Eyes On Target Quotes & Sayings

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, trying to imagine another world again. A world where we're happy, where we're together, where we're away from all of this.
A world without a target on our backs.
A world where Naz comes home.
A world where we can live in peace.
A world that's just ours. — J.M. Darhower

The reviewers tear me apart. I bleed. I'm a favorite target. They go along for six months looking at movies, praying for rain, and then a new Sandra Dee movie comes out, and their eyes open, and they lick their lips. Before they've ever seen it. — Sandra Dee

A voice: "My goodness, Nurse Jones." I look up, startled. Simon's in the doorway, leaning against the frame, smiling.
No doubt I'm quite the sight in my bloody, sexy nurse's outfit, sitting on a bed next to a tied-up, taped-up target. "Oh, please." I collect my purse, my phone and my stun gun and walk around the bed.
Simon's smile reaches deep into his dark blue eyes. He has a long face and delicate features for a man.
I grab the sleeve of his black jacket and pull him into the outer room.
"What the fuck are you wearing? You look insane," he says.
"This? This is the creepy outfit the Alchemist put me in after he kidnapped me."
Simon stops smiling. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. — Carolyn Crane

You're seeing yourself as having missed the target already. That's your fear. That's hurting you. But then you got yourself seeing all your shots being bulls eyes. That's your confidence. It's making you cocky. It's making you think you're infallible. See? That's hurting you too. Don't think of yourself as already defeated. Don't think of yourself as already won. Just concentrate on what you're doing. Think about now. — Ben Willoughby

God ... Please keep my eyes focused on the only target worth hitting - Christlikeness! — Johnny Hunt

Lillian laughs and rolls her eyes. Do I look like I know the answer to that? I always just locked on to the target and then followed it all the way down. — Brenna Yovanoff

Long legs and longer arms, each tipped with a row of black talons. Sinewy. Wiry. And above all, humanoid, its skin in the sunlight as translucent as a baby mouse's - mapped with a network of blue veins and purple arteries and even its heart faintly visible as a pinkish throb just right of center mass. snarling as strings of bloody saliva dangled from the corners of its lipless mouth, creamy eyes hard-focused on its target. — Blake Crouch

Did you bring the charms?" Wulf asked Diesel.
Diesel took the charms from his pocket and held them in his palm so Wulf could see.
"They have an excellent selection of baby carriages at Target," I whispered to Diesel.
"Not now," Diesel said. "Get a grip."
"Was I bad? DO I need to get punished? Maybe I need a good paddling."
Wulf looked like he was thinking about rolling his eyes, and Diesel wrapped an arm around my shoulders and dragged me to him.
"We'll get to that later," Diesel said.
"I'd be happy to paddle the wench if you're too bust." Hatchet said.
Diesel cut his eyes to him, and Hatchet took a step back.
-Lizzy, Diesel, and Hatchet, page 304. — Janet Evanovich

In a way, it's odd that the greatest sympathy for evolutionism is found among scholars who study the distant past. For events of this century, and especially of the last few decades, suggest that the arrow of history identified by some social scientists of the nineteenth century is roughly on target. Lewis Morgan's essential point was right: the endless impetus of cultural evolution has pushed society through several thresholds over the past 20,000 years. And now it is pushing society through another one. A magnificent new social structure - our future home - is being built before our eyes. — Robert Wright

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

Here, let me help." Nick stepped behind her, reached around her body, and placed his hands over hers, steadying the rifle against her shoulder. At his touch, unusual tingling sensations coursed through her. "Look down the sights to the target," he murmured in her ear. His finger pressed over hers, guiding her movement. Her whole body warmed at his closeness. Too aware of him, she couldn't concentrate. She just closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger. The noise of the shot reverberated in her ears. The recoil of the gun sent her staggering back into Nick. His arms tightened around her. She lowered the rifle. "You missed," Nick's voice teased in her ear. Elizabeth's heart raced. She relaxed against his chest, loving the feel of his strong arms around her. — Debra Holland

They knew what gunfire meant better than anyone. Some were crying by the time they reached the exit and stepped outside into the afternoon air. The sun was already descending in the sky, leaving shadows crawling across the valley floor. Not daring to look behind her, Khalia's eyes fixed on her target, the emergency bunker. Across the expanse of lush green grass before her, the beckoning hillside seemed impossibly far away. A warning prickle began at her nape, as if someone had her in their sights and was taking aim at her. More shots erupted from the hills behind them. The lead group broke — Kaylea Cross

Before you take up that fight against history, do remember that she has a track record of beating 'champions' like you. Therefore, it's best to stick with the flow, and go with what works for everyone.
But . . .
In the event you do decide to go against the convention, all you need is to get your heart straight, and your eyes fixed on the target. You might just be the underdog that will surprise history. — Ufuoma Apoki

You know that 'no weapons at work' policy?" I asked the twitching and growing hairy monstrosity standing less than ten feet from me. His yellow eyes bored into me with raw animal hatred. There was nothing recognizably human in that look.

"I never did like that rule," I said as I bent down and drew my gun from my ankle holster, put the front sight on the target and rapidly fired all five shots from my snub-nosed .357 Smith and Wesson into Mr. Huffman's body. God bless Texas. — Larry Correia

I had to let all that happened to me sink in from this site before I completely started over again. I wondered if I was special. Did others have this gift, or was I alone? On this paranormal site, I was really hitting on target. When I hit dead on, people would wonder how I was doing it. I had no previous information to go on, and most of the people had no real picture of them along with a fake name. I was really happy with myself, and what I was doing seemed to open people's eyes. — Rick Waid

I threw the baseball I held after all. Not hard and it didn't even hit him but it almost did.
His eyes went wide with surprise.
"So you weren't really offering me a target?"
He gave a small laugh. "I didn't think you'd take me up on it. — Kasie West

It takes me five rounds to hit the middle of the target, and when I do, a rush of energy goes through me. I am awake, my eyes wide open, my hands warm. — Veronica Roth

One day, I was on the front lawn of the property and aimed the gun at a sparrow perched high in a tree. Hazel Goldreich, Arthur's wife, was watching me and jokingly remarked that I would never hit the target. But she had hardly finished the sentence when the sparrow fell to the ground. I turned to her and was about to boast, when the Goldreichs' son Paul, then about five years old, turned to me with tears in his eyes and said, "David, why did you kill that bird? Its mother will be sad." My mood immediately shifted from one of pride to shame; I felt that this small boy had far more humanity than I did. It was an odd sensation for a man who was the leader of a nascent guerrilla army. — Nelson Mandela

Some people appear to be happy, but they simply don't give the matter much thought. Others make plans: I'm going to have a husband, a home, two children, a house in the country. As long as they're busy doing that, they're like bulls looking for the bullfighter: they react instinctively, they blunder on, with no idea where the target is. They get their car, sometimes they even get a Ferrari, and they think that's the meaning of life, and they never question it. Yet their eyes betray the sadness that even they don't know they carry in their soul. Are you happy? — Paulo Coelho

Keep your eyes on the prize for you cant hit an unseen target but don't forget to pay the price — Bernard Kelvin Clive

This is your idea of mission uniform?" Cole asked, eyeing my burgundy leather ensemble.
I arched a brow at him as I shoved my cell phone inside of my back pant pocket. "What? Do you have a problem with it?"
"Well, last I checked, we were supposed to get in and take care of the mission without drawing any attention to ourselves."
"And we will," I assured him. "Just remember to keep your eyes on the target as opposed to on me, and we'll be fine. — Nicole Sobon

I quietly walk to my room, and keeping the door open, I pick up my cello settling it between my knees. The tips of my left hand press down on the fingerboard, while my right hand saws the bow across the strings. The notes hit the air and I shut my eyes, urging them to find their target. I want them to surround my mom and her dad, but I also want the notes to glue them together, reattach their bond. I know it can happen, and so when my calluses become useless, I keep playing. When my arm protests with fatigue, I keep playing. I keep playing because I believe. — Cassie Shine

There's a simple reason for this. The more shots you get at the target, the more likely you'll eventually score a bull's-eye, but the more misses you'll accrue as well. The bull's-eyes end up in museums and on library shelves, not the misses. Which, when you think about it, is a shame. It feeds the myth that geniuses get it right the first time, that they don't make mistakes, when, in fact, they make more mistakes than the rest of us. What — Eric Weiner

It is inescapable that Ringo was the catalyst for the others. He certainly completed the jigsaw and The Beatles, with Ringo, became a magnet for the great camera artists of the world, a target for the jaded, lately hostile eyes of people who had hardly known that popular music existed. — Brian Epstein