
farcical
that, having been treated so generously, I should be struck with this image of a kid in the rain walking along the road shoulders of East Milton. ~ John Cheever

In a threesome, there are always two exhibitionists and a voyeur. ~ Gabriela Wiener

You have eyes like a mermaid," he murmured. "Soft, pale green. Beautiful."
"I knew it was only a matter of time before you walked in during my bath," Lara said, trying to sound calm although her heart was pounding. "Your request to see me in that negligee made it quite evident that you're a shameless voyeur."
Hunter grinned. "I've been found out, it seems. But you can't blame me for it."
"Why not?"
"After more than a year of sexual deprivation, a man has to have some pleasure."
"You could expend your energy on something more productive," Lara suggested as he came closer to the bath. "Develop a hobby... collect something... take up chess or pugilism."
His eyes twinkled at her prim tone. "I do have a hobby, madam."
"Which is what?"
"Admiring you."
She shook her head with a reluctant smile. "If you weren't so annoying, my lord, you would almost be charming."
"If you weren't so beautiful, I wouldn't be annoying." He gave her an easy masculine grin. "But I plan to annoy you often, madam, and someday you'll like it." He took another step toward the tub. "Brace yourself- I'm coming closer."
Lara went rigid, thinking of covering herself, screaming, splashing him... but she did none of those things. She remained in the tub, stretched before him like a pagan sacrifice. Hunter made no obvious show of staring at her, but she knew that he took in every detail of her body as it shimmered beneath the scented water. ~ Lisa Kleypas

My intention, this time, was to transfer a play to the screen while keeping its theatrical character. It was in some senses a matter of walking, invisibly, around the stage and catching the different aspects and nuances in the play, the urgency and the facial expressions that escape a spectator who cannot follow them in detail from a seat in the stalls.
Apart from that, I had noticed how effective a play becomes when you have a bird's-eye view from it, for example from the flies, that is to say from the viewpoint of a voyeur. The Audience is enclosed with the characters in a room lacking its fourth wall and listens to them on equal terms, without the element of my story conferred on scenes of intimacy by the whimsical shape of a keyhole."
"L'aigle à deux têtes is not History. It is a story, an invented story lived out by imaginary heroes, and I should never have dared venture into the realistic world of cinema without being able to rely on the help of Christian Bérard. He has a genius for situating whatever he touches, for giving it a depth in time and space and an appearance of truth that are literally inimitable." (...)

"A drama of this kind would be unacceptable, and almost impossible to tell, unless it was interpreted by superb actors who could instill grandeur and life into it. Edwige Feuillère and Jean Marais, applauded evening after evening in their parts in the play, surpass themselves on the screen and give of themselves, as I suggested above, e ~ Jean Cocteau

This is the man who thinks too much, who stands back from his life and never lives it. He is caught in a web of pros and cons about his decisions and lost in a labyrinth of reflective meanderings from which he cannot extricate himself. He is afraid to live, to 'leap into battle.' He can only sit on his rock and think. The years pass. He wonders where the time has gone. And he ends by regretting a life of sterility. He is a voyeur, an armchair adventurer. In the world of academia, he is a hairsplitter. In the fear of making the wrong decision, he makes none. In his fear of living, he also cannot participate in the joy and pleasure that other people experience in their lived lives. If he is withholding from others, and not sharing what he knows, he eventually feels isolated and lonely. To the extent that he has hurt others with his knowledge and technology - in whatever field and in whatever way - by cutting himself off from living relatedness with other human beings, he has cut off his own soul." Refering the the dark magician energy. ~ Robert L. Moore

All right, Mortensen, last chance. Are you ready to make the switch from voyeur to exhibitionist?"
He inclined his head toward me curiously. "Are we still talking about dancing?"
"Well, that depends, I suppose. I heard someone once say that men dance the same way they have sex. So, if you want everyone here to think you're the kind of guy who just sits around and - "
He stood up. "Let's dance. ~ Richelle Mead

This is the end to my Saturday night. My cat has watched me whack off to a vision of my best friend. "Don't say a word," I hiss. He looks away, lifting his chin haughtily. But he'll keep my secret. I'll keep his, too, the fucking little voyeur. ~ Lauren Blakely

Nick was still looking at him sideways, but a flush began to appear on his cheeks. Kelly swallowed hard, growing warmer. "You remember that night?" "Yeah, I do." "You ... you were, um ... impressive." "I knew you were watching," Nick murmured. "Exhibitionist." "Voyeur. ~ Abigail Roux

I really knew when I started photographing I wanted it to be a way of knowing different cultures, not just in other countries but in this country, too, and I knew I wanted to be a voyeur. ~ Mary Ellen Mark

I was confused by this sudden glare of attention; it was as if the characters in a favorite painting, absorbed in their own concerns, had looked up out of the canvas and spoken to me. ~ Donna Tartt

Gerald Foos's explanation in his journal--he was 'only an observer and not a reporter,' and he 'really didn't exist as far as the male and female subjects were concerned'--were explanations that didn't surprise me because of his often-expressed notion that he was a fractured individual, a hybridized combination of the Voyeur and Gerald Foos ~ Gay Talese

When I came out of the wagon, he had her in a dramatic dip and was giving her a kiss. I set the needle and thread next to my shirt and waited. It seemed like a good kiss. I watched with a calculating eye, dimly aware that at some point in the future I might want to kiss a lady. If i did, I wanted to do a decent job of it.
After a moment my father noticed me and stood my mother back on her feet."That will be ha'penny for the show, Master Voyeur,"he laughed. "What are you still here for, boy? I'll bet you the same ha'penny that a question slowed you down. ~ Patrick Rothfuss

People are on their computers more than watching TV, because you can only watch voyeur TV, which is basically what reality shows are, for so long. ~ Stephen Root

Gather close, and let us speak of nasty little shits. Oh, come now, we are no strangers to the vicious demons in placid disguises, innocent eyes so wide, hidden minds so dark. Does evil exist? Is it a force, some deadly possession that slips into the unwary? Is it a thing separate and thus subject to accusation and blame, distinct from the one it has used? Does it flit from soul to soul, weaving its diabolical scheme in all the unseen places, snarling into knots tremulous fears and appalling opportunity, stark terrors and brutal self-interest? Or is the dread word nothing more than a quaint and oh so convenient encapsulation of all those traits distinctly lacking moral context, a sweeping generalization embracing all things depraved and breath takingly cruel, a word to define that peculiar glint in the eye - the voyeur to one's own delivery of horror, of pain and anguish and impossible grief?
Give the demon crimson scales, slashing talons. Tentacles and dripping poison. Three eyes and six slithering tongues. As it crouches there in the soul, its latest abode in an eternal succession of abodes, may every god kneel in prayer.
But really. Evil is nothing but a word, an objectification where no objectification is necessary. Cast aside this notion of some external agency as the source of inconceivable inhumanity - the sad truth is our possession of an innate proclivity towards indifference, towards deliberate denial of mercy, towards disengaging all that is moral within ~ Steven Erikson

Voyeur"

[Chorus:]
I don't mind, it was all me.
I don't mind, it was all me.
I don't mind, it was all me.
I don't mind, it was all me.

[Verse:]
Cause I am flawed
When I am through those doors
Cause I am flawed
Times unsure
I should do whatever will make you feel secure

[Chorus: x11]
I don't mind, it was all me.
I don't mind, it was all me.
I don't mind, it was all me.
I don't mind, it was all me. ~ James Blake

I lived in a state of rage from 12 to 20. Until college, I was beyond an outsider. I was a voyeur of life. ~ Thom Mayne

Then she took of her panties and handed them to me. I tossed them on the bed and got undressed.
I felt a breath of estrangement in the room and thought she might be a voyeur of her own experience, living at an angle to the moment and recording in some state of future-mind. But then she pulled me down, snatched a fistful of hair and pulled me into a kiss, and there was a heat in her, a hungry pulse that resembled a gust of being. ~ Don DeLillo

Mason was a first-rate spatial voyeur, an autodidact of architectural exteriors. ~ Geoff Manaugh

Male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? Up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it's all a male fantasy: that you're strong enough to take what they dish out, or else too weak to do anything about it. Even pretending you aren't catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you're unseen, pretending you have a life of your own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur. ~ Margaret Atwood

I am a Facebook voyeur. I feel bad about it because I never put anything on there, but I find it fun to sit there and watch peoples' lives go by. Or whatever lives they're presenting. ~ Eddie Kaye Thomas

There's a very real possibility in this industry of going out and leading your life and then going home and being a voyeur of your own life. You can literally go watch yourself - where you went last night, what you did, what the things that people presuppose about you. It's kind of crazy. ~ Ryan Reynolds

Trace started to wave toward Matt, still with Priss wrapped around him, and she blurted, "I love you, Trace."
That effectively drew him to a halt. His hands contracted on her backside. "What?"
"I love you." Then she pointed at Chris, and to where Matt had disappeared. "They told me to fess up, so I am, and if you reject me, I swear I'll drown them both."
Very slowly, Trace's expression changed from the heat of anger to a different type of heat. "Say it again."
"Why?" She frowned at him with challenge. "Why don't you say something first?"
"All right." Sliding his hands up her back, over her shoulders, and into her wet hair, he kissed her. "You make me nuts, Priscilla." He turned his head and kissed her again, a little longer this time. "You make me hot as hell, too."
"I love you," Priss reminded him, hoping it might prompt him to a more telling declaration.
His next kiss lasted long enough to take the chill off the lake, and Priss got so wrapped up in the taste of him that she almost forgot what she wanted to hear.
Chris didn't. From the dock, he said, "If you're going to keep her waiting like this, someone needs to finish putting sunscreen on her."
Trace moved fast, grabbing for Chris's ankle, but Chris jumped back out of reach.
Priss, feeling very affected by that kiss, nuzzled Trace's neck and stroked his shoulders. He smelled delicious, felt even better. "Stop being a voyeur, Chris, and go away."
Having joined Chris o ~ Lori Foster

You like to live vicariously. An armchair voyeur. ~ Rachael Eyre

People inspire me. Everyone is such an individual and has unique stories. I'm a voyeur. I eavesdrop. Sometimes I ask questions. And sometimes people just want to tell me their stories. ~ Ellen Hopkins

My poor scapegoat,
I almost love you
but would have cast, I know,
the stones of silence.
I am the artful voyeur
of your brain's exposed
and darkened combs,
your muscles' webbing
and all your numbered bones:
I who have stood dumb
when your betraying sisters,
cauled in tar,
wept by the railings,
who would connive
in civilized outrage
yet understand the exact
and tribal, intimate revenge.
-Punishment ~ Seamus Heaney