Read My Eyes Quotes & Sayings

Do you often make meals for outlanders, Miss Click?" There was teasing in his tone and in his astonishing eyes. Scarlet, she looked down at her apron, now soiled by three spots of coffee, a bit lost in the richness of his speech. "You've yet tae call me Doctor, which I dinna mind in the least. But it tells me you are questioning my credentials. And those eyes of yours demand I must somehow prove myself, pass a test. Like your faither did when he ran the Shawnee gauntlet." "You read that in the papers, I reckon." "Aye. Is it true?" She nodded. "He carried the scars to his grave." "So he passed the test. Will I? — Laura Frantz

His phone sounded.
He grabbed it off his coffee table and his mouth curled up when he read, Kiss my ass, Merry.
Using his thumb, he returned, You want that, brown eyes, I'll work it in.
She didn't make him wait and shot back, Go fuck yourself.
Now, sweetheart, you know that's not the way it works.
Then came, We're done.
He ignored that and sent, Sleep tight. See you tomorrow. — Kristen Ashley

Do you like to read?" I asked, pointing at my little shelf.
Moses eyed my books. "Yes."
His answer surprised me. Maybe it was his reputation as a gang banging delinquent. Maybe it was because of the way he looked. But he didn't seem like the type who enjoyed sitting quietly with a book.
"What's your favorite book?" I sounded suspicious and his eyes tightened.
"I like Catcher in the Rye. The Outsiders, 1984, Of Mice and Men, Dune, Starship Troopers, Lord of the Rings. Anything by Tom Clancy or JK Rowling."
He said JK Rowling quickly, like he didn't want to admit to being a Potter fan. But I was stunned. — Amy Harmon

I was ten years old. I had noticed something was weird earlier in the day but I knew from commercials that one's menstrual period was a blue liquid that you poured like laundry detergent onto maxi pads to test their absorbency. This wasn't blue so ... I ignored it for a few hours.
When we got home I pulled my mom aside to ask if it was weird I was bleeding in my underpants. She was very sympathetic but also a little baffled. Her eyes said "Dummy didn't you read 'How Shall I Tell My Daughter ". I HAD read it but nowhere in the pamphlet did anyone say that your period was NOT a blue liquid.
At that moment two things became clear to me I was now technically a woman and I would never be a doctor. — Tina Fey

I read my eyes out and can't read half enough ... the more one reads the more one sees we have to read. — John Adams

The thought occurred to me that I was in danger of becoming a slave to a tiger as well. Hah! I'd probably like it too. I rolled my eyes at the thought. I disgust myself. I'm so darn weak! I hated the idea that all he'd have to do was crook his finger at me, beckon me to come to him, and I probably would. The fiercely independent side of me flared up. That's it! No more! I'm going to talk it all out with him when we get back and hope that we can still be friends.
This was pretty much my line of thought for the entire trip home. I'd daydream and then stop, lecture myself, and repeat my stubborn mantra. I tried to read, but I kept rereading the same paragraph over and over. Eventually, I gave up and napped a little. — Colleen Houck

Gideon, you old dog, you have taken a mate," the Prince accused with humor sparkling from those fathomless eyes. "And I believe she finds me quite attractive."
Gideon heard Legna gasp in shock and tried to repress a feral smile as he became aware of the burning blush she sprouted.
"I would not cross that particular line even as a joke, Damien," Gideon warned him smoothly.
"My apologies. I could not resist." Damien looked steadily into Gideon's eyes for a moment. "She must be young, not to realize I would be able to read her presence within your mind."
"She is young, but I would not underestimate her if I were you. — Jacquelyn Frank

I can't read scripts any more because of the trouble with my eyes. — Judi Dench

Have we not, indeed, loved mankind, in so humbly recognizing their impotence, in so lovingly alleviating their burden and allowing their feeble nature even to sin, with our permission? Why have you come to interfere with us now? And why are you looking at me so silently and understandingly with your meek eyes? Be angry! I do not want your love, for I do not love you. And what can I hide from you? Do I not know with whom I am speaking? What I have to tell you is all known to you already, I can read it in your eyes. And is it for me to hide our secret from you? Perhaps you precisely want to hear it from my lips. Listen, then: we are not with you, but with him, that is our secret! For a long time now - eight centuries already - we have not been with you, but with him — Fyodor Dostoyevsky

I wish it back," she said in uncharacteristic sharpness. "I don't care to cast blame. I just want it back. It is, after all, my personal property. Not meant for anyone else to read." "Full of juicy secrets, is it?" Julian asked, eyes glinting. "About you? Or about all of us?" "Perhaps I shall have to track down this ghost and claim the journal myself," Rowan said. "Sounds like interesting reading." Emma lifted her chin. "I assure you, you would find it frightfully dull." "Your blush tells a different tale." Julian smirked. — Julie Klassen

I just hate to see you like this," he says. "Isn't there anything I can do?"

You could murder Vaughn. You could free Gabriel. You could help repair the damage that's been done to our home. By you.

This room is surely being recorded, though, and all I say is, "No."

He tilts my chin, and then he cups his hands around my ear and whispers, "I don't believe that."

I look at him, and I see the same look in his eyes as on the morning when I told him I was going to bring Linden home. Vaughn may be Rowan's benefactor, but I'm his twin sister. Even after this time spent apart, he can read me. — Lauren DeStefano

Did you happen to see what time slot they gave me?'
'Eight o'clock. All eyes, er, lips will be on you.'
I dug into my purse for a tube of lip balm and tucked it into the front pocket of his tee. ' A friendly deed for a friend in need. Halfway through your shift, you'll thank me.'
He dug out the tube and read the label - creme de menthe flavored. 'For real? This is as close as I'm getting to touching your lips tonight? — Becca Fitzpatrick

You are the strangest girl I've ever met," he said, like he thought I was joking. He picked up his water bottle and gave me a sideways glance. "Have you ever kissed anybody?" he asked, and took a sip.
I smirked. "There aren't a whole lot of opportunities in the digital world. I did practice on my hand once. It didn't do anything for me."
Justin coughed on the water he was swallowing and I slapped my hand over my mouth.
"Did I just say that out loud?" I mumbled.
He was half coughing, half laughing. "Yes, you did," he managed to say.
"Delete, delete, delete," I said, and pushed an imaginary button in the air. "I really miss that feature."
"No, that's the good stuff. People always want to delete the good stuff." His eyes lit up. "That's a cool idea, though. What would you say, right now, if you could immediately delete it, so no one read it? — Katie Kacvinsky

You should have bought the bracelet, you know," he told me, in a contemplative tone. "The stones would match your eyes." Pride kept me from saying that the trinket had been too expensive for my purse. I took a small step backwards and he let his hand fall, his expression unconcerned. "I bought this, instead." I held up my book to show him. "You can read, then." "My father was a scrivener. He viewed illiteracy as an unpardonable sin." "You were fortunate. I cannot imagine you would find much to read in your uncle's house." I smiled, in spite of myself. "Very little." "Then you must come visit me at the Hall. I have a good library. You would be welcome to borrow anything you wanted. — Susanna Kearsley

What I liked was the train ride. It took an hour and that was enough for me to be able to lean backwards against the seat with closed eyes, feel the joints in the rails come up and thump through my body and sometimes peer out of the windows and see windswept heathland and imagine I was on the Trans-Siberian Railway. I had read about it, seen pictures in a book and decided that no matter when and how life would turn out, one day I would travel from Moscow to Vladivostok on that train, and I practised saying the names: Omsk, Tomsk, Novosibirsk, Irkutsk, they were difficult to pronounce with all their hard consonants, but ever since the trip to Skagen, every journey I made by train was a potential departure on my own great journey. — Per Petterson

And so I had to turn corners inside-out with my eyes and to read the third side of a book's page, seeking in futility to gaze at what I could then touch with none of my senses. — Thomas Ligotti

Ibrahim's eyes darkened with an emotion Mark was unable to read. "I won't leave you; no, my friend, it is not possible." "Go," Mark whispered again from between his parched lips. "Get your family to safety. I'm too weak." "You will make it," Ibrahim insisted. "I give you my strength. Shatha gives you her strength, too. We go as one. What is it you Americans say? No man left behind. I more American now than Iraqi. I not leave you behind. What you say - no way? I say no way I leave you." Mark — Debbie Macomber

The first really important book I read about filmmaking was The Film Technique by Pudovkin. This was some time before I had ever touched a movie camera and it opened my eyes to cutting and montage. — Stanley Kubrick

I felt tears sting into my eyes, and took a deep swallow of the first champagne I had ever tasted, remembering that I had read somewhere that the monk who invented it said, on first tasting it, 'It is like drinking stars'. — Anne Rivers Siddons

But really, that is kind of silly,' Abigail tried to explain. 'I mean, a book is much less personal than a programmed screen that can respond to you according to your needs, and concentrate on what's hard for you, and go fast on what's easy. A book stays the same no matter *who's* reading it. And anyway, I don't see how anyone could read a whole long book, it must be so boring!'

'But...but it wasn't,' Peter said faintly. 'I...almost forgot I was reading it. The...the whole story was going on in my head.'

'I still don't understand,' said Oliver. 'I mean, watching a real-life hologram right before your eyes is better than anything you could *imagine.* — William Sleator

I learned something about you today."
That wins his full attention. He draws me into the fathomless depths of his eyes. "What would that be?"
"Every time you try to do the right thing, you get screwed."
My observation is met with silence. He scoops up my other necklace, closing the key, heart, and ring within his fist.
I take a shallow breath, heartbeat stumbling as I try to read him.
"So it's a battle to make that choice, yeah?"
-Unhinged, pg 351-2 — A.G. Howard

He began quietly, "You recall, of course, that I won the Smallwood spelling contest every year I was there?" "Yes, Mr. Weston," she replied evenly, eyes remaining on the portrait. "And you might also recall that your father declared my handwriting the best he'd ever had the privilege to read?" "Yes, Mr. Weston." He looked at her composed profile and felt admiration fill him. When she said no more, he slowly shook his head, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth. "Well done, Miss Smallwood." He started to turn away but paused to add, "He did admire you, you know. He just didn't know how to show it." She gave him an incredulous look. "Mr. Pugsworth?" "Yes," Henry said, then walked away, thinking, Him too. — Julie Klassen

For me life is an inn where I must stay until the carriage from the abyss calls to collect me [ ... ] I could consider this inn to be a prison, since I'm compelled to stay here; I could consider it a kind of club, because I meet other people here. However, unlike others, I am neither impatient nor sociable. I leave those who chatter in the living room, from where the cosy sound of music and voices reaches me. I sit at the door and fill my eyes and ears with the colours and sounds of the landscape and slowly, just for myself, I sing vague songs that I compose while I wait.
Night will fall on all of us and the carriage will arrive. I enjoy the breeze given to me and the soul given to me to enjoy it and I ask no more questions, look no further. If what I leave written in the visitors' book is one day read by others and entertains them on their journey, that's fine. If no one reads it or is entertained by it, that's fine too. — Fernando Pessoa

I care about Cameron. I more than care. He's wonderful, and he should know it every day. He should know how kind he is, how good. How fantastic his story was, and how I can't wait to read more. And how I can't stop looking at him right now, because his face is so perfectly lovely that my eyes just have to make up for lost time. — Charlotte Stein

He means to marry you?" "He tells me so." She surveyed my whole person: in her eyes I read that they had there found no charm powerful enough to solve the enigma. — Charlotte Bronte

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
E'en in Australia art thou still more hot
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May
(Since that's your winter it don't mean a lot)
Sometimes too bright the eye of heaven shines
And bushfires start through half of New South Wales
Just so, when I do see thy bosom's lines
A fire consumes me and my breathing fails
But thine eternal summer shall not fade
This is in no way due to global warming;
Nay, from thy breasts shall verses fair be made
So damn compulsive they are habit-forming
So long as men can read and eyes can see
So long lives this, thou 34DD
(Based on an idea by William Shakespeare. I'm sure he'd agree that I've improved it) — Manny Rayner

I would like to sleep, in order to surrender myself to the dreamers, the way I surrender myself to those who read me with eyes wide open; in order to stop imposing, in this realm, the conscious rhythm of my thought. — Andre Breton

I guess part of me hoped that you'd come to me because you trusted me to help. And because maybe you missed me, just a little."
Beka took a deep breath. "Just a little? Hell, Marcus, it felt like I was missing half my soul."...
His hazel eyes stared into hers, as if he could read her mind, or maybe her heart, which stuttered and skipped as if it only half remembered how to beat.
Then he said in a low, fervent voice, "I think I found it for you." He pulled her into his arms, wrapping her in strength and warmth and longing, tugging her in close until his lips met hers. — Deborah Blake

Sean pushes up to his feet and stands there. I look at his dirty boots. Now I've offended him, I think. He says, "Other people have never been important to me, Kate Connolly. Puck Connolly." I tip my face up to look at him, finally. The blanket falls off my shoulders, and my hat, too, loosened by the wind. I can't read his expression
his narrow eyes make it difficult. I say, "And now?" Kendrick reaches to turn up the collar on his jacket. He doesn't smile, but he's not as close to frowning as usual. "Thanks for the cake. — Maggie Stiefvater

SCHOOL BEGINS IN August this year. I live nearby, and so I walk and skip the bus. I read while I walk to school up the two hills, one sidewalk, a more or less straight line. I pretend the streets I pass through are empty. I have been reading about the Neutron Bomb. I want to be like that, radiant and deadly, a ghost of an impact, to pass through walls, to kill everyone, in flight among the empty houses, punching through molecules like a knife through a paper bag. See me. I am five feet and two inches tall. I am still thin, freckled, large eyes, small nose. My hair waves and grows long, to my neck. I pick flowers for my mother as I walk. The neighborhood kids call me Nature Boy. I want to die. Help — Alexander Chee

When my father first took me to Ennis Library I went down among the shelves and felt company, not only the company of writers, but the readers too, because they had lifted and opened and read these books. The books were worn in a way they can only get worn by hands and eyes and minds — Niall Williams

When you read my stories, I want you to see the world through my eyes; as if I based my work on you. Come away with me, and I'll show you a world that you've never seen before or ever want to leave. — Nila N. Brown

You are, my little rabbit. We are not human, but you want to hold
me to human standards?" He leaned in, his azure blue eyes turned
dark, his voice low and commanding. "I am not human and do not
care about polite behavior." Zakah took her free hand; his thumb
moved slowly over her wrist. "Sorina, you would be wise to read
those around you. Especially, those who are not human. — Stacy A. Moran

That ideal had become as ossified as the statue of Benjamin Franklin up there. From New York to Los Angeles, American newspapers were yellow and stale before they even came off the press. Dog-beaten by a dwindling readership, financial losses and partisan attacks, editors had stripped them of their personality in an attempt to offend no one. And so there was no more reason to read them. Safety before Truth. Grammar over Guts. Winners before Losers. My eyes traveled down from Franklin to the iron sconces above the entrance. — Charlie LeDuff

I instantly thought the guy was cute, in that gaunt, never-sees-the-light-of-day, New York street urchin kind of way. And he never stood still for a second. From across the tracks I read his expression as I have everything on my side except destiny, only his expression clearly hadn't informed his head or heart yet. The guy looked over and caught me staring, and once his eyes met mine they never deviated. He took several cautious steps forward, stopping abruptly at the thick yellow line you weren't supposed to cross. His arms dangled like a puppet and he seemed to skim the ground when he walked, as if suspended over the edge of the world by a hundred invisible strings. — Tiffanie DeBartolo

As we breathe and live, have a conversation, and you look in someone's eyes, and you see a sunset or have an argument or read a book or see a painting or whatever you do, it influences you. And as you live your art, it changes and grows just like you and your soul or whatever you want to call it. For me, it's never-ending, I call it "the organizer of chaos." That's what I do with this and I present it in a way that I dream. So basically, I'm just sharing my dreams with all of you. — Jared Leto

I could have asked my father lots of questions. I could have. But there was something in his face and eyes and in his crooked smile that prevented me from asking. I guess I didn't believe he wanted me to know who he was. So I just collected clues. Watching my father read that book was another clue in my collection. Some day all the clues would come together. And I would solve the mystery of my father. — Benjamin Alire Saenz

We can't leave the snow all bloody," I told the underside of his chin,shadowed with stubble. "It will scare the tourists."
"The new snow will cover it up." He looked down at me."Shhh."
Something in his Shhh tugged at my heart. He kept watchiing me,not examining m ear for medical emergencies but looking into my eyes,for a few more steps. I couldn't read his look.He was kind of blurry,for one thing,and I was kind of dizzy. I thought he looked..concerned. Sympathetic. Determined to rescue me from danger. I wished that was what he felt. But it couldn't have been.I was misreading him. — Jennifer Echols

As soon as he turns the key, a man with a heavy British accent starts talking about giants not being meant to live in groups.
"That's . . . Hagrid."
"Order of the Phoenix," Aaron says. "I got the full set as a Christmas present from Mom and Tay, since I'm in the car so much. I've read the books, of course, but . . . nice to listen to them, too."
And so we listen for the next ninety minutes. Well, Aaron and I listen. Taylor is asleep ten minutes in.
I close my eyes and try to lose myself in the story. The entire trip, I only check my phone twice. That's the closest I've been to relaxed all day.
Harry is just wondering whether Cho cried because of Cedric Diggory or because he's a rotten kisser when Molly speaks up. — Rysa Walker

Life is an open book.
Time is an oscillating fan.
I've had to learn to skim-read because
before I can read more than a few paragraphs,
That fucking airhead comes circling back,
blowing pages like a medieval prostitute.
The cool air feels nice, though.
Sometimes, when my head aches,
I let me eyes relax
and I enjoy the breeze as the words blur. — Bo Burnham

I often keep my eyes open for bodies. I do. Ever since I was a kid. I think I read too many 'Nancy Drew' books. — Chelsea Cain

She expected a lot of me. When I was in fourth grade working on a book report, she made me start the whole thing over when she read it and said it was barely even legible. "What's wrong with it?" I asked her. "It's not good enough yet. You have to try harder," she said, her voice gentle. "You have to try hard at everything you do. That's all I ask." I rolled my eyes and revised it, and over time her approach wore off on me and I became like her too - wanting to do my best, expecting my best. — Daisy Whitney

I kissed my fingers,held my palm flat beside my mouth and blew it into the air that surrounded her memory. I closed my eyes, thinking this was one of those moments you see in movies or read about in books where everything comes together. — Belinda Jeffrey

I am like my father - witless in matters of the heart, and of a poor way with women; yet the jewels that strew these royal garden paths - the trees, the flowers, the sward - all must have read the love that has filled my heart since first my eyes were made new by imaging your perfect face and form; so how could you alone have been blind to it? — Edgar Rice Burroughs

What's the point of you? Try this, for starters. And underneath there's a long list. He's written a long, long list, that fills the page. I'm so flustered, I can't even read it properly, but as I scan down I catch beautiful smile and great taste in music (I sneaked a look at your iPod) and awesome Starbucks name. I give a sudden snort of laughter that almost turns to a sob and then turns to a smile, and then suddenly I'm wiping my eyes. I'm all over the place. — Sophie Kinsella

A great diving scene. Worth the read just for that:

"Randy! You have the best eyes for bubbles. Find my missing diver."
Paul leaned over the boat and yelled at the people waiting in the water. "Hey! Where's . . ." He examined the faces. It didn't take long to figure out who was missing. His heart spiraled to his feet.
"Oh, no, no, no!" He didn't hesitate to jump to action. He yelled out orders as he put his gear on in record time. "Get back on the boat. Now!"
"I see bubbles! Over there, 'bout fifteen meters," Randy called before anyone had a chance to do anything.
Paul stood on the back of the boat, all geared up and holding an extra tank with a regulator already attached. He looked to see where Randy pointed and took a giant stride into the water. He didn't bother to surface before starting the fastest descent he'd ever made. — S. Jackson Rivera

Still, Lindsay stops getting dressed, even though he's only half-done, because he gets this urge to ambush the kid with a hug. Just that, nothing else. He wraps his arms around Valentine's skinny body and pulls him close and rests his cheek on the still-damp hair and inhales the cherry-almond scent of his shampoo, and Valentine says, "Oh!" in a really odd way, like he's just read a particularly interesting fact on the back of a Penguin biscuit wrapper. Lindsay's got his eyes shut but he can feel the kid's hands creeping up his bare arms, over his shoulders. One stays there and the other comes to rest on the back of his neck, fingers playing idly with the ends of his hair, and several minutes pass without sound or movement, just the gentle thud of heartbeats.
"What's that for?" Valentine asks, when Lindsay finally lets him go.
"Don't know. Nothing. Just seemed the kind of thing you'd like. BAM, surprise ninja cuddles. — Richard Rider

If my intentions were not to be read in my eyes and voice, I should not have survived so long without quarrels and without harm, seeing the indiscreet freedom with which I say, right or wrong, whatever comes into my head. — Michel De Montaigne

But in fact I was like Ossie, in this one regard: I was consumed by a helpless, often furious love for a ghost. Every rock on the island, every swaying tree branch or dirty dish in our house was like a word in a a sentence that I could read about my mother. All objects and events on our island, every single thing that you could see with your eyes, were like clues that I could use to reinvent her: would our mom love this thing, would she hate it? For a second I luxuriated in a real hatred of my brother. — Karen Russell

I'd rather know I can trust you. So before you read what's in that thing, tell me a story that squares with its details and exonerate yourself in my eyes. Tell me the story you should have told the sheriff right off the bat, when it wasn't too late, when the truth might still have given you your freedom. When the truth might have done you some good. — David Guterson

It has made me better loving you ... it has made me wiser, and easier, and brighter. I used to want a great many things before, and to be angry that I did not have them. Theoretically, I was satisfied. I flattered myself that I had limited my wants. But I was subject to irritation; I used to have morbid sterile hateful fits of hunger, of desire. Now I really am satisfied, because I can't think of anything better. It's just as when one has been trying to spell out a book in the twilight, and suddenly the lamp comes in. I had been putting out my eyes over the book of life, and finding nothing to reward me for my pains; but now that I can read it properly I see that it's a delightful story. — Henry James

I think the reason a lot of celebrities feel insecure and want to stop eating altogether is because they see so many pictures of themselves on a daily basis. It's unhealthy how many times you see your own image - it's just constant. When you see something enough, you're going to tear it down to the point where some days you feel like you're not even pretty. I get insecure about my eyes because I once read a blog comment that said, "Her eyes are so small." I thought, Are my eyes small? Oh no - they are! — Taylor Swift

I understood it now, understood a lot of things I had never understood before. And mostly I understood what a woman could mean to a man. Before, she had been a pair of eyes, and a shape, something to get excited about. Now she seemed something to lean on, and draw something from, that nothing else could give me. I thought of books I had read, about worship of the Earth, and how she was always called Mother, and none of it made much sense, but those big round breasts did, when I put my head on them, and they began to tremble, and I began to tremble. — James M. Cain

Everyone, this is the new girl. Elder knows her. New girl, this is everyone." A few people look up politely; some actually smile. Most, however, look wary at best, disgusted at worse. The nurse closest to me jabs her finger behind her ear and starts whispering to nobody.
"What's wrong with her?" I ask Harley as he leads me to the table he was sitting at.
"Oh, don't worry, we're all mad here."
I giggle, mostly from nerves. "It's a good thing I read Alice in Wonder-land . I definitely think I've fallen into the rabbit hole."
"Read what?" Harley asks.
"Never mind." All around me, eyes follow my every move.
"Look," I say loudly. "I know I look different. But I'm just a person, like you." I hold my head up high, looking them all in the eyes, trying to hold their stares for as long as possible.
"You tell 'em," says Harley with another Cheshire grin. — Beth Revis

I was trouble - and always in trouble. Aged eight I still couldn't read. In fact, I was dyslexic and short-sighted. Despite sitting at the front of the class, I couldn't read the blackboard. Only after a couple of terms did anyone think to have my eyes tested. Even when I could see, the letters and numbers made no sense at all. — Richard Branson

Falco wagged her journal in front of her. "This is yours, I presume." A slow smile spread across his face. "Let's find out exactly what you've been doing, shall we?"
"Give it back!" Cass reached for the journal, but Falco easily dodged her. He opened the leather-bound book to a random page and cleared his throat. Clutching a hand to his chest, he pretended to read aloud in a high-pitched voice. "Oh, how I love the way his fingers explore my soft flesh. The way his eyes see into my very soul."
This time, Cass managed to snatch the book out of his hands. "That is not what it says."
"I guess that means you won't be keeping me warm tonight? — Fiona Paul

She remembered one of her boyfriends asking, offhandedly, how many books she read in a year. "A few hundred," she said.
"How do you have the time?" he asked, gobsmacked.
She narrowed her eyes and considered the array of potential answers in front of her. Because I don't spend hours flipping through cable complaining there's nothing on? Because my entire Sunday is not eaten up with pre-game, in-game, and post-game talking heads? Because I do not spend every night drinking overpriced beer and engaging in dick-swinging contests with the other financirati? Because when I am waiting in line, at the gym, on the train, eating lunch, I am not complaining about the wait/staring into space/admiring myself in reflective surfaces? I am reading!
"I don't know," she said, shrugging. — Eleanor Brown

She smiled. "I don't know. I wonder sometimes, too. Then you touch my face with your scarred hand and read my mind. Your eyes know me. That's why I keep following you all over the realm, barefoot or half-frozen, cursing the sun or the wind, or myself because I have no more sense than to love a man who does not even possess a bed I can crawl into at night. And sometimes I curse you because you have spoken my name in a way that no other man in the realm will speak it, and I will listen for that until I die. So," she added, as he gazed down at her mutely, "how can I leave you?" He — Patricia A. McKillip

I was really the first-line editor of the 'House of Night' series. I didn't write that much of the story, and I didn't know what was happening until my mom finished the book and sent it to me because I wanted to read it with fresh eyes as a general reader would. — Kristin Cast

Francis stared down at the Duchess of York's letter. He swallowed, then read aloud in a husky voice, "It was showed by John Sponer that King Richard, late mercifully reigning upon us, was through great treason piteously slain and murdered, to the great heaviness of this City."
As Margaret listened, the embittered grey eyes had softened, misted with sudden tears.
"My brother may lie in an untended grave," she said, "but he does not lack for an epitaph. — Sharon Kay Penman

We're going to have to read a lot of books," I say.
"My life's work involves reading books."
"We'll probably have to take some classes."
"I'm at my best in a classroom."
"And I hear we'll need to buy a ton of stuff."
"We can afford stuff."
I look up into his chocolate-brown eyes.
"I just wish I knew where to start," I whisper.
"Right here, beauty." And he presses his lips to mine. — Nina Lane

Wait," I said as Noah slipped a book from a shelf and headed toward the door. "Where are you going?"
"To read?"
But I don't want you to.
"But I need to go home," I said, my eyes meeting his. "My parents are going to kill me."
"Taken care of. You're at Sophie's house."
I loved Sophie.
"So I'm ... staying here?"
"Daniel's covering for you."
I loved Daniel.
"Where's Katie?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"Eliza's house."
I loved Eliza.
"And your parents?" I asked.
"Some charity thing."
I loved charity.
"So why are you going to read when I'm right here? — Michelle Hodkin

In the sort of screen dappled with different states of mind which my consciousness would simultaneously unfold while I read, and which ranged from the aspirations hidden deepest within me to the completely exterior vision of the horizon which I had, at the bottom of the garden, before my eyes, what was first in me, innermost, the constantly moving handle that controlled the rest, was my belief in the philosophical richness and beauty of the book I was reading, and my desire to appropriate them for myself, whatever that book might be. — Marcel Proust

His eyes lock with mine and then he kisses me hard on the mouth.

Instantly, my soul wakes up. And that's what a good kiss should do. It should make you come alive. It speaks to you the minute your lips connect.

You don't think.

You react.

You feel. — Calia Read

She says she can read my eyes before I speak the words. — Mita Jain

BEL-IMPERIA: Oh let me go; for in my troubled eyes
Now may'st thou read that life in passion dies.
HORATIO: Oh stay a while, and I will die with thee;
So shalt thou yield, and yet have conquered me. — Thomas Kyd

I've just tried to keep my eyes open, tried to read everything you can, and tried to see whether I see myself within it. If I do, then I can get excited about it. — Chiwetel Ejiofor

I don't need my heart anymore, you can have it. Cut it out, put it in a box, bury it in the hard ground, next to you. My eyes are useless too. They only show me a world without you. Color blind, color absent, colorless. And my mind screams, Not fair! Not right. Not what I was promised on the swing set as you pushed me toward the sun. None of the stories you read me schooled me for this. I didn't learn this lesson in the moon, or on the train, or as a thing to be curious about. So I don't need my heart anymore, you can have it. Let it be buried, in the hard ground, next to you. — Catherine McKenzie

Shaking his head, Tobin turned back to his picnic spread, and there, sitting on the end of the checkered cloth, and helping himself to one of Tobin's cupcakes, was a tiny brown squirrel.
Tobin blinked in surprise.
The squirrel was exceptionally bold. He made absolutely no move to leave, despite Tobin's frown, and merely stuffed more pink icing into his mouth with one tiny paw. His ears were tufted into small points, and he tilted his head to the side as he surveyed Tobin with bright, inquisitive eyes.
Tobin had to laugh. "Well, I suppose I don't mind sharing with you, little guy, even if you did eat one of my cupcakes," Tobin chuckled to himself.
"I should hope so. Frankly, I'm surprised that you thought you could even eat five cupcakes all by yourself," the squirrel replied airily. — R.S. Mollison-Read

See, the thing is I didn't think that that song would get much attention because it's such a personal song to me. I just wrote it about my childhood, and I didn't know how that would read on an album. But it's been everybody's favorite song. I didn't tell my mom. It was a total secret. So I wrote it in secret and then decided to record it secretly, so she had no idea that the song was recorded. My producers sent me the track and I synched it up to all my baby videos and I played it for her one Christmas Eve, and she bawled her eyes out. She didn't even think that it was my song. She didn't think there was any way for me to record a song without her knowing. — Taylor Swift

I tried to give her my best "I Am A Demon Princess" look, which was quite the challenge, seeing as how my hair was hanging in my face and my nose was running. "What's your name?" I asked.
The girl kept her eyes on me, but her hands were moving restlessly over the ground around her, no doubt searching for the knife. "Izzy," she said.
I raised both my eyebrows. Not exactly a name to strike fear into the heart.
Izzy must've read that in my expression, because she frowned. "I'm Isolde Brannick, daughter of Aislinn, daughter of Fiona, daughter of-"
"Right, right, daughter of a bunch of fierce ladies, got it. — Rachel Hawkins

I have to rub my eyes and read the captions again. They're still there. The Elector has freed Eden. — Marie Lu

About the Wi-Fi. Are you blind? Can you read, at all?" He points to a notice in the corner of the coffee shop, which is all about the Starbucks Wi-Fi code. Then he focuses on my dark glasses. "Are you blind? Or just subnormal?" "I'm not blind," I say, my voice trembling. "I was just asking. Sorry to bother you." "Fucking moron," he mutters as he starts tapping again. Tears are welling in my eyes, and as I back away, my legs are wobbly. But my chin is high. I'm determined I'm not going to dissolve. As I get back to the table, I force a kind of rictus grin onto my face. "I did it! — Sophie Kinsella

Get off me, baby, gotta shower." I rolled off but he rolled right on top of me. "I thought you had to shower," I asked when I caught his eyes. He held my gaze for a moment and I couldn't read his face before his head dipped and I felt his nose tweak my ear. "I'm sorry I was a dick," he whispered there. There it was. That was all he had to do and I knew at that moment there would be times when he'd be a jerk and that was all he'd ever have to do. My arms slid around him. "Honey," I whispered back. He gave my shoulder a bristly kiss and then he was gone. — Kristen Ashley

I read in 'Life' magazine that Asians had developed an operation to enlarge eyes, and I yearned to have this done. I wanted to dye my hair brown and to anglicize my name. Self-hate was the most terrible cost of the war years for me. — David Suzuki

It's my letter," she began. "I cannot make it right."
"Come in, come in," the Prince said gently. "Maybe we can help you." She sat down in the same chair as before. "All right, I'll close my eyes and listen; read to me."
" 'Westley, my passion, my sweet, my only, my own. Come back, come back. I shall kill myself otherwise. Yours in torment, Buttercup.' " She looked at Humperdinck. "Well? Do you think I'm throwing myself at him?"
"It does seem a bit forward," the Prince admitted. "It doesn't leave him a great deal of room to maneuver. — William Goldman

If someone looks into your eyes, I read in a book one time, he'll see right into your soul. I didn't want anyone to see into my soul. — Patricia Reilly Giff

She searched his face. "Why did you do this
go to all this trouble, indulge in what I'm sure will prove a shockingly hideous expense?
He returned he gaze steadily "You like music."
It was that simple
he let her read the truth in his eyes. Then she shivered. He reached for the shawl she'd left over her chair and held it up. She hesitated, then turned so he could drape it over her shoulders. Releasing the fine silk, he closed his hands about her shoulders; leaning closer, he murmured, "As with other pleasures, my reward is your delight. — Stephanie Laurens

There was scrutiny is Lincoln's eyes as he looked at me. He was studying me. Eyeing me up and down. Taking in my hair, my mouth, my eyes. His gaze fell on the ring pierced through my nose. He stopped at the small leftover drawings illustrated on my wrists from yesterday's English class doodlings--reading me like I was a book that had been on a shelf so long dust embossed the title on the spine. He read me as though he was the first to crack open that cover in over a decade. I felt him blowing off the pages. — Megan Squires

How deaf and stupid I have been, he thought, walking on quickly. When anyone reads anything which he wishes to study, he does not despise the letters and punctuation marks, and call them illusion, chance and worthless shells, but he reads them, he studies and loves them, letter by letter. But I, who wished to read the book of the world and of my own nature, did presume to despise the letters and signs. I called the world of appearances, illusion. I called my eyes and tongue, chance. Now it is over; I have awakened. — Hermann Hesse

Aurora once told me that she knew I was different within the first few months after I was born, because as a baby, I never cried. She had no way of knowing if I was hungry or if my stomach hurt until I was old enough to point and talk. Even when I fell and it was obvious that I had hurt myself, I did not cry. When I didn't get my way, I would go off by myself and sulk or have a tantrum. But I never cried. Later, when I was eleven and Abba died, I didn't cry. When Joseph, my best friend at St. Elizabeth's, died, I didn't cry. Maybe I don't feel what others feel. I have no way of knowing. But I do feel. It's just that what I feel does not elicit tears. What I feel when others cry is more like a dry, empty aloneness, like I'm the only person left in the world.
So it is very strange to feel my eyes well with tears as I read Jasmine's list. — Francisco X Stork

When I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies, I'll bid farewell to every fear, And wipe my weeping eyes. — Isaac Watts

In the meantime, there are all my books ... "
I'd seen his books. Almost all of them had been written before his birth, which had been more than a century and a half before mine. Many of them were books of love poems. He'd tried to read to me from one of them the night before, in order to cheer me up.
It hadn't worked.
I thought it more polite to say "Thank you, John," than "Do you have any books that aren't about love? And young couples expressing that love? Because I do not need encouragement in that direction right now."
"And you have this whole castle to explore," he said, an eager light in his eyes. "The gardens are beautiful ... — Meg Cabot

My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once ... — William Wordsworth

Signatures of all things I am here to read. — James Joyce

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

That night, stargazing on the deck with Dad, eyes on the sky, he pointed out Orion, Betelgeuse. "It's an art to read the stars, baby."
I never wanted to leave his side-my sure song for so long. Now? His eyes are stone changed. Just looking at them hurts my heart. — Norma Fox Mazer

My eyes gravitated to her nails again. Seriously, how hard is it to not chew your nails? I knew many of the old beauty supplies, including the nail polishes that many movie stars wore in old films were illegal, but this was gross. She continued to read. I started chastising myself silently for my previous denigrating thoughts. After what felt like a lifetime, the papers came away from her eyes. — James W. Scott

He looked at me and I couldn't read his face or his scent. "I talked to Samuel earlier. He's sorry to have missed the excitement, but he's at home now. If Fideal follows you home, he'll have Samuel to contend with." He waved his hand around. "And there are plenty of us here to come to your aid."
"Are you sending me home?" Was I flirting? Damn it, I was.
He smiled, first with his eyes and then his lips, just a little, just enough to turn his face into something that made my pulse pick up. "You can stay if you'd like," he said, flirting right back. Then, a wicked light gleaming in his eyes, he went one step too far. "But I think there are too many people around for what I'd like you to stay for."
I dodged around Honey's husband and out the door, the flip-flops making little snapping sounds that didn't cover up Adam's final comment. "I like your tattoo, Mercy."
I made sure that my shoulders were stiff as I walked away. He couldn't see the grin on my face . . . — Patricia Briggs

While my eyes adjust to the soft glow of the light, I'm suddenly face to face with a man the world dubbed nearly a year ago as the most beautiful man. That headline, however, has been replaced with ones that read along the lines of, Beautiful? Or Beautifully Terrifying? — Ella Frank

I will be your neighbour, your nurse, your housekeeper. I find you lonely: I will be your companion
to read to you, to walk with you, to sit with you, to wait on you, to be eyes and hands to you. Cease to look so melancholy, my dear master; you shall not be left desolate, so long as I live. — Charlotte Bronte

When you begin to read or listen to the Holy Scriptures, pray to God thus: "Lord Jesus Christ, open the ears and eyes of my heart so that I may hear Thy words and understand them, and may fulfill Thy will." Always pray to God like this, that He might illumine your mind and open to you the power of His words. Many, having trusted in their own reason, have turned away into deception. — Ephrem The Syrian

The difference between me and Abolqader was that I spoke to my wife with refinement and he spoke to her coarsely and violently, I took a shower once a day and he took one once a month, I didn't even eat spring onions and he ate onions and garlic and radishes by the kilo, I read her poetry by Sa'di and he belched at her...and so in my wife's eyes I was stupid and he was clever, I was an idiot and he was intelligent. I was coarse and he was refined...But apparently he was a very good traveller.." Asadollah Mirza (from My Uncle Napoleon). — Iraj Pezeshkzad

My work is about making candy for the eyes. It's about grabbing your attention. Even though my work is appearing in magazines I am trying to make a large picture. I want my photographs to read like a poster. — David LaChapelle

My wife is also particularly fond of vampire romance." Zoltan swallowed so hard that his eyes watered. "Are you serious? Do people really write those? And read them?" "I'm afraid so, my lord. They appear to be quite popular." "Why?" Zoltan set the glass down. "We're dead half the time. And until recently, we couldn't father children." Domokos's mouth twitched. "I believe the writers are focusing on your other attributes, my lord. — Kerrelyn Sparks

He says, he loves my daughter;
I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon
Upon the water, as he'll stand and read,
As 'twere, my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain,
I think, there is not half a kiss to choose,
Who loves another best. — William Shakespeare

At their core, Tiger Eyes, Forever ... , and Sally J. Freeman are all books about teenage issues, but to an adult reader, the parents' story lines seem to almost overshadow their daughters. I'm bringing an entirely new set of experiences to these novels now, and my reward is a fresh set of story lines that i missed the first time around. I'm sure that in twenty or thirty years I'll read these books again and completely identify with all the grandparent characteristics. That's the wonderful thing about Judy Blume - you can revisit her stories at any stage in life and find a character who strikes a deep chord of recognition. I've been there, I'm in the middle of this, someday that'll be me. The same characters, yet somehow completely different. (Beth Kendrick) — Jennifer O'Connell

Excuse me, Ms. Matthews; you are going to be late for class if you don't get going. Can you read the map, or are you already lost?" the stern voice of the secretary pulled me out of my stupor.
"Um, no, I can read," I said, sheepishly, still unable to take my eyes off the mysterious boy staring back.
"Of course, you can read," she said sharply, snapping my entranced head back to reality. "Now, get to class. — Rachel Higginson

One of the the loveliest lines I have ever read comes from Brother Roger, the Prior of the Protestant monks of Taize, France: 'Assured of your salvation by the unique grace of our Lord Jesus Christ.' It is still difficult for me to read these words without tears filling my eyes. It is wonderful. — Brennan Manning

Whenever I heard that languid, beautiful melody, those days came back to me. It wasn't what I'd characterize as a happy part of my life, living as I was, a balled-up mass of unfulfilled desires. I was much younger, much hungrier, much more alone. But I was myself, pared down to the essentials. I could feel each single note of music, each line I read, seep down deep inside me. My nerves were sharp as a blade, my eyes shining with a piercing light. And every time I heard that music, I recalled my eyes then, glaring back at me from a mirror. — Haruki Murakami