Quotes & Sayings About Looking Into A Woman's Eyes

They looked at Neagley. Dark hair, dark eyes, a tan. A good-looking woman. She smiled at them. Her forearms were on the table. Reacher noticed her nails. They were shiny with clear polish, and neatly filed. Even on the right, which she must have done left-handed. She wouldn't use a nail salon. She couldn't bear her hands to be touched. She looked at one guy, and then the other. The — Lee Child

Sophie got herself to the mirror, and found that she had to hobble. The face in the mirror was quite calm, because it was what she expected to see. It was the face of a gaunt old woman, withered and brownish, surrounded by wispy white hair. Her own eyes, yellow and watery, stared out at her, looking rather tragic.
"Don't worry, old thing," Sophie said to the face. "You look quite healthy. Besides, this is much more like you really are. — Diana Wynne Jones

Where are you? Touch me.
I slip my hand into his, and for a moment he just stands there, looking down at where I am, then he closes his eyes and laces strong fingers with mine. I hear exactly what he's not saying in them: You better bring your ass back to me, woman.
I reply with mine, Always.
He laughs softly then somehow finds my face and kisses me, light and fast, and I taste him on my lips, need him again, hard and fast and soon. — Karen Marie Moning

That woman - the me that had married Charlie - had tried and failed to find a gap in all of this that was so ordinary, to take some instrument to the gap and shape it, widen it until it got big enough to slip through. She'd wanted to make a beautiful thing, like the Flax Hill natives did. But not a lantern or a bookcase, a life. Not to have what it takes, and to be surrounded by witnesses too. The man you tried with. The children. A boy version of you, or a girl version of him, or both, looking at you with clear, pitiless eyes. — Helen Oyeyemi

You should look at women's eyes most of the time before you approach and whenever you talk to them. It is perfectly okay to look at their breasts for a moment if you wish, and many males instinctively focus on a woman's chest before looking at her face, but make sure to return to her eyes when you talk to her or when she is talking to you. The fact that you admire her entire body is nothing but flattering to her, as long as she does not get the idea that you are inexperienced and have never seen a woman's body up close before or if you talk to her chest instead of her face. — W. Anton

Pleasure eased the edges of Tiern-Cope's face, and with his mouth curved in a smile he resembled his brother more than ever. But the eyes gave him away. They were cold, a lifeless, icy blue. He grasped the woman's hips, and this woman who had Olivia's copper hair and even her features, cried out in a low, guttural moan of pleasure incapable of containment. "I am coming," he said. He opened his eyes again, looking at her, and she wanted to weep from the heartbreak.
His hips came up, and he gasped and said, "My heart. My love. I'm coming."
She slid away, down and away, and into the safety of Sebastian's embrace. His arms enfolded her, warm and tight. Hurry, she thought. — Carolyn Jewel

All three men looked at the woman in the doorway, but they all saw different things.
Alex saw a rather attractive young lady with a remarkable air of vitality in her silver eyes.
John saw the woman he'd come to like and admire tremendously this past week, looking rather fetching and grown-up in her new gown and coiffure.
Dunford saw an angel. — Julia Quinn

She was looking for something I could never give her." Again his dark eyes bored into Julia's mind. "You have something of the same about you, young woman. Take my advice: Don't think you will find it in another person. You won't. It's not there. You must find it in yourself. — Iain Pears

And then she began to think about Lady Glencora herself. What a strange, weird nature she was, - with her round blue eyes and wavy hair, looking sometimes like a child and sometimes almost like an old woman! And how she talked! What things she said, and what terrible forebodings she uttered of stranger things that she meant to say! — Anthony Trollope

For several moments he did not move from the doorway: he heard the girl's soft, thin voice rise above the murmur of the assembled guests she served. She raised her head, and suddenly he met her eyes; they were pale and large and seemed to shine with a light within themselves. In some confusion he backed from the doorway and turned into the sitting room; he found an empty chair in a space by the wall, and he sat there looking at the carpet beneath his feet. He did not look in the direction of the dining room, but every now and then he thought he felt the gaze of the young woman brush warmly across his face. — John Edward Williams

Gabe nodded a hello, a little shocked at the woman's appearance. She was a knockout. Dark auburn hair curling around her shoulders, pretty green eyes behind square black glasses. He looked back at Duncan but he was looking at the woman as well, and Gabe had been attached long enough to know that look. That was the 'I just want to look at you because you're so beautiful' look. He'd caught himself doing it with Julie more times than was probably acceptable. But he couldn't help himself. And judging by Duncan's look, he couldn't either. As — J.M. Madden

Tugging at his collar to loosen it, he pushed at the half-open door and entered the room.
Miss Hathaway stood near the doorway, waiting with tightly leashed impatience, while Merripen remained a dark presence in the corner. As Cam approached and looked into her upturned face, the panic dissolved in a curious rush of heat. Her blue eyes were smudged with faint lavender shadows, and her soft-looking lips were pressed into a tight seam. Her hair had been pulled back and pinned, dark and shining against her head.
That scraped-back hair, the modest restrictive clothing, advertised her as a woman of inhibitions. A proper spinster. But nothing could have concealed her radiant will. She was ... delicious. He wanted to unwrap her like a long-awaited gift. He wanted her vulnerable and naked beneath him, that soft mouth swollen from hard, deep kisses, her pale body flushed with desire. — Lisa Kleypas

The news networks and the local TV stations all led with the same footage. An obviously moved, very pretty young woman with blond hair and alert blue eyes looking up. Eyes widening. Stumbling a little as she pushed back her chair and went around the table.
Shaky cameras turning too fast, following her as she ran to a boy at the back of the room who pushed through the press of people to reach her.
The embrace.
The kiss that went on for a very long time. — Michael Grant

Their eyes met at the same instant moment, Therese glancing up from a box she was opening, and the woman just turning her head so she looked directly at Therese. She was tall and fair, her long figure graceful in the loose fur coat that she held open with a hand on her waist, her eyes were grey, colorless, yet dominant as light or fire, and, caught by them, Therese could not look away. She heard the customer in front of her repeat a question, and Therese stood there, mute. The woman was looking at Therese, too, with a preoccupied expression, as if half her mind were on whatever is was she meant to buy here, and though there were a number of salesgirls between them, There felt sure the woman would come to her, Then, Then Therese saw her walk slowly towards the counter, heard her heart stumble to catch up with the moment it had let pass, and felt her face grow hot as the woman came nearer and nearer. — Patricia Highsmith

Austin could do little more than stare at the woman. "It's a prairie dog," he reminded her.
Cautiously, she brushed her fingers over its head. "It's just a baby. Please help her."
Dee was looking at him with so much hope in her big brown eyes that he couldn't do what he knew needed to be done. He slipped his gun into his holster. Thank God, she was married to his brother and not to him. Dallas could break her heart. Austin wouldn't. — Lorraine Heath

Love sees ten million fathoms down, till dazzled by the floor of pearls. The eye is Love's own magic glass, where all things that are not of earth, glide in supernatural light. There are not so many fishes in the sea, as there are sweet images in lovers' eyes. In those miraculous translucencies swim the strange eye-fish with wings, that sometimes leap out, instinct with joy; moist fish-wings wet the lover's cheek. Love's eyes are holy things; therein the mysteries of life are lodged; looking in each other's eyes, lovers see the ultimate secret of the worlds; and with thrills eternally untranslatable, feel that Love is god of all. Man or woman who has never loved, nor once looked deep down into their own lover's eyes, they know not the sweetest and the loftiest religion of this earth. Love is both Creator's and Saviour's gospel to mankind; a volume bound in rose-leaves, clasped with violets, and by the beaks of humming-birds printed with peach-juice on the leaves of lilies. — Herman Melville

You are in my thoughts twenty four seven! I find myself looking for you when you're not around, glancing at every red-haired woman walking by in hopes that it's you. Your green eyes haunt me once I close my eyes, your voice replaying every little word you say to me when it's quiet. Seven you're all I think about and it scares the shit out of me. — T.A. Hardenbrook

For a moment there was an expression of greedy excitement in his eyes, like you see in the eyes of men when they are looking at woman who arouses their lust. — Karen Maitland

Look!You want to see? See! Feast your eyes, glut your soul on my cursed ugliness! Look at Erik's face! Now you know the face of the voice! You were not content to hear me, eh? You wanted to know what I looked like? Oh, you women are so inquisitive! Well, are you satisfied? I'm a good-looking fellow, eh? ... When a woman has seen me, as you have, she belongs to me.She loves me forever! I am a kind of Don Juan, you know! ... Look at me! I am Don Juan Triumphant!
-Erik in The Phantom of the Opera — Gaston Leroux

Close up she saw that Molina's eyes were beautiful and dark thik eye lashed the way Lisette's mother tried to make hers with a mascara brush. The skin beneath Molina's eyes were soft and bruised looking and on her throat were tiny dark moles. It did not seem right that a woman like Molina, who you could tell was a mother-her body was a mother's body for sure, wide hips-could be a cop;it did not seem right that this person was carrying a gun, in a holster attached to leather belt, and that she could use it, if she wanted to. — Joyce Carol Oates

My heart, still full of her,
traveled over her face, and found her there no more ...
I had thought to myself that a woman unknown
had adopted by chance that voice and those eyes
and I let the chilly statue pass
looking athe skies — Alfred De Musset

He shoved his hips against her, reminding her of what they had just done, and said, "I had never bedded a woman before you. I made that plain. Did you think I let you seduce me lightly? No, I did not. You made a deal with me the moment you gave me entry into your body."
"I made no such deal!" Her eyes were angry - and frightened - but he would not let her make him back down.
"Precious Isabel," he whispered. "You made a deal with your heart, your soul, and your body, and you sealed it with the wash of your climax on my c*ck."
She blinked, looking dazed. He'd never used such words before, especially not with her, but their bluntness was necessary. — Elizabeth Hoyt

How do I look?" Amanda asked.
Jack shook his head ruefully as he glanced at her. No one could mistake the remaining flush on her cheeks, or the soft sparkle of her eyes, or her lusciously swollen mouth, for anything other than the results of physical passion. "Like you've been ravished," he said flatly.
She astonished him by smiling. "Hurry, please. I want to go inside my house and consult a looking glass. I've always wanted to know what a ravished woman looks like. — Lisa Kleypas

Antonia came in and stood before me ... It was a shock, of course. It always is, to meet people after long years, especially if they have lived as much and as hard as this woman had. We stood looking at each other. The eyes that peered anxiously at me were - simply Antonia's eyes..As I confronted her, the changes grew less apparent to me, her identity stronger. She was there in the full vigour of her personality, battered, but not diminished ... — Willa Cather

Before I met your father I thought that love and peace would change the whole world, but looking into your eyes, I knew all I had to do was let you be whoever it was that you wanted to be, and to love you, and that would be the best and closest thing I could ever do to change the world for the better.
"You are going to be brilliant," I told you. "You are going to be clever, and funny. Brave and strong. You're going to be a feminist, and a peace campaigner and a dancer. And one day you are going to be a mother yourself. You are going to fall in love and have adventures and do things I can't even imagine. You, little Claire Armstrong, you are going to be the most wonderful woman, and you are going to have the most amazing life: a life that no one will ever forget. — Jojo Moyes

Sometimes in the evening I sit, looking out on the big Missouri. The sun sets, and dusk steals over the water. In the shadows I seem again to see our Indian village, with smoke curling upward from the earth lodges, and in the river's roar I hear the yells of warriors, and the laughter of little children as of old. It is but an old woman's dream. Then I see but shadows and hear only the roar of the river, and tears come into my eyes. Our Indian life, I know, is gone forever.(Hidatsa, 1839-1932) — Waheenee

When she stood up, the woman was looking at her with the calm gray eyes that Therese could neither quite face nor look away from. — Patricia Highsmith

Speaking of which," he murmured.
Hyacinth's mouth fell open as he dropped down to one
knee. "What are you doing?" she squeaked, frantically
looking this way and that. Lord St. Clair was surely peeking
out at them, and heaven only knew who else was, too.
"Someone will see," she whispered.
He seemed unconcerned. "People will say we're in
love."
"I - " Good heavens, but how did a woman argue
against that?
"Hyacinth Bridgerton," he said, taking her hand in his,
"will you marry me?"
She blinked in confusion. "I already said I would."
"Yes, but as you said, I did not ask you for the right reasons.
They were mostly the right reasons, but not all."
"I - I - " She was stumbling on the words, choking on
the emotion.
He was staring up at her, his eyes glowing clear and
blue in the dim light of the streetlamps. "I am asking you
to marry me because I love you," he said — Julia Quinn

Mary stood beside Wilbur, waiting as he sewed Henrietta's abdomen closed. She wanted to run out of the morgue and back to the lab, but instead, she stared at Henrietta's arms and legs - anything to avoid looking into her lifeless eyes. Then Mary's gaze fell on Henrietta's feet, and she gasped: Henrietta's toenails were covered in chipped bright red polish. "When I saw those toenails," Mary told me years later, "I nearly fainted. I thought, Oh jeez, she's a real person. I started imagining her sitting in her bathroom painting those toenails, and it hit me for the first time that those cells we'd been working with all this time and sending all over the world, they came from a live woman. I'd never thought of it that way." — Rebecca Skloot

They all turned to the dark-haired woman standing quietly to the side and slightly behind Aunt Charlotte. She was, in a word, gorgeous. Everything about her was perfection, from her shiny hair to her milky-white skin. Her face was heart-shaped, her lips full and pink, and her eyelashes were so long that Honoria thought they must
touch her brows if she opened her eyes too wide.
"Well," Honoria murmured to Iris, "at least no one will be looking at us. — Julia Quinn

Now she took a close look at me for the first time, puffing on her pipe while the old woman beside her sighed. I didnt feel I could look at Mother directly, but I had the impression of smoke seeping out of her face like steam from a crack in the earth. I was so curious about her that my eyes took on a life of their own and began to dart about. The more I saw of her, the more fascinated I became. Her kimono was yellow, with willowy branches bearing lovely green and orange leaves; it was made of silk gauze as delicate as a spiders web. Her obi was every bit as astonishing to me. It was a lovely gauzy texture too, but heavier-looking, in russet and brown with gold threads woven through. The more I looked at her clothing, the less I was aware of standing there in that dirt corridor, or of wondering what had become of my sister and my mother and father and what would become of me. — Arthur Golden

While these thoughts crossed his mind, Margaret clung to the doorpost to steady herself: but a film came over her eyes - he was only just in time to catch her. 'Mother - mother!' cried he; 'Come down - they are gone, and Miss Hale is hurt!' He bore her into the dining-room, and laid her on the sofa there; laid her down softly, and looking on her pure white face, the sense of what she was to him came upon him so keenly that he spoke it out in his pain:
'Oh, my Margaret - my Margaret! no one can tell what you are to me! Dead - cold as you lie there, you are the only woman I ever loved! Oh, Margaret - Margaret!' Inarticulately as he spoke, kneeling by her, and rather moaning than saying the words, he started up, ashamed of himself, as his mother came in. She saw nothing, but her son a little paler, a little sterner than usual. — Elizabeth Gaskell

You know, I could have carried you," I said softly. Denna pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. "Another seven words, I swoon." She fanned herself with her other hand. "What should a woman do?" "Love me." I had intended to say it in my best flippant tone. Teasing. Making a joke of it. But I made the mistake of looking into her eyes as I spoke. They distracted me, and when the words left my mouth, they ended up sounding nothing at all the way I had intended. — Patrick Rothfuss

She dug around in her bag, found what she was looking for, and brought the little stuffed dog back to bed with her. Childish, yeah. She didn't care. He was soft and cuddly-unlike Jones-and she had a need for soft and cuddly right now. She'd like to meet a woman who could breeze through a shotgun blast and not need something to hold on to. Even if it was just an old stuffed pup.( ... )She swallowed hard,then caught her breath when he opened his eyes, turned his head on the pillow toward her. He searched her face in the dark.
"Come here," he whispered.
When she hesitated, he reached for her. "The dog can come, too. — Cindy Gerard

My talent is looking into a woman's eyes and instinctively knowing what I need to. If she's lonely or bored; neglected or abused; timid or adventurous; satisfied or confused; looking to recapture the past or re-invent the present; making plans for tomorrow or merely concerned about tonight. I discover what a woman is looking for and promise it to her. If all she wants is a good time, she gets everything. If she wants more, I lie and take what she has to give. Then I move on.
— Roy L. Pickering Jr.

Reading these tales is like looking at a photograph of a child whom you only knew as an adult. In her eyes you can see the woman that you came to know much later - a face, not yet fully formed, that contains the promise of something that is now a part of you: the welcomed surprise of recognition in innocent eyes. — Octavia E. Butler

He closed his eyes. "Holy shit, Mollie, if I wanted to talk in circles with a woman, I'd have stayed married."

When he opened his eyes, she was chewing her lip, looking adorably confused, although about what, he had no idea. He did not get women. He was more sure of that these days than ever. — Lauren Layne

All this time he was sitting up in bed and looking at the woman who was lying beside him and holding his hand in her sleep. He felt an ineffable love for her. Her sleep must have been very light at the moment because she opened her eyes and gazed up at him questioningly.
"What are you looking at?" she asked.
He knew that instead of waking her he should lull her back to sleep, so he tried to come up with an answer that would plant the image of a new dream in her mind.
"I'm looking at the stars," he said.
"Don't say you're looking at the stars. That's a lie. You're looking down."
"That's because we're on an airplane. The stars are below us."
"Oh, in an airplane," said Tereza, squeezing his hand even tighter and falling asleep again. And Tomas knew that Tereza was looking out of the round window of an airplane flying high above the stars. — Milan Kundera

His pupils widening as he watched beautiful nature pictures, and it ends with two striking pictures of the same good-looking woman, who somehow appears much more attractive in one than in the other. There is only one difference: the pupils of the eyes appear dilated in the attractive picture and constricted in the other. — Daniel Kahneman

Then just live in coexistence. Live the way all poor husbands are living. Show to the world that your wife is so surrendered to you ... who is preventing? You just have to tell a lie and there is no mess - and surrender to the powerful and beautiful woman. But remember, the moment a man surrenders to a woman he loses dignity in her eyes. She starts looking here and there for someone who has the guts not to surrender. — Rajneesh

She was beautiful. In fact she was possibly the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was tall, with dark black hair, light skin, and big brown eyes. Her face was beautiful, not fake beautiful like a model or an actress, because she was obviously a real person, but rather Helen of Troy, launch-a-thousand-ships kind of good-looking. — Larry Correia

The librarian, whom I had never seen before, presided over the library like a watchdog, one of those poor dogs who are deliberately made vicious by being chained up and given little to eat; ot better, like the old, toothless cobra, pale because of centuries of darkness, who guards the king's treasure in the Jungle Book. Paglietta, poor woman, was little less than a lusus naturae: she was small, without breasts or hips, waxen, wilted, and monstrously myopic; she wore glasses so thick and concave that, looking at her head-on, her eyes, light blue, almost white, seemed very far away, stuck at the back of her cranium. She gave the impression of never having been young, although she was certainly not more than thirty, and of having been born there, in the shadows, in that vague odor of mildew and stale air. — Primo Levi

Jane decided he was certainly beautiful, with brown eyes and a well-shaped nose. It is a refreshing thing for an ordinary-looking woman to look at a beautiful man occasionally and Jane gave herself up to contemplation. — Barbara Pym

More than forty years had passed over the grey head of this determined woman, since the time she recalled. More than forty years of strife and struggle with the whisper that, by whatever name she called her vindictive pride and rage, nothing through all eternity could change their nature. Yet, gone those more than forty years, and come this Nemesis now looking her in the face, she still abided by her old impiety - still reversed the order of Creation, and breathed her own breath into a clay image of her Creator. Verily, verily, travellers have seen many monstrous idols in many countries; but no human eyes have ever seen more daring, gross, and shocking images of the Divine nature than we creatures of the dust make in our own likenesses, of our own bad passions. — Charles Dickens

Hidden in a toolbox, in the rafters of his four-car garage, was an envelope full of pictures taken by a private detective...They were pictures of a scrawny, boyish looking nine year old with a wide mouth and a tangle of brown hair...Her eyes were oblong and deep set, their color hidden from the camera by the slant of the sun. The angles and planes of her face were oddly beautiful just then, in that moment, frozen on Kodak paper. A hint of the woman she would someday become. — Shirley A. Martin

I almost let it go. I think it was the yellow dress. It made me want to give her the benefit of the doubt. What can you say about a woman who wears a yellow dress to break into an office at night? How bad can her intentions be?
Still, I was reasonably certain she wasn't telling the truth. Not that it bothered me. Not really. I watched her sitting there, bent slightly forward, the palm of her right hand open in her lap, her left hand rubbing her shoulder. Lips curled in a smile. Innocent eyes looking back at me. It was like being lied to by a basket of kittens.(p134) — Harry Dolan

It's emotion. When you are watching a movie you see a woman sitting with her daughter and looking in her eyes and you see butterflies flying in the background and then you suddenly hear scary movie music and it changes the whole thing. But if something sounds different it changes the movie. Music is the back drop of what you talk about. — Yung Joc

Fascinating. He'd never known a woman who didn't take up
residence in front of a looking glass. "Why have you an aversion to
gazing in the mirror?"
"Because within a mirror I can't avoid looking into my own eyes. The
life I've lived is reflected in my eyes and there are parts of it that I wish
to forget."
"Yet, it has made you the fascinating woman you are. — Lorraine Heath

The woman, who belonged to the courtesan class, was celebrated for an embonpoint unusual for her age, which had earned for her the sobriquet of "Boule de Suif" (Tallow Ball). Short and round, fat as a pig, with puffy fingers constricted at the joints, looking like rows of short sausages; with a shiny, tightly-stretched skin and an enormous bust filling out the bodice of her dress, she was yet attractive and much sought after, owing to her fresh and pleasing appearance. Her face was like a crimson apple, a peony-bud just bursting into bloom; she had two magnificent dark eyes, fringed with thick, heavy lashes, which cast a shadow into their depths; her mouth was small, ripe, kissable, and was furnished with the tiniest of white teeth. — Guy De Maupassant

When he reached the desk he handed Caroline a photograph in a dark blue cardboard frame. It was a portrait, black and white, faintly tinted. The woman looking out wore a pale peach sweater. Her hair was gently waved, her eyes a deep shade of blue. Rupert Dean's wife, Emelda, dead now for twenty years. "She was te love of my life," he announced to Caroline, his voice so loud that people looked up. — Kim Edwards

I scurry out to the three-way mirror. With an extra-large sweatshirt over the top, you can hardly tell that they are Effert's jeans. Still no Mom. I adjust the mirror so I can see reflections of reflections, miles and miles of me and my new jeans. I hook my hair behind my ears. I should have washed it. My face is dirty. I lean into the mirror. Eyes after eyes after eyes stare back at me. Am I in there somewhere? A thousand eyes blink. No makeup. Dark circles. I pull the side flaps of the mirror in closer, folding myself into the looking glass and blocking out the rest of the store. My face becomes a Picasso sketch, my body slicing into dissecting cubes. I saw a movie once where a woman was burned over eighty percent of her body and they had to wash all the dead skin off. They wrapped her in bandages, kept her drugged, and waited for skin grafts. They actually sewed her into a new skin. — Laurie Halse Anderson

Got a job for you, Seven."
"Yeah?"
"I need you to find someone."
"Who?"
"A woman," I say. "About five and a half feet tall. Brown hair. Brown eyes."
"That describes half the women in New York."
"Yeah, well, the one I'm looking for is twenty-one or so," I say. "She's good-looking, kind of curvy for being so petite... got a red 'S' tattooed on her wrist..."
He stares at me, like he expects more information. "What else?"
I shrug, glancing at the high heels, flipping them over to look at the red soles. "She wears a size thirty-nine shoe."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"Shouldn't be too hard," he says, blinking a few times as he looks at the ground. "Only a couple million people in the city."
"That's the spirit," I say, slapping him on the back. — J.M. Darhower

I think it's offensive to equate evangelical Christians, Catholics, others that view marriage as between a man and a woman, as being racist. We're not racist. We love our fellow man, we think we're all equal under God's eyes, we don't believe we should change the definition of marriage simply because of opinion polls or because of a court that quite frankly isn't looking at the constitution. — Bobby Jindal

What hasn't she done to me? She's the most beautiful woman I've ever met in my entire life. She has a passion about other people's happiness that is simply inspiring. She rose from her own ashes and became an even better person when most would have stayed in the dark," I tell her, looking straight into her eyes. "And when she dances, sings or plays an instrument ... she's a completely out of this world artist and I can't take my eyes ... and hands off her, — Danielle-Claude Ngontang Mba

He shouldn't be captivated by the sight of a tear caught on her lashes, or her perfect nose, slightly pink. Those lips were even more intriguing, so he made himself look away, staring out at the forest beyond the gazebo.
He glanced down to find Ellice still looking up at him, her eyes liquid pools of chocolate.
Their gaze caught and held, the seconds ticking by in solemn regularity. He felt drawn to her like a magnet. Pulling away would be a difficult task.
He must for his own safety. This woman with her guileless eyes, soft heart, and lurid imagination was a danger. — Karen Ranney

A bum woke up in the gutter right beside where I stood looking across the street at this place. He felt in the waist of his pants and came up with a pint bottle, half full. He tipped it up and it gurgled steadily until he'd emptied it all down into him. I was only twenty-four or -five but I already knew from experience how it tasted. And people who've kissed the feet of Christ know how it tasted. I saw everything there in the gutter
the terror and the promise. Later I spent the morning in the smoky Day Labor Division with better than a hundred men who'd learned how not to move, learned how to stay beautifully still and let their lives hurt them, white men with gray faces and black men with yellow eyes. I worked the rest of the week in a factory without ever comprehending exactly what was manufactured there, and at night I'd get drunk and shut myself in a phone booth and call the woman in Minnesota who'd broken my heart. — Denis Johnson

For a moment, Isabel's eyes met those of someone looking out of the window, a thin-faced woman with her hair done up in a bun. The woman began a smile, but stopped, as if conscious of somehow transgressing the conventions of isolation with which as city-dwellers we immure ourselves. The bus moved on, and zisabel felt a sudden desire to run alongside it, to wave to the woman, to aknowledge the unexpected exchange of fellow feeling between them. But she did mot, necause she never acted on these impulses, and because it might have puzzled or even frightened the other woman. — Alexander McCall Smith

How is it that one woman is ... enough ... for three men?" "I don't know." "She must be a very talented courtesan." "Callie." "Well, that was what she was. Wasn't it?" "Yes." "How very fascinating!" She smiled brightly. "I've never met a courtesan, you know." "I could have surmised as such." "She looked just as I imagined they did! Well, she was rather prettier." Ralston's eyes darted around the room as though he was looking for the quickest escape route. "Callie. Wouldn't you rather gamble than talk about courtesans? — Sarah MacLean

Consider the fellow. He never spends his time telling you about his previous night's date. You get the idea he has eyes only for you and wouldn't think of looking at another woman. — Marilyn Monroe

I wanted to tell Ren the truth. I wanted to say that he was the best friend I'd ever had. That I was sorry about the way I had treated him. I wanted to tell him ... that I loved him. But I couldn't say anything. My throat was closed up, probably swollen from snake venom. All I could do was look at him as he knelt over me.
That's okay. Looking at his gorgeous face one last time is enough for me. I'll die a happy woman.
I was so tired. My eyelids were too heavy to keep open. I closed my eyes and waited for death to come. Ren cleared a space and sat down near me. Pillowing my head on his arm, he pulled me onto his lap and into his arms. I smiled.
Even better. I can't open my eyes to see him anymore, but I can feel his arms around me. My warrior angel can carry me in his arms up to heaven.
He squeezed my closer to his body and whispered something in my ear that I couldn't make out. Then darkness overtook me. — Colleen Houck

Shy, she's yours, that's what you say. Control your woman," High demanded. "Get her ass out."
My eyes went to Shy to see him looking at High, and he wasn't looking pissed. He was looking reflective. Then he said, "Tab and I don't play it that way. You wanna order your old lady around, do what you do, not for me to say. I asked her to go, she didn't go. Not gonna make her. But you try, you'll deal with me."
God, I loved my guy. — Kristen Ashley

Good Lord, that has to be the homeliest woman I have ever laid eyes on. My horse's face is better-looking. — Kathleen Bittner Roth

If I'd had a mirror I'd have looked at the whole of myself, though, as a matter of fact, I knew what I looked like already. A fat man of forty-five, in a grey herring-bone suit a bit the worse for wear and a bowler hat. Wife, two kids, and a house in the suburbs written all over me. Red face and boiled blue eyes. I know, you don't have to tell me. But the thing that struck me, as I gave my dental plate the once-over before slipping it back into my mouth, was that it doesn't matter. Even false teeth don't matter. I'm fat - yes. I look like a bookie's unsuccessful brother - yes. No woman will ever go to bed with me again unless she's paid to. I know all that. But I tell you I don't care. I don't want the women, I don't even want to be young again. I only want to be alive. And I was alive that moment when I stood looking at the primroses and the red embers under the hedge. It's a feeling inside you, a kind of peaceful feeling, and yet it's like a flame. — George Orwell

Stahl trailed him upstairs, across a mezzanine, and out into the darkness of the sloping balcony. Tom gave the aisle his torch so his guest could see. On the screen below a woman's head was wavering, two or three times larger than life. A metallic voice clanged out, echoing sepulchrally all over the house, like a modern Delphic Oracle. 'Go back, go back!' she said. 'This is no place for you!'
Her big luminous eyes seemed to be looking right at Lew Stahl as she spoke. Her finger came out and pointed, and it seemed to aim straight at him and him alone. It was weird; he almost stopped in his tracks, then went on again. He hadn't eaten all day; he figured he must be woozy, to think things like that. ("Dusk To Dawn") — Cornell Woolrich

War is not two great armies meeting in the clash and frenzy of battle. War is a boy being carried on a stretcher, looking up at God's blue sky with bewildered eyes that are soon to close; war is a woman carrying a child that has been injured by a shell; war is spirited horses tied in burning buildings and waiting for death; war is the flower of a race, battered, hungry, bleeding, up to its knees in filthy water; war is an old woman burning a candle before the Mater Dolorsa for the son she has given. — Mary Roberts Rinehart

He was searching his memory when suddenly a strange figure appeared in front of them, on horseback, trotted for a moment, then turned round in the saddle. His blood froze; he remained rooted to the spot in horror. That equivocal, sexless face was green, with terrible eyes of an icy light blue beneath purple lids; postules encircled its mouth; extraordinarily thin arms, bare from the elbows down and shaking with fever, emerged from ragged sleeves, and the fleshless thighs shivered in high boots which were far too large.
The dreadful gaze was fixed on Des Esseintes, boring into him, chilling him to the marrow, while the bulldog woman, now in even greater panic, clung to him with her head thrown back on her rigid neck, screaming blue murder. And instantly he grasped the meaning of the horrifying vision. He was looking at the figure of the Pox. — Joris-Karl Huysmans

Darona's face bore the pinched, taut look and shadowed eyes of someone constantly in pain, but the lack of lines suggested she was younger than Jesral had first thought; middle-aged, fifty at the very most.
'You make an uncommonly fine looking noblewoman, for a Mhrydaineg commoner.'
'Thank you.' Jesral was careful to keep all tone out of her voice. Darona gave her a shrewd stare, then a slight smile.
'Self-control. Good. You must ignore me when I offend you unintentionally. They say that pain can make one waspish, but my brothers and son tell me there's been no change in my manner. I was acid-tongued long before this set in,' she held up a knotted hand, 'and taking devil's claw root has no effect on that. Rest assured, young woman, when I intend offence people are in no doubt about it. — Helen Bell

I am thinking about the way that life can be so slippery; the way that a twelve-year-old girl looking into the mirror to count freckles reaches out toward herself and that reflection has turned into that of a woman on her wedding day, righting her veil. And how, when that bride blinks, she reopens her eyes to see a frazzled young mother trying to get lipstick on straight for the parent/teacher conference that starts in three minutes. And how after that young woman bends down to retrieve the wild-haired doll her daughter has left on the bathroom floor, she rises up to a forty-seven-year-old, looking into the mirror to count age spots. — Elizabeth Berg

Daniel murmured something like yes, he wouldn't miss it,but he was clearly distracted. He kept looking away from the woman. His eyes darted around the lawn, as if he sensed Luce behind the roses.
When his gaze swept over the bushes where she crouched,they flashed the most intense shade of violet. — Lauren Kate

What in the seven hells do you think you're doing?" Lock shoved his brother up against the wall of the guest suite they were staying in and glared into Deep's bottomless black eyes. "Why are you acting this way? Are you trying to scare her off?" Deep laughed harshly and brushed off his brother's hands. "As if we had a shot with her. Did you see those curves? She's fucking gorgeous - an elite." "We're not bad looking," Lock objected. "I've heard Earth females find our kind attractive." "The other Kindred races, maybe. But not the Twin Kindred. We scare them, Lock. The idea of one woman with two males at once frightens them out of their skulls." "They can't all be scared - there are plenty of Twin Kindred with brides aboard the Mother ship." "Not nearly as many as Beast Kindred and Blood Kindred. Why don't you just face it, brother? Calling an Earth female as a bride is a bad idea." "You — Evangeline Anderson

This looks like the red room of pain," she says. My mouth drops open. My little prude has been expanding her reading horizons. I choke on my laugh, and a couple of people turn to look at us. I narrow my eyes. "You read Fifty?" I ask quietly. She blushes. Amazing! - the woman is capable of blushing. "Everyone was reading it," she says, defensively. Then she looks up at me with big eyes.
"You?" "I wanted to see what all the hype was about." She does that blink, blink, blink thing with her eyelashes. "Did you pick up any new techniques?" she says, without looking at me. I squeeze her hand. "Would you like to try me out and see?" She turns her face away, pressing her lips together - horribly embarrassed. — Tarryn Fisher

I'm not the enemy, they are. I hear them. You're not good enough so no one could ever love you. Come here," he said, pulling her into his arms and looking into her huge blue eyes that were the same color as his own. "I love you. You are lovable. They're idiots. And I love everything about you, just the way you are. Now that's my message to you. It's not theirs. It's mine. You are the most lovable woman I've ever known." As he said it, he kissed her, and tears of relief slid down her cheeks, and she sobbed in his arms. He had just told her everything she had waited to hear all her life, and had never heard before. — Danielle Steel

The first thing men notice about a woman is her eyes. Then, when her eyes aren't looking, they notice her breasts. — Conan O'Brien

Then her face tilted up to his, and he was looking into her eyes again. He had heard of drowning in a woman's eyes in some poem or story, and thought it ridiculous. He still thought it ridiculous, but understood it was perfectly possible, nonetheless. And she knew it. He saw concern in her eyes, perhaps even fear. — Stephen King

My gaze slid across every face and stopped abruptly when I saw an Angelic faced woman who appeared to be in her early 20s. She had waist length hair as black as night.
And eyes that were emerald green with a gold tint to them. When her gaze met mine, she screamed and fell to her knees her gaze never leaving mine. I didn't realize that I too was on my knees until Mark bend down asking if I was alright. I didn't answer him, because I didn't know for all I knew I was in heaven looking into an Angel's eyes.

- Matthew Michaelson — Katerina Chenevert

It's hard to have a relationship in this world. Other people are not the same from day to day. I might wake up next to a woman three days in a row, or three hundred, but I never know if she'll be there the next morning, or the next hour, or if the world will change completely while I'm not looking. She might even change into another person altogether. I might recognize something in her eyes, or she might not be a woman at all. She might turn into a man. Or a mailbox. Or a region of empty space. Or a feeling. Or a song. I might only recognize her as one recognizes someone in a dream, as in the way something is actually someone, and that someone is actually someone else. — Charles Yu

The morning sun on her white hair and pale face made her seem almost translucent. She'd been a beautiful woman in her day, with wide eyes, high cheekbones, and a long, thin nose. Sometimes you could still catch sight of that beauty, and it was like looking through enchanted glass. — Sarah Addison Allen

Is it your wish that I should leave you now?" "Why would you think that of me?" His eyebrows rose, the vulnerability gone. "You are not a servant, Mariana, to be thus ordered from my sight." "No," I admitted, looking down at my feet, "I am not a servant. I am a mistress. A minor difference, I'll grant you." His eyes were steady on my face. "You are my love," he corrected me, softly, "and there is no shame in that. Do you wish this afternoon undone?" I raised my head. "No," I told him honestly. "I will not force you to my bed," he said. "I do not want a frightened woman, nor a coy one, but one who gives me love because she wills it so. If I make no promises, it is because the world is an uncertain place, and words matter little. But if you doubt the honor of my love, come," he stretched his hand towards me, palm upward, "let me renew my pledge. — Susanna Kearsley