Quotes & Sayings About Being Lost In Your Eyes

The Temperature is Rising
The heartbeat quickens my breath is controlled,my senses are illuminated like a mother to her young. This feeling I have I've know it before, when the gates are opened I'll remember the beginning. Awaiting, dreaming imagining the endless possibilities of moments together as I give into my desires. My body reacts it has a mind of its own leaving little clues yet I continue on.
Poised and professional I cross my origin the passion that awaits it stirs like a simmer. The sweet aroma a treat being made just for him I know he will like, the hunger in his eyes his mouth soft and strong it only took me a moment as he continued to look on. I didn't even recognize my sound as I was in a sphere all alone I hoped and imagined it would be but my mind was left in awe like sweet chocolate after a meal. — M.I. Ghostwriter

Nick continued, unable to keep the smug smile form his lips. "Shall I tell you what I would do if I discovered I'd been a royal ass and had lost the only woman I'd ever really wanted?"
Ralston's eyes narrowed on his brother. "I don't imagine I could stop you."
Indeed not," Nick said, "I can tell you I wouldn't be standing in this godforsaken field in this godforsaken cold waiting for that idiot Oxford to shoot at me. I would walk away from this ridiculous, antiquated exercise, and I would find that womand tell her that I was a royal ass. And then I would do whatever it takes to convince her that she should take a chance on me despite my being a royal ass. And once that's done, I would get her, immediatley, to the nearest vicar and get the girl married. And with child. — Sarah MacLean

As Sloan approached the door, Paul Lyons lifted his eyes to watch her leave. He found himself wondering why after all these years they couldn't manage to get along for a lousy twenty minutes. Perhaps it was the result of their inability to compromise - to give each other the benefit of the doubt. Or maybe they'd both simply lost the ability to trust another human being and believe anything good could come of this world. — Kaylin McFarren

One truth, then, is that Christ is always being remade in the image of man, which means that his reality is always being deformed to fit human needs, or what humans perceive to be their needs. A deeper truth, though, one that scripture suggests when it speaks of the eternal Word being made specific flesh, is that there is no permutation of humanity in which Christ is not present. If every Bible is lost, if every church crumbles to dust, if the last believer in the last prayer opens her eyes and lets it all finally go, Christ will appear on this earth as calmly and casually as he appeared to the disciples walking to Emmaus after his death, who did not recognize this man to whom they had pledged their very lives; this man whom they had seen beaten, crucified, abandoned by God; this man who, after walking the dusty road with them, after sharing an ordinary meal and discussing the scriptures, had to vanish once more in order to make them see. — Christian Wiman

If you see yourself as a relatively good, moral, conscientious, church-going person, or one who's constantly being affirmed by others, you might wonder how you can possibly think of yourself as a lost sinner. But it should be obvious. When we step into the light of Christ's perfect righteousness, our utter depravity is exposed. Our righteousness is shown to be nothing more than filthy rags. Our supposed goodness is nowhere to be found. If you don't readily understand and humbly admit this, then genuinely ask God to open the eyes of your heart and expose your true depravity in light of his holiness. — Anonymous

A little way down the road I turned, and saw how his wife and daughter took him up. And I thought to myself: no, 'tis not all roses when one goes a-wandering. At the next place I came to I learned that he had been with the army, as quartermaster-sergeant; then he went mad over a lawsuit he lost, and was shut up in an asylum for some time. Now in the spring his trouble broke out again; perhaps it was my coming that had given the final touch. But the lightning insight in his eyes at the moment when the madness came upon him! I think of him now and again; he was a lesson to me. 'Tis none so easy to judge of men, who are wise or mad. And God preserve us all from being known for what we are! — Knut Hamsun

They weren't ashamed of their bodily functions and they didn't lie to themselves or others. They had no patience for small talk or false pretenses. They would laugh when they wanted to like there was no tomorrow, and cry their eyes out when they felt like it. Basically, I had finally found my people. HOW I LOST MY VIRGINITY I always fantasized about losing my virginity the way I think most girls envision their weddings: being surrounded by my friends and family, with a clergyman present. — Amy Schumer

He dropped his voice, so low that Tessa wasn't sure if what he said next was real or part of the dream darkness rising to claim her, though she
fought against it.
"I've never minded it," he went on. "Being lost, that is. I had always thought one could not be truly lost if one knew one's own heart. But I fear I may
be lost without knowing yours." He closed his eyes as if he were bone-weary, and she saw how thin his eyelids were, like parchment paper, and
how tired he looked. "Wo ai ni, Tessa," he whispered. "Wo bu xiang shi qu ni."
She knew, without knowing how she knew, what the words meant.
I love you.
And I don't want to lose you. — Cassandra Clare

He looked up and I realised how close we were, both of us leaning in together. I blinked a few times, suddenly light-headed, but not like before when I'd passed out. Being so close to the smooth dark skin of his face, getting lost in the shifting shades of his green eyes, it felt like my insides were fluttering and melting. — Heather Anastasiu

And then we're kissing. His lips are soft and leave mine tingling. I close my eyes, and in the darkness behind them I see beautiful blooming things, flowers spinning like snowflakes, and hummingbirds beating the same rhythm as my heart. I'm gone, lost, floating away into nothingness like I am in my dream, but this time it's a good feeling - like soaring, like being totally free. His other hand pushes my hair from my face, and I can feel the impression of his fingers everywhere that they touch, and I think of stars streaking through the sky and leaving burning trails behind them, and in that moment - however long it lasts, seconds, minutes, days - while he's saying my name into my mouth and Im breathing into him, I realize this, right here, is the first and only time I've ever been kissed. — Lauren Oliver

And I sit here alone and far from you and it's night and I'm reflecting on everything all around me and I am thinking of you. I saw it in your eyes, in your love, you too are swinging towards the depths of your own being in longer and longer circles. I saw happiness and pain in your eyes and reflections of the paradises lost and regained and lost again, that terrible loneliness and happiness, yes, and I reflect upon this and I think about you.
(from As I Was Moving Ahead I Occasionally Saw Brief Glimpses of Beauty, 2000) — Jonas Mekas

Fury is an entirely appropriate response to a system that sends young people to kill other young people in a war that never should have been waged. Yet the American Right is forever trying to pathologise anger as something menacing and abnormal, dismissing war opponents as hateful and, in the latest slur, wild-eyed. This is much harder to do when victims of wars begin to speak for themselves: no one questions the wildness in the eyes of a mother or father who has just lost a son or daughter, or the fury of a soldier who knows that he is being asked to kill, and to die, needlessly. — Naomi Klein

He dipped his head to kiss her again. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he slowly lowered her back to the floor. He took his time tasting her lips, her tongue, memorizing the feel of her curves against him. He pulled back and looked into her eyes.
She gripped the front of his shirt, holding him in place. "Don't stop."
"No, no more stopping." He kissed her again, getting lost in the blur of clothes being tossed off, her skin under his fingertips, and the hum of his heart as he fully let himself fall. — Cindi Madsen

Let me begin by telling you that I was in love. An ordinary statement, to be sure, but not an ordinary fact, for so few of us learn that love is tenderness, and tenderness is not, as a fair proportian suspect, pity; and still fewer know that happiness in love is not the absolute focusing of all emotion in another: one has always to love a good many things which the beloved must come only to symbolize; the true beloveds of this world are in their lovers's eyes lilacs opening, ship lights, school bells, a landscape, remembered conversations, friends, a child's Sunday, lost voices, one's favourite suit, autumn and all seasons, memory, yes, it being the earth and water of existence, memory. — Truman Capote

I saw Jake in the hallway at school. I pretended not to notice him.

I saw Rachel, too. She had a dark look in her eyes. Like she hadn't slept. Like something was really wrong.

Even Cassie seemed grim. It had gotten to all of us. It's not so easy to just forget terror. It's not easy to just ignore the memory of your leg being ripped off. Of being dismembered. Torn apart.

One of these days, I thought, one of us is going to go crazy. Totally lock-me-up-in-a-rubber-room nutso. It was too much. This wasn't how life was supposed to be.

One of us would snap. One of us would lost it. It could happen, even to strong people.

-Animorphs #5, The Predator page 52 — K.A. Applegate

Loneliness is not the perception of leading an isolated life, but it is an inability to get any caring eyes, especially when you want someone to care for you. It is also sense of being lost, even empty you from inside. When you burst into crying, you realise that the whole world is sleeping peacefully with both eyes and ears closed. — Bibhu Datta Rout

Jethro closed his eyes, a small grin curving his mouth, and whispered like it was a secret, "Thank you for being lost."
I smiled and whispered in return, "Thank you for finding me. — Penny Reid

So I say this. Speak of them. Speak of those that died. Speak of all those who ever died
in all the world's history, in its wars, and long-lost days. Speak of those who met their deaths in Glencoe, in snow
not of their deaths, but of their lives before them. Not of how they died, but of how they bent to pat a dog's head, or what ballads they could sing, or what their skin was like by their eyes when they smiled, or which weather was their weather
for it keeps them living. It stops them being dead.
To do this
to speak or write of them
puts breath back in their mouths. It lifts them up from their earthy beds ... brings them forth, and they stand by the side of the one who speaks of them; they walk out of the pages of those who write them down. From the realm, they smile upon us. All the dead people
only, they are not dead. — Susan Fletcher

In being realistic we do not always have to be pessimistic. Christ never blinked his eyes at bad things. But he never became so obsessed with human evil that he lost faith in man. — Ralph Washington Sockman

If one's sense of self is obtained through the eyes of another it is always subject to being lost. — Brenda Shoshanna

Most people are born the day they arrive in this world. They take their first breath, open their eyes, take in their surroundings and then they scream. It's the same for most. The moment they are held in their parent's arms is the moment they truly begin to live. Not me. I was born on the 4th February, 1999 in so many different ways. In the morning, I went from being a girl to a woman. I lost my innocence in a way not many others have lost theirs before. Then I went home and lost my youth. My parents have turned their backs on me and I have happily walked away, and even though that walk was painful, it was also freeing. My wings have spread and finally, I feel like I am soaring. — Victoria L. James

I missed you." A humorless laugh closed his eyes. When he opened them, the redness had turned them deep mossy green.
"Sorry." Trip's own eyes welled up.
"Not like, gosh-I-wonder-what-Trip-is-doing missed you. I meant I actually started to feel like I'd survived some horrible amputation and part of me had been hacked off and lost in a haunted warzone being gnawed by the walking dead. I missed you because you were missing. I actually spent weeks trying to imagine what you were doing at any given Moment ... obsessing, really." He didn't wipe his wet cheeks. "Trip must be seeing the new Superman this weekend. I wonder if Trip's asleep. I wish I could swallow Trip's load right this second. Trip needs to stop and eat now, something not dyed or in plastic. I even went to watch the Big Dog office doors a couple of times, like the Little Match Queer, when I knew you had pages due, just to make sure, you were okay, but then you ... I dunno: vanished. — Damon Suede

If businesses are to redeem themselves in the eyes of the public and regain the trust that they have lost, they should worry a lot more about what they stand for and entrust those with expertise in communication a much freer rein to express this in ways that people might recognise as being sincere and sympathetic, rather than stilted and formulaic. — Nick Baker

The next day I was driven down to New York City to take the physical. It was one of the strangest things I'd ever seen. Several hundred young men, maybe even a thousand, in their skivvies, walking around an enormous room, all of us lost, dazed, and confused.
Some of these guys had dodged the draft and were there under the watchful eyes of dozens of federal marshals lined up against one of the walls. After eight hours of being poked, prodded, stuck, and poked again, I was given a large red envelope. I had been rejected. I had the respiratory problems of an old man, high blood pressure, partial loss of hearing, very bad teeth, very flat, very wide feet and I tested positive for tuberculosis.
"Frankly," the doctor said, "I don't know how the hell you're even standing up," and that was when the sergeant told me that if they bottled everything that was wrong with me "we could take over the world without a shot. — John William Tuohy

Now, she felt that she was being singled out for something for which she was not in any way prepared, and this, despite the fear it carried with it, gave her a feeling, or more a set of feelings, she thought she might experience in the days before her wedding, days in which everyone looked at her in the rush of arrangements with light in their eyes, days in which she herself was fizzy with excitement but careful not to think too precisely about what the next few weeks would be like in case she lost her nerve. — Colm Toibin

I know you want to think Dad's fine with me being gay, but he's not."
"But if you don't tell me when people say things like that to you, or do things that hurt you, then how can I help you?" Simon could feel Isabelle's agitation vibrating through her body. "How can I-"
"Iz," Alec said tiredly. "It's not like it's one big bad things. It's a lot of little invisible things. When Magnus and I were traveling, and I'd call from the road, Dad never asked how he was. When I get up to talk in Clave meetings, no one listens, and I don't know if it's because I'm young or if it's something else. I saw Mom talking to a friend about her grandchildren and the second I walked into the room they shut up. Irina Cartwright told me it was a pity no one would ever inherit my blue eyes now ... It's not like a stab wound you can protect me from. It's a million little paper cuts every day."
( City of Lost Souls- Cassandra Clare) — Cassandra Clare

Number Two's eyes narrowed and became what are known in the Shouting and Killing People trade as cold slits, the idea presumably being to give your opponent the impression that you have lost your glasses or are having difficulty keeping awake. Why this is frightening is an, as yet, unsolved problem. — Douglas Adams

James was sixteen, Cam seventeen, perhaps. She had looked round for someone who was not there, for Mrs. Ramsay, presumably. But there was only kind Mrs. Beckwith turning over her sketches under the lamp. Then, being tired, her mind still rising and falling with the sea, the taste and smell that places have after long absence possessing her, the candles wavering in her eyes, she had lost herself and gone under. It was a wonderful night, starlit; the waves sounded as they went upstairs; the moon surprised them, enormous, pale, as they passed the staircase window. She had slept at once. — Virginia Woolf

God the horror of watching yourself from the outside as everything you know about yourself gets stripped away and demolished. Not just the loss of power over your body, but power over your mind. Rape in the deepest, most hellish sense of the word. But wait, there's a spark. Inside that hollowed out woman there's a place they can't touch. There's more to me than I thought there was. Something that no one and nothing can take away from me. They can't break me. I won't cease. I'm strong, and I am never going to go away until I've gotten what I came for. I might have been lost for awhile but I was never gone. WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? With an explosive inhalation I snap upright in bed, and my eyes fly open like coming alive after being dead and interred in a coffin. I AM Mac and I am BACK! — Karen Marie Moning

No love is lost even though the lover turns away from us or life. Within us are the people we have loved, not as they were but as we wanted them to be. As our fresh grief softens to sorrow, we suddenly discover the lover's eyes in our mirror the lover's words on our lips, even the beloved's jokes have become ours. What reality has taken, we have taken for our own. Nothing is ever lost. Layers of our being contain all that has lived for us or that we imagined. We exude the strength of our losses and our gains glow even in the dark. — Ruth H. Jacobs

I'd never seen a grown man cry like that before, so unself-consciously, so unashamedly. I didn't know if he was crying for what he'd lost, or for what he'd never had, but there was a beauty in his tears that moved me more than I could ever explain with words - a beauty in the honesty of his sadness, in the grace of it's purity. It was holy water raining down from the clouds in his eyes, falling to the sand then being carried back to the source from which it came - his blessed sea. — Tiffanie DeBartolo

God, send me an angel from the heavens above. Send me an angel to heal my broken heart from being in love, 'cause all I do is cry. God, send me an angel to wipe the tears from my eyes. — Amanda Perez

I get lost in your eyes; lost in your smile; lost in the feeling; just being with you! from Ashlee to her man... — Ashlee North

Jacques." She hesitated, wanting to touch him, needing to touch him, but afraid of being lost in the sexual lure she couldn't seem to resist. "How do I know if I'm the one thinking for myself when you're always with me, always sharing my mind?"
"You will have to figure that out for yourself, Shea." His black eyes moved lovingly over her face. "You know me better than anyone, and I have never tried to hide anything from you. If you brand me a monster, even I will believe you." His smile was gentle and reassuring. — Christine Feehan

He licked his lips, still looking earnest. "Sara. We had such a special connection. It was real and it was fantastic. Maybe that's why I've spent so many years yearning for it too. We both knew what it was like, and we lost it. Even though you may not remember yet, it's somewhere in here." He reached over and touched my head. "And in there." He pointed a finger toward my heart.
I was speechless. I stared at Jack, knowing in my heart that he was being honest and truthful. And I was overwhelmed that he understood me so well.
Turning to face me, his eyes burned with intensity. He took my hands in his and said, "I love you Sara Jordan Hamilton, and I'm willing to give you all the desires of your heart, if only you'll let me. Nothing can take away my love for you. Not time, not distance, not even another husband. — Sharon Ricklin Jones

All I had to see was his face. Unaware of an audience, lost in the repeated rhythm of the piano riff, lit by the evening, it was like all of Cole's armor had fallen off. This was not the aggressively handsome, cocky guy that I had met a few days ago. This was just a boy getting to know a tune. He looked young and uncertain and endearing, and I felt betrayed that he was somehow getting himself together when I couldn't.
Somehow, he was yet again being honest, sharing another secret, when I didn't have anything I was willing to give in return. For once, I saw something in his eyes. I saw that he was feeling again, and that whatever he was feeling was hurting him.
I wasn't ready to hurt. — Maggie Stiefvater

The same thing happened to me that, according to legend, happened to Parmeniscus, who in the Trophonean cave lost the ability to laugh but acquired it again on the island of Delos upon seeing a shapeless block that was said to be the image of the goddess Leto. When I was very young, I forgot in the Trophonean cave how to laugh; when I became an adult, when I opened my eyes and saw actuality, then I started to laugh and have never stopped laughing since that time. I saw that the meaning of life was to make a living, its goal to be- come a councilor, that the rich delight oflove was to acquire a well-to-do girl, that the blessedness of friendship was to help each other in financial difficulties, that wisdom was whatever the majority assumed it to be, that enthusiasm was to give a speech, that courage was to risk being fined ten dollars, that cordiality was to say "May it do you good" after a meal, that piety was to go to communion once a year. This I saw, and I laughed. — Soren Kierkegaard

We stopped. Aly looked back the way we'd come. "Cass? Where are we headed?" Cass glanced around. "Actually . . . I'm not sure. I lost the map in the river." "Don't play games," Aly snapped. "You don't need it. You know the route." "I did," Cass said. "But . . . it's not there, Aly. In my brain. I can't call it up." "What do you mean, not there?" Aly said. "If you're being insecure again, like you were in Babylon, now's the time to stop." Cass's eyes were hollow and scared. "I don't feel insecure. This is so strange . . ." I looked at him closely. "Cass, can you say 'River Nostalgikos' backward?" "Nostalgikos . . . River?" Cass said. "Oh, dear," Professor Bhegad muttered. "Cass, you had the ability to say anything backward, letter for letter," Aly said. "You called it Backwardish." Cass swallowed hard. "Dishwardback?" "The river . . ." Professor Bhegad said. "It took the ability from him." "Skilaki warned us," Aly said softly. "She said the river required a sacrifice . . . — Peter Lerangis

You and I, being grown-up and having lost our hearts at least twice or thrice along the way, might shut our eyes and cry out: Not that way, child! But
as we have said, September was Somewhat Heartless, and felt herself reasonably safe on that road. Children always do. — Catherynne M Valente

Even now, talking about those days, tears well up in my eyes, my indefatigable heart pounds rebelliously and still suffers, and my former, stormy passion bursts into my soul with these remembrances! Tedious, profound, burning recollections oppress me. I don't love him any longer: love for my first friend died and grew cold long since, but even now, when I start talking about him, it's as if I begin to love him all over again! The human heart feels deeply - its innermost depths are immeasurable, dark, and strange; and that which is lost in it often comes to the surface unexpectedly and fills the whole being with long-lost, lifeless feeling. — Evgeniya Tur

Nothing's changed my life more. I feel better about myself as a person, being conscious and responsible for my actions and I lost weight and my skin cleared up and I got bright eyes and I just became stronger and healthier and happier. Can't think of anything better in the world to be but be vegan. — Alicia Silverstone

She watched him recede into the past as he stood ... each successive moment of him passing before her eyes and being lost forever. — Salman Rushdie

During the last ten years of his life my father gradually lost the power of speech. At first he simply had trouble calling up certain words or would say similar words instead and then immediately laugh at himself. In the end he had only a handful of words left, and all his attempts at saying anything more substantial resulted in one of the last sentences he could articulate: 'That's strange.'
Whenever he said 'That's strange,' his eyes would express an infinite astonishment at knowing everything and being able to say nothing. Things lost their names and merged into a single, undifferentiated reality. I was the only one who by talking to him could temporarily transform that nameless infinity into the world of clearly named entities. — Milan Kundera

Syn was so lost in the feelings it hadn't registered that Furi was nudging at his hole with something other than his tongue. It was blunt, slick, and cold. Syn stared down the bed, marveling at the look of complete confidence on Furi's face. When the object breached the first ring of muscle, opening him up, Syn let out a startled grunt. It wasn't a sound of pain, but of blissful relief. "Fuck, Furious." Syn had something inside him, this was it. Although it wasn't Furi's long cock, it still gave him the heady feeling of being taken. Furi looked up at him, watching him through strikingly dark hooded eyes as he slowly pushed the slick object in further. Syn was hyperaware of it curving inside of him, sliding against his walls. Fuck. Feels so fucking good. Damnit. If he'd only known. Syn was already addicted to the feeling and he wasn't even sure if this constituted sex. They were still in foreplay mode, they hadn't even gotten to penetration with Furi's cock yet. There — A.E. Via