Over Strained Eyes Quotes & Sayings

So he was always in the town at one place or another, drinking, knocking about with the men he knew. It really wearied him. He talked to barmaids, to almost any woman, but there was that dark, strained look in his eyes, as if he were hunting something.
Everything seemed so different, so unreal. There seemed no reason why people should go along the street, and houses pile up in the daylight. There seemed no reason why these things should occupy the space, instead of leaving it empty. His friends talked to him: he heard the sounds, and he answered. But why there should be the noise of speech he could not understand. — D.H. Lawrence

Gonzo narrows his eyes. 'How often do you clean that thing?' 'Every night,' the waitress answers. Her smile is strained. 'That's it? Do you know how long it takes for Listeria to grow under those hot lamps, even with ice?' Here we go. 'It can happen in just five hours. Five hours and you've got the salad bar of death!' The waitress looks confused. 'From Listerine? — Libba Bray

She felt as though her nerves were strings being strained tighter and tighter on some sort of screwing peg. She felt her eyes opening wider and wider, her fingers and toes twitching nervously, something within oppressing her breathing, while all shapes and sounds seemed in the uncertain half-light to strike her with unaccustomed vividness. Moments of doubt were continually coming upon her, when she was uncertain whether the train were going forwards or backwards, or were standing still altogether; whether it were Annushka at her side or a stranger. "What's that on the arm of the chair, a fur cloak or some beast? And what am I myself? Myself or some other woman?" She was afraid of giving way to this delirium. But something drew her towards it, and she could yield to it or resist it at will. — Leo Tolstoy

And yet and yet! That strained look on her face! A gnawing sorrow is there all the time. Her very soul is in her eyes and she would give worlds to be in the privacy of her own familiar chamber where, giving way to tears, she could have a good cry and relieve her pentup feelings.
Though not too much because she knew how to cry nicely before the mirror. You are lovely, Gerty, it said. — James Joyce

The woman, one of those usually known as a good-time girl, was famous for the premature portliness which had earned her the nickname Boule de Suif. Small, round as a barrel, fat as butter and with fingers tightly jointed like strings of small sausages, her glowing skin and the enormous bosom which strained under the constraints of her dress - as well as her freshness, which was a delight to the eye - made her hugely desirable and much sought after. She had a rosy apple of a face, a peony bud about to burst into bloom. Out of it looked two magnificent dark eyes shaded by thick black lashes. Further down was a charming little mouth complete with invitingly moist lips and tiny, gleaming pearly-white teeth. She was said to possess a variety of other inestimable qualities. — Guy De Maupassant

Her grey, sun-strained eyes stared straight ahead, but she had deliberately shifted our relations, and for a moment I thought I loved her. But I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as brakes on my desires, and I knew that first I had to get myself definitely out of that tangle back home. I'd been writing letters once a week and signing them: "Love, Nick," and all I could think of was how, when that certain girl played tennis, a faint mustache of perspiration appeared on her upper lip. Nevertheless there was a vague understanding that had to be tactfully broken off before I was free. — F Scott Fitzgerald

He stared at her, his dark eyes unfathomable. "You could meet a better, worthier man."
She laughed, a strained, harsh sound. "I've already met one--he's marrying my sister!"
The words blazed forth, hanging in the air as though etched in fire, impossible to recall or deny. They stared at each other, scarcely breathing--then, in an instant, Trevenan closed the distance between them in one stride and pulled her to him, arms banding around her like iron.
Their mouths met in a fierce mutual claiming, and the world went white around them--white as lightning, white as the heart of a flame. Closing her eyes, Aurelia let herself fall, deep into a void where all that existed was his touch, his taste, and the hot, urgent press of his lips against hers. This, she thought hazily. Yes, this. And knew by his response, the guttural moan in his throat, that it was the same for him. Love, that is first and last of all things made...
"Damn you, James! Why couldn't you wait for me? — Pamela Sherwood

Her [Odette's] eyes were beautiful, but so large they seemed to droop beneath their own weight, strained the rest of her face and always made her appear unwell or in a bad mood. — Marcel Proust

I remember, when I have preached at different times in the country, and sometimes here, that my whole soul has agonized over men, every nerve of my body has been strained and I could have wept my very being out of my eyes and carried my whole frame away in a flood of tears, if I could but win souls — Charles Spurgeon

There is no doubt that the last hour of any flight is the hardest. If there are any clouds about to make shadows one is likely to see much imaginary land ...
As I approached shore I strained my eyes to see something recognizable, and there was nothing. However, I noticed a low place in the hills, and I thought, like the bear, I would go over the mountains to see what I could see. — Amelia Earhart

Auburn Mason Reed," I say out loud.

What are the chances?

I smile and run my thumb over the letters in her middle name. "We have the same middle name."

I look back up at Adam, and he's lowering his bed again with a faint smile on his face. "That could be fate, you know."

I shake my head, dismissing his comment. "I'm pretty sure she's your fate. Not mine."

His voice is strained, and it takes a tremendous amount of effort for him to roll onto his side. He closes his eyes and says, "Hopefully she has more than one fate, Owen. — Colleen Hoover

Judge sucked harder, starting a fast rhythm. Michaels couldn't help but close his eyes and pant through the exhilaration. As soon as Judge slipped his thick digit deep inside him, Michaels yelled out his bliss, not caring who could hear him. "Judge! Fuck!" That finger shoved in as deep as he could get it and Michaels' come exploded up his shaft, shooting onto his chest. Judge growled, rubbing Michaels' seed into his skin. Aggressively massaging the pearly liquid into his strained pecs. He — A.E. Via

She didn't bother taking off her snow-crusted cloak; she came to us quickly, dripping and shivering, her eyes luminous and strained from trying to see beyond the world. — Patricia A. McKillip

Underground, in the dark wet hole that was home to the spiders and the rats, something moved. It had no right to be down there but it belonged nowhere else. Half drowned half alive it pushed the water ahead of it into the culverts and drains as it passed.
Right under the city and out into the suburbs and fields these tunnels fed into the river and the network of canals that had fed the industrial revolution. A thousand eyes, some blinded, that had never seen the sun strained in the soiled darkness. It struggled on and it listened with a thousand ears not its own and it cried. — Karl P.T. Walsh

You see, the glamour girl standing before you was not the dame I first laid eyes on in Penn Station. In fact, at first I thought she was the charwoman. Don't you remember how frightful you looked that night, Honey Pie?" Sam patted Evie's hand. Her strained smile pleased him. "She was sooty and grimy. Had on her mother's dress and those thick woolen stockings that grandmas and war orphans wear. And one of her teeth was missing. Ghastly. But I was smitten."
"Oh, Daddy, you might need a visit to the dentist soon yourself." Evie laughed and tightened her grip on Sam's hand. — Libba Bray

Suddenly, I felt warmth spread through my body. It started where he touched my stomach and slowly moved to my chest and extremities. The warmth of his eyes burned into me and coursed through my body the way lava flowed down a hillside, slow and merciless. He gritted his teeth, squinted his eyes in focus and strained every muscle in his body as he looked down at me. — Allison Sipe

There can be no relation more strange, more critical, than that between two beings who know each other only with their eyes, who meet daily, yes, even hourly, eye each other with a fixed regard, and yet by some whim or freak of convention feel constrained to act like strangers. Uneasiness rules between them, unslaked curiosity, a hysterical desire to give rein to their suppressed impulse to recognize and address each other; even, actually, a sort of strained but mutual regard. For one human being instinctively feels respect and love for another human being so long as he does not know him well enough to judge him; and that he does not, the craving he feels is evidence. — Thomas Mann

Someone on my other side nudged my shoulder, and I shifted closer to Jenna to make room. And then a hand closed over mine.
Before I even turned my head, I knew.
"Mercer." Archer smiled down at me. "Fancy meeting you here."
As much as I wanted to, I couldn't just throw my arms around his neck and kiss the heck out of him. And I really wanted to. So I settled for lacing my fingers with his and pulling him slightly closer.
Archer here, safe, his hand in mine. And Jenna, pressed tight to my other side. My heart was so full, I could hardly breathe, and even though I tried to keep it light, my voice was strained when I said, "Of course. Everything going to hell, and you turn up. I should've know."
He shrugged, even though his eyes were burning with the same emotion currently racing through my veins. "Eh, Italy was getting boring. Figured I might as well see what you ladies were up to. — Rachel Hawkins

I suppose you mean to scandalize society by announcing your betrothal to Miss Butterfield tonight."
"Of course," Oliver said, without a trace of irritation. "Unless you'd rather do it yourself. I'm more than happy to hand the office over to you, Gran. Maria and I will just nod and smile while you get all the glory for making the match."
Mercy. Talk about throwing down the gauntlet.
Mrs. Plumtree's mouth fell open. Then snapped shut. When she spoke again, her voice sounded strained, though Maria could have sworn she caught a gleam in the elderly lady's eye. "Perhaps I will. God knows you won't do it properly."
"Go ahead." His eyes said, I dare you.
There was a trace of smugness on his face now, as if he knew he was on the verge of winning.
A tense quiet fell over the carriage. Clearly Mrs. Plumtree and Oliver were each waiting for the other to back down. — Sabrina Jeffries

I bet Josh doesn't kiss you like that, Lauren," he said, his voice as strained as her own. He pulled a ragged breath, his eyes half-lidded, his pupils dilated. "Tell me he does and I'll walk away right now, but I'll know if you're lying. I always did. I don't want to compete for you, babe, but I will. I will show you what this Josh can't give you, I will reawaken the pleasure I gave you all those years ago until you can't think of anyone else but me. Until you forget all about Josh and let me make you mine again. — Lexxie Couper

I am not chaste."
Ruairi pased. She hadn't noticed the strained tone in her voice, but an inner torment began to gnaw at her. The harder she tried to ignore the truth, the more it persisted. She lowered her eyes and waited to be judged.
He lifted her chin with his finger and his eyes captured hers. "Then ye are in luck... because neither am I. — Victoria Roberts

From Satan or from God, what matter? Angel or Siren,
What matter, if you make - fairy with velvet eyes,
Rhythm, perfume, light, o my only queen -
The universe less hideous, each moment less strained? — Charles Baudelaire

At the end of the parapet, a long black coat lay neatly folded on the wall. At the other end stood my sister and her lover. Tati's arms were wound around Sorrow's neck, her body pressed close to his, as if she would melt into him. His hands were enlaced in my sister's long hair as he strained her slight form against him, white on black. Their eyes were closed; their lips clung; they were lost in each other. It was beautiful and powerful. It was impossible. — Juliet Marillier

Option three: Edward loved me. The bond forged between us was not one that could be broken by absence, distance, or time. And no matter how much more special or beautiful or brillant or perfect than me he might me, he was as irreversibly altered as I was. As I would always belong to him, so would he always be mine.
Was that what I'd been trying to tell myself?
"Oh!"
"Bella?"
"Oh. Okay. I see."
"Your epithany?" he asked, his voice uneven and strained.
"You love me," I marveled. The sense of conviction and rightness washed through me again.
Though his eyes were still anxious, the crooked smile I loved best flashed across his face. "Truly, I do. — Stephenie Meyer

Her eyes, always sad, now looked into the mirror with particular hopelessness. "She's flattering me," thought the princess, and she turned away and went on reading. Julie, however, was not flattering her friend: indeed, the princess's eyes, large, deep, and luminous (sometimes it was as if rays of light came from them in sheaves), were so beautiful that very often, despite the unattractiveness of the whole face, those eyes were more attractive than beauty. But the princess had never seen the good expression of thise eyes, the expression they had in moments when she was not thinking of herself. As with all people, the moment she looked in the mirror, her face assumed a strained, unnatural, bad expression. — Leo Tolstoy

Rose. Roza. Open your eyes." I've never heard heard his voice so strained, so frantic. "Don't go to sleep on me. Not yet. — Richelle Mead

His light blue eyes hit me just like they always have. They go through me, strip me bare, and form a knot in my stomach that's impossible to ignore. How can just being in the room with someone do this to me ? He's just a guy. But as I take in his face, a year older, strained with sadness, he's so much more. — Jolene Perry

Marie Caroline Jensen, will you marry me?" he asked suddenly, looking right into my eyes. I bit my lip, trying to decide how long to drag it out. Maybe a little longer ... he'd used the "b" word, I should probably make him suffer. I looked away, refusing to meet his eyes as he stopped laughing and grew still.
"Marie?" he asked, his voice suddenly strained. "Oh fuck, don't do this to me, please. I - "
"Yes," I said, catching his eye and smirking. "I'll marry your big, dumb ass but only because you said the magic word."
"Fuck? You're right, that is a magic word. Let's test it out. — Joanna Wylde

The priest rose to take up the crucifix; at that, she strained her neck forward like someone who is thirsty, and, pressing her lips to the body of the Man-God, she laid upon it with all her expiring strength the most passionate kiss of love she had ever given. Then he recited the Miserateur and the Indulgentiam, dipped his right thumb in the oil, and began he unctions: first on the eyes, which had so coveted all earthly splendors; then on the nostrils, greedy for mild breezes and the smells of love; then on the mouth, which had opened to utter lies, which had moaned with pride and cried out in lust; then on the hands, which had delighted in the touch of smooth material; and lastly on the soles of the feet, once so quick when she hastened to satiate her desires and which now would never walk again. — Vladimir Nabokov

You were my first crush." She sobered, her voice strained as sincere green eyes slanted up to me . "And my only love." Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, almost painfully. "I've been waiting for you my whole life. — A.L. Jackson

You okay, there, Mr. Rat Man?" Minho asked. "My name is Assistant Director Janson," he replied, his voice low and strained, as if it was hard work to stay calm. His eyes never left Thomas. "Learn to show respect for your elders. — James Dashner

Her magic sent him sprawling, and it then hurled into Rhysand again - so hard that his head cracked against the stones and the knife dropped from his splayed fingers. No one made a move to help him, and she struck him once more with her power. The red marble splintered where he hit it, spiderwebbing toward me. With wave after wave she hit him. Rhys groaned.
"Stop," I breathed, blood filling my mouth as I strained a hand to reach her feet. "Please."
Rhys's arms buckled as he fought to rise, and blood dripped from his nose, splattering on the marble. His eyes met mine.
The bond between us went taut. I flashed between my body and his, seeing myself through his eyes, bleeding and broken and sobbing.
I snapped back into my own mind as Amarantha turned to me again. "Stop? Stop? Don't pretend you care, human," she crooned, and curled her finger. I arched my back, my spine straining to the point of cracking, and Rhysand bellowed my name as I lost my grip on the room. — Sarah J. Maas

Kyle strained his eyes to the horizon while they paddled swiftly through the fog. — Nicholai Ball

Eight Years Old, Eighteen Years Old
Cassidy was barely conscious when the March Hare, finally finished, gingerly lifted her onto her stump and gently slid a teacup onto her finger. She strained her senses and thought she heard a long sigh and the creak of old bones as he settled at the other end of the table. He stayed there with her through the night. Every time she struggled to open her eyes, she'd see him, the ghostly outline of white ears against the threatening shadows.
Perhaps he had killed her after all. Perhaps he hadn't. There was only one thing Cassidy Evans knew for sure: It had been a marvelous tea party. — Carrie Ryan

The Wishing Bones

A thousand grandmothers ago
Pyrrha and Deucalion repopulated
the world with rocks, bones of mother Earth,
a generation of my ancestors strained
from the mud of a drowned planet.

But I'm more interested in my earliest
grandmothers, their gills and wetness,
before they crawled from that blue expanse
and learned to carry the sea within them,
in their cells, between their cells, in their eyes.

The buoyancy of ocean has never left us.
It hides in skin's complex reservoir
where we're selectively permeable
and our bodies exchange the smallest life.

If we had no need to distinguish ourselves
from others we'd be missing the skin
that defines lovers and enemies
and opens itself to both. — Jalina Mhyana

His eyes went again to the crucifix above his head, reflected in the mirror. The strained arms, the arched spine. All that effort to open the gates of heaven for us and we (he thought) probably spend out first hours among the heavenly hosts settling old scores with relatives. — Alice McDermott

Just before the men closed the tail gate on the float, she strained her head to see me and nodded her head so hard her blonde mane flew around her face - she looked like she was standing in a cloud of icing sugar. She uttered such a quiet neigh, it seemed only I heard it. She stared at me, and closed her eyes. Then she was gone. — Kelly Batten

Holmes had cultivated the ability to still the noise of the mind, by smoking his pipe and playing nontunes on the violin. He once compared this mental state with the sort of passive seeing that enables the eye, in a dim light or at a great distance, to grasp details with greater clarity by focusing slightly to one side of the object of interest. When active, strained vision only obscures and frustrates, looking away often permits the eyes to see and interpret the shapes of what it sees. Thus does inattention allow the mind to register the still, small whisper of the daughter of the voice. — Laurie R. King

Celaena threw her weight into the dagger she held aloft, and gained an inch. His arms strained. She was going to kill him. She truly going to kill him.
He made himself look into her eyes, look at the face so twisted with rage that he couldn't find her.
"Celaena," he said, squeezing her wrists so hard that he hoped the pain registered somewhere- wherever she had gone. But she still wouldn't lossen her grip on the blade. "Celaena, I'm your friend."
She stared at him, panting through gritted teeth, her breath coming quicker and quicker before she roared, the sound filling the room, his blood, his world: "You will never be my friend. You will always be my enemy."
She bellowed the last word with such soul-deep hated that he felt it like a punch to the gut. She surged again, and he lost his grip on the wrist that held the dagger. The blade plunged down. — Sarah J. Maas

I'm ... It's - it's like torture." His voice was strained, hardly even a whisper. "I think I'm losing it - I don't know what's happening, what happened, but I look at you, I look at you, and I love you so much. Not because of anything you've said, or done, or anything at all. I look at you, and I just love you, and it terrifies me. It terrifies me what I would do for you. Please ... you have to tell me ... tell me I'm not crazy. Please just look at me."
My eyes drifted up to his, and it was over. — Alexandra Bracken

Perhaps we were looking strained in our manner, because I noticed we had attracted the attention of a little man who sat on a sofa not far off. I tried to outstare him and that was easy. He had a long moustache and fawn-like eyes and he looked hurriedly away: his elbow caught his glass of beer and spun it on to the floor, so that he was overcome with confusion. I was sorry then because it occurred to me that he might have recognized me from my photographs: he might even be one of my few readers. He had a small boy sitting with him, and what a cruel thing it is to humiliate a father in the presence of his son. The boy blushed scarlet when the waiter hurried forward, and his father began to apologize with unnecessary vehemence. — Graham Greene

I didn't think she was that kind of girl." I scampered up onto the ledge and strained to listen. "I overheard two of my students talking about her in homeroom yesterday. I never would have thought Natalie would do something like that. Then again, she's been acting out big-time. Fraternizing with that Spencer girl."
I closed my eyes to stop the room from spinning. What would have ever made me think that teachers wouldn't hear about this, too? After all, it was all over the school.
Another teacher agreed. "Natalie always seemed like such a nice girl."
But I am a nice girl, I wanted to scream. — Siobhan Vivian

Man may not be the colossus some secular spirits would have him be, armed with the strength and wisdom of the gods, but he has partaken of ambrosia. He has squinted trough the veil and seen just enough of divinity to measure himself by it. The Humanist knows both the strengths and the frailties of man. He strives. But he knows the bounds of his striving.......

Visions and ideals need a path, a way, a roadmap people can use as to arrive at those better, more permanent things that the wise are always seeing dimly whenever they strained their eyes. So man turned a mirror on himself, looked soberly, and-one day-began to write accounts of the discoveries made on the grandest odyssey of them all: the journey to the core of the human mind and soul. The grateful among us read them. — Tracy Lee Simmons

Green chuckled lightly, sticking his tongue out and running the flat of it along the firm bud, already perking up at his touch. Ruxs' hips moved desperately, his moans getting louder. Even if Green wanted to move his head he couldn't. Ruxs kept him immobile, kept him where he wanted him to be. He bit him harder, quickly licking away the sting. "Ahh, yes! Bite it harder. Harder," Ruxs pleaded. His eyes glistened with his desire. Green was in awe at seeing his friend like this. He struggled to get to Ruxs' other nipple, his hair held in a punishing grip. He dragged his tongue along the silky hair between Ruxs' pecs until he got to his right nipple. He wasted no time sucking it hard into his mouth. His fist flew up and down on their cocks, as their abs tightened and veins strained on their large forearms. "Fuck! — A.E. Via