Gaze And Attention Quotes & Sayings

Great beauty and youth capture our attention, excite a deep pleasure; however, why shouldn't our souls gaze at a countenance over which the years have passed? Isn't there a story there, one unknown, full of pain or beauty, which pours its reflection into the features, a story we can read with some compassion or at least get a slight hint of its meaning? The young point toward the future; the old tell of a past. — Adalbert Stifter

He imagined that the great dark abyss of space was alive and that he might attract its attention if he stared too long into it - that it might twist and stir and fix its pitiless gaze upon him. — Tom Melly

What do you mean? Is she in a coma?"
"Not anymore." She braced herself for his reaction.
"But she's a cyborg."
His eyes widened, but then his attention was darting around the room as though he couldn't look at Cinder while he adjusted to that information. "I see," he said slowly, before meeting her gaze again.
"But ... is she all right?"
The question caught her by surprise and she couldn't help a startled laugh. "Oh, yeah, she's great. I mean, half the people in the world want to kill her and the other half want to chain her to a throne on the moon, which is just what she's always wanted. So she's fantastic. — Marissa Meyer

He foll0wed her as she crossed to the four-station apparatus. His attention was glued to her butt the whole way. realizing what he was doing, he snapped his gaze away and checked to make sure no one had noticed.
Nope. They were all too busy staring at Jamie's butt. — Sarah Mayberry

The authors of the four passages share a number of practices: an insistence on fresh wording and concrete imagery over familiar verbiage and abstract summary; an attention to the readers' vantage point and the target of their gaze; the judicious placement of an uncommon word or idiom against a backdrop of simple nouns and verbs; the use of parallel syntax; the occasional planned surprise; the presentation of a telling detail that obviates an explicit pronouncement; the use of meter and sound that resonate with the meaning and mood.
The authors also share an attitude: they do not hide the passion and relish that drive them to tell us about their subjects. They write as if they have something important to say. But no, that doesn't capture it. They write as if they have something important to show. And that, we shall see, is a key ingredient in the sense of style. — Steven Pinker

Female competition is when you are with a guy you like and you look around, see that you're the prettiest girl in the vicinity and feel a huge sense of relief that there's no one to take the attention away from you. (Female competition is a result of women feeling like their greatest sense of self worth , identity and influence comes from their sexual appeal to men. Many women don't even realise they are feeling this way and it's a subconscious thing, but they notice themselves getting jealous when they see other women who they think men would find sexually appealing.) — Miya Yamanouchi

The attention at the beginning of these petitions is on the exaltation of God and His concerns. In the initial phrases of the Lord's Prayer, Jesus fixes our gaze not on ourselves but on God.
People — R.C. Sproul

She reached for the milk and honey soap, then poured it into the puff, but when she started washing him with it, he chuckled.
"Uh, sweetheart?"
"Hmm?" Candice mumbled as she stared at some interesting spot on his arm.
"Real men don't use puffs," he said, amused and turned on by having Candice's undivided attention.
She finally managed to drag her gaze away from his forearm and stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "You can't be serious?" When he only shrugged, she rolled her eyes. "What does it matter what I use, so long as you're clean?"
"It matters, believe me." Blade knew he sounded absurd but he couldn't help it. It was bad enough he'd let her put bandages on a few measly cuts; if word got out he'd let her use a peach-colored puff and milk-and-honey bath soap he'd never hear the end of it.
A man had to put his foot down somewhere. — Anne Rainey

Dan suddenly tugged at my hand. "C'mon, Bekah. Daddy and Uncle Lloyd are takin' us fishing. Right, Daddy?" "Uncle Lloyd?" I looked at Frank. He shrugged. "Your father suggested it." "You comin' with us, Bekah?" Dan pressed his hands together, as if in prayer. "Please?" "Please, Rebekah?" Frank seemed as anxious as his son for my answer. Elation coursed through me, almost raising my feet from the ground. I opened my mouth to say yes. "Rebekah?" Mama's voice pulled my attention toward the house. "Rebekah Grace, where have you gotten to?" When my gaze returned to Frank, his sunny expression had darkened to a thundercloud. My hands turned to ice, in spite of unhindered sun. "I'm sorry," I whispered. I ran toward the house, toward Mama, all the while hating myself for wishing she'd never come. — Anne Mateer

Everytime he looked at her she felt brighter inside, and she yearned to keep his attention, to hold his gaze. — Jessica Khoury

Millie," he called.
I kept my gaze to the yard and replied with a, "Hmmm?"
"Safe with me."
My attention cut back to him.
"Never won't be, babe," he went on softly. "Not ever. Hear? — Kristen Ashley

Snuggle up with a hot fireman! Meet Tanner West.
Sharon looked up into the most gorgeous face she had ever seen. Eyes like dark chocolate, deep and warm, stared out at her from a face that looked like it could have been chiseled in stone. Skin the color of burnished copper, high cheekbones, a sharp nose, full lips, and a cleft chin. How the hell had she failed to notice him before? Her heart skipped a beat and she ran her gaze down the rest of his body. He was tall, well over six feet, she would guess, with broad shoulders that tapered into a trim waist. His thighs, encased in worn denim, fit like a second skin against legs the size of tree trunks, and oh my, what lay between those thighs ... Her attention snapped back to his face and she could feel the heat of a blush suffuse her skin. — Tamara Hoffa

You have not slept for many days together, Legna. Why do you assume you might have success today?
Legna turned around sharply, driving her gaze and attention out the window, trying to use the sprawling lawn as a slate with which to fill her mind. Mind Demon he was not, but she knew he was capable of seeing far enough into her emotional state by just monitoring her physiological reactions to his observations. Legna bit her lip hard, furious that she should feel like the child he always referred to her as in their conversations. Young one, indeed. How would he like it if she referred to him as a decrepit old buzzard? — Jacquelyn Frank

Pandora grinned. "I rarely walk in a straight line," she confessed. "I'm too distractible to keep to one direction - I keep veering this way and that, to make certain I'm not missing something. So whenever I set out for a new place, I always end up back where I started." Lord St. Vincent turned to face her fully, the beautiful cool blue of his eyes intent and searching. "Where do you want to go?" The question caused Pandora to blink in surprise. She'd just been making a few silly comments, the kind no one ever paid attention to. "It doesn't matter," she said prosaically. "Since I walk in circles, I'll never reach my destination." His gaze lingered on her face. "You could make the circles bigger." The remark was perceptive and playful at the same time, as if he somehow understood how her mind worked. — Lisa Kleypas

Child, I am telling you that you don't have to do anything to be special." She leaned forward a little more and patted my arm to call my attention. When I turned to look, her eyes met mine with a gaze of pure love. "You are already special," she went on. "You don't have to get an education to be special, but you can if you want to. You don't have to cure cancer to be special, but if you do the world would be grateful. God don't make nobody who ain't special. It means we are all equal in his love. There ain't no way around it. If you believe that love is real, then we are all equal in it. — Karlyle Tomms

The acceptance of woman as object of the desiring male gaze in the visual arts is so universal that for a woman to question or draw attention to this fact is to invite derision, to reveal herself as one who does not understand the sophisticated strategies of high culture and takes art "too literally," and is therefore unable to respond to aesthetic discourses. This is of course maintained within a world - a cultural and academic world - which is dominated by male power and, often unconscious, patriarchal attitudes. In Utopia - that is to say, in a world in which the power structure was such that both men and women equally could be represented clothed or unclothed in a variety of poses and positions without any subconscious implications of dominance or submission - in a world of total and, so to speak, unconscious equality, the female nude would not be problematic. In our world, it is. — Linda Nochlin

Father Fogden blinked, brought back to attention. He made an unsuccessful attempt to stifle another belch, and transferred his bright blue gaze to Fergus. "You have a name, too? And a cock?" "Yes," said Fergus, wisely choosing not to be more specific. — Diana Gabaldon

Morpheus stops in his tracks. I have his full attention. "So, you manipulated us both with one vow." His long black lashes tremble, and admiration shimmers behind his wounded gaze - the same look I've received throughout my life each time I please him. Although the dark, angry crimson of his blinking jewels belies any true pleasure. "Bitterest irony. It would appear I trained you too well - " — A.G. Howard

Well, I am almost finished. Perhaps if you find something upon which to focus your attention, the pain will remain at bay a while longer." As she leaned forward, Rafe could see the tantalizing display of her breasts above the fabric of her apron. "I think I've found just the thing." Anthony chuckled beside them, but Cassandra was too occupied with her surgery to notice Rafe's gaze. He wanted her to notice. He wanted her to see him as more than the subject of her experiments. He wanted her to see him as a man. He wanted to see if her beautiful breasts felt and tasted as delicious as they looked. He stared, transfixed, until she finished. — Brooklyn Ann

If we imagine an observer to approach our planet from outer space, and, pushing aside the belts of red-brown clouds which obscure our atmosphere, to gaze for a whole day on the surface of the earth as it rotates beneath him, the feature, beyond all others most likely to arrest his attention would be the wedge-like outlines of the continents as they narrow away to the South. — Eduard Suess

She gulped her whiskey sour. The bar was hot tonight.
CJ circled back to check on them. "You ladies doing okay?"
"Define okay." Natalie's whiskey seemed to be talking. Because the whiskey was the only thing that could've put that husky, suggestive tone in her voice. Yep, that was all the whiskey.
He propped his elbows on the bar, which put his face level with hers, and fixed his undivided attention on her. There went her lady bits fanning themselves. With a few added whimpers. They remembered what his hands and body and lips felt like too.
"Content." His voice was low and raw, his gaze penetrating and unwavering. "Happy. Completely, one hundred percent satisfied."
Her mouth went dry while the rest of her went up in needy flames that made her want to scratch the all-but-gone rash he'd tended so well on Monday.
"Nope," Natalie squeaked. "Not okay then. — Jamie Farrell

I feel the boy's gaze on me, and I turn to him. He is still lying on the sand, propped on one arm, staring at me like a fisherman who has unexpectedly caught a shark in his nets.
I return his gaze with equal candor, adding him up. His stubbled jaw is strong and just slightly crooked, his copper eyes large and expressive, his lips full. A small, cheap earring hangs from his left earlobe. A handsome boy growing into a man's body, already powerfully built. Were he a prince or a renowned warrior, he would have entire harems vying for his attention. As it is, his rough beauty is hidden in his poorly cut clothing. — Jessica Khoury

He couldn't tell if she was checking him out with sexual interest or sizing him up. Did she know who he was? Truly was...
Or maybe she just wanted to get to know him. Hell if he knew. It'd been too long since he'd paid attention to a woman and he hated that he couldn't tell if that was feminine interest in her gaze.
And now, after two years, his cock decided to wake up.
Fuck. — Katie Reus

The creative process is a love story that never ends. The ideas are like suitors competing for your attention. You may have relationships, with multiple ideas, at once. You may devote yourself completely to one idea, for a awhile, but the affairs will never end. There will always be more ideas to romance and more concepts to develop. And all for that wonderful moment when you get to gaze at the complete creation and hold perfection in your arms, for one blissful moment ... before your inner-critic starts tearing it to shreds. — Jaeda DeWalt

No, my dog used to gaze at me, paying me the attention I need, the attention required to make a vain person like me understand that, being a dog, he was wasting time, but, with those eyes so much purer than mine, he'd keep on gazing at me with a look that reserved for me alone all his sweet and shaggy life, always near me, never troubling me, and asking nothing. — Pablo Neruda

the One whom we most need to behold has made himself known. He has traced with a fine hand the lines and contours of his face. He has done so in his Word. We must search for that face, though babies continue to cry, bills continue to grow, bad news continues to arrive unannounced, though friendships wax and wane, though both ease and difficulty weaken our grip on godliness, though a thousand other faces crowd close for our affection, and a thousand other voices clamor for our attention. By fixing our gaze on that face, we trade mere human glory for holiness: — Jen Wilkin

You know I find surprises vulgar," Lady Kent said, waving her hand dismissively and shifting her gaze to me. "You are acquainted with Miss Madeline Verinder, I presume?"

"Good evening, Miss Verinder," I said, exchanging curtsies with the sweetest, gentlest, most accomplished, and most amiable girl in all of London. At least that is what I had continually repeated to myself the past season, so I wouldn't slap her by sheer reflex whenever she entered my conversations with Mr. Kent and turned them into competitions for his attention. — Tarun Shanker

There were plenty of white males on campus with Bess, but they had never paid her any attention, and she had returned the favor. She'd never got a chance to marvel at how beautiful their creamy complexion was or how easy it could be to get lost in a bright green gaze. What the heck? This guy could have very well killed two people, set them on fire, and come to hurt her, and she was standing there in front of him coming to some silly realization that maybe she had missed out on a certain population of guys based on the color of their skin. — Inger Iversen

Despite Bria's icy attitude, Finn didn't give up. He focused all of his attention on her, as if he were a general and she was just another battle to be won no matter what casualties he might suffer along the way - including the complete and utter loss of his self-respect, pride, and dignity. Bria coolly rebuffed all of his advances, but she wasn't completely immune to his charms. Interest sparked in her gaze whenever she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Bria enjoyed being chased just as much as Finn liked running after her. — Jennifer Estep

I should like to slip out of the public gaze...to bury myself in the farm and devote my attention to farming and educating." Mahatma Gandhi — Joseph Lelyveld

His gaze slid toward the back of the sanctuary and collided with Joanna, standing silently in the doorway. You ... Crockett's voice tapered off.
For a moment, all he could do was stare. Her rapt attention, the tiny smile that brought into relief the freckles dusting her cheekbones, the way the light passed through the doorway behind her to see her hair ablaze beneath the prim straw bonnet she wore. Yet it was her inner light that captured him the most. The serenity of her features. The glow in her blue eyes. This was a woman of authentic spirituality. No wonder the Master Weaver had chosen her to be the central thread to anchor his new tapestry. — Karen Witemeyer

PLAY ME.
My gaze flicked to the hand. The fist was curled around a small tape recorder. I moved the fingers - still warm - and pressed play. A male voice started to speak.
"Do I have your attention?" the voice asked.
I knew that voice. But I couldn't believe I was hearing it.
"Noah's alive," Jude said. — Michelle Hodkin

The assassin nodded. His eyes glinted in amusement, holding her gaze for a moment too long. And perhaps she saw his expression soften...but she didn't want to read too much into it. She gave him a little wave and turned to leave, her heart pounding strangely in her chest. She remembered the brush of his strong calloused hands, his long nimble fingers, and his arms trapping her against the railing, She thought of his full attention upon her, observing each small movement, every flaw and breath.

Tomorrow they would train again. Her stomach tightened at the thought. She hoped he didn't notice her response to his touch-but deep down inside, she knew he saw everything. — T.L. Shreffler

From what I've found a lot of people on Facebook are desperate for recognition and social interaction. They want me to find them, to gaze into their lives and notice them. PAY ATTENTION. — Peter Jelen

Tori chanced a glance out of the corner of her eye to the man at her side. His attention appeared riveted to the road in front of them. Good. He probably didn't even notice. His head suddenly swiveled her way as if he sensed her gaze. He winked at her. Winked! "I gotta say your stamina is impressive." His voice held a warm, teasing lilt. "I didn't think you'd make it past Mrs. Cooper's chicken farm with that iron-poker spine, and here you lasted three times as long." Tori stiffened, then realized the irony of the action and settled for pursing her lips instead. "I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about." Mr. Porter chuckled. "And here I'd always thought you the honest type." Tori — Karen Witemeyer

Unable to meet his steady gaze, I shifted my attention to the stream and cursed myself for being a terrible liar. Actually, allow me to clarify that: I'm great at lying to myself. I'm super crummy at lying to others. — Penny Reid

Oh, crap.
The last person she wanted to run into this morning when she had to be super-professional was Hot Pool Guy. Before she had a chance to hide behind a plant or something, his gaze connected with hers and held her hostage.
He flashed a smile and headed her way. Shit. She got to her feet thinking she'd say a quick hello before telling him she was meeting someone and excuse herself. Look away from those amazing dark eyes before you get yourself in trouble. She forced her attention down.
And found a logo on the breast pocket of his white polo shirt.
Word.
Heritage.
Fund.
Kill her now. — Robin Bielman

Morpheus snatches both of my necklaces from my fingers, holding the delicate links taut enough that I can't struggle without breaking them. "Were he to pay more attention to you instead of his precious career" - he drapes the charms over a palm and, using his gloved forefinger and thumb, positions the tiny key in place atop the heart's keyhole - "perhaps then he would be attuned to your needs and desires." Holding my gaze, he makes a show of how the key's teeth aren't the right shape for the heart's opening. "As it stands, he's just not the right fit. — A.G. Howard

Innocence isn't something you should discard like an old shoe. It has a physical value - a passionate value - all its own." His frown deepening, he kept his gaze fixed on his leader's ears. "Innocence shouldn't be tarnished, it shouldn't be crushed. It should be made to bloom. I know." Those last two words were as much realization as assurance. "Getting innocence to bloom takes time, takes care and attention and expertise." His voice deepened. "It takes passion and desire, commitment and devotion to coax innocence from bud to bloom, to encourage it to unfurl into full flower without a single petal bruised. — Stephanie Laurens

Police protection?"
"If necessary."
"I'm touched.Why don't I give you a lift, handsome?"
"I'll follow you over," he repeated.
"Suit yourself," she began, and grazed a hand over his cheek.Her eyes widened slightly as his fingers clamped on her wrist. "Don't like to be petted?" She purred the words,surprised at how her heart had jumped and started to race. "Most animals do."
His face was very close to hers, their bodies were just touching,with the heat from the room and something even more sweltering between them.Something old, and almost familiar.
He drew her hand down slowly, kept his fingers on her wrist.
"Be careful what buttons you push."
Excitement,she realized with surprise. It was pure, primal excitement that zipped through her. "Wasted advice," she said silkily, daring him. "I enjoy pushing new ones.And apparently you have a few interesting buttons just begging for attention." She skimmed her gaze deliberately down to his mouth. "Just begging. — Nora Roberts

I have used the word "attention," which I borrow from Simone Weil, to express the idea of a just and loving gaze directed upon individual reality. I believe this to be the characteristic and proper mark of the active moral agent. — Iris Murdoch

Forgive our gawking," said a man with a vicious scar running down his face. "Galen is usually eating so much he has no time for speech."
Laughter filled the hall, and Reaghan glanced over to find Galen shaking his head as he smiled.
"Eating?" she asked.
"Doona pay Malcolm a bit of attention," Galen said, his gaze indifferent and his voice heavy with nonchalance. "He lies. — Donna Grant