Quotes & Sayings About Staring Out The Window

It's been years since I tried to count the stars. I spent a lot of long teenage nights staring up there trying to count them. I needed to know their number. I remember waiting until the whole house was quiet, until my parents' soft voices in the room next to mine had stopped. I remember sneaking out the window in my nightie, no slippers on my feel, and lying down in the middle of the lawn. It was cold but I didn't care. I would stare at the sky, but the fucking things move. I tried to imagine the sky as a grid, drawing lines from objects on the ground. I tried scanning it with an aluminum-foil tube. I tried everything. Nothing works. — Toni Jordan

Peter wasn't used to girls, and now there were four staring at him. He wished he had jumped out the window. — Jack Lewis Baillot

How, I wonder, staring out my hotel window into black nothingness, can Icelanders possibly be happy living under this veil of darkness? I've always associated happy places with palm trees and beaches and blue drinks and, of course, swim-up bars. That's paradise, right? The global travel industry certainly wants us to think so. Bliss, the ads tell us, lies someplace else, and that someplace else is sunny and eighty degrees. Always. Our language, too, reflects the palm-tree bias. Happy people have a sunny disposition and always look on the bright side of life. Unhappy people possess dark souls and black bile. — Eric Weiner

He was silent for a moment, staring out the window into the rain; I imagined he was contemplating the fact that his family's presence was turning the locals into giant dogs. — Stephenie Meyer

The first time I'd ever felt happy-and I mean ever-was when I'd been lying in my bed, staring out my window, watching the stars shine harmoniosly with one another. — Jessica Sorensen

The first time I ever experienced happiness was when I had been lying in bed one night, staring out my window at the stars shining harmoniously. — Jessica Sorensen

If there was anything that seemed like paradise to me as a kid, it was when I faked my parents into believing I was asleep, but was staring out the window, gazing at the street lights and the wonder of where they could take me. — Michael Martinelli

Grandma says there's more of him."
"What?"
"Persons like him, in the world."
"Ah," says Ma.
"Is it true?"
"Yeah. But the tricky thing is, there's far more people in the middle."
"Where?"
Ma's staring out the window but I don't know at what. "Somewhere between good and bad," she says. "Bits of both stuck together. — Emma Donoghue

What no wife of a writer can ever understand is that a writer is working when he's staring out of the window. — Burton Rascoe

Cocky much?" I muttered, hanging my arm out the window like Jesse was. I opened my hand and splayed my fingers to feel the wind rushing through them.
"Only when a pretty girl is sitting next to me and trying her hardest to pretend I'm the most irritating thing in the world," he replied, staring at the road and smiling. — Nicole Williams

I was just sitting on the train, just staring out the window at some cows. It was not the most inspiring subject. When all of a sudden the idea of Harry just appeared in my mind's eye. — J.K. Rowling

I brushed the curtain aside, scowling. Hadn't even spoken to the girl and I felt like a stalker staring out the window, waiting once more ... waiting for what? To catch a glimpse of her? Or to better prepare myself for the inevitable meeting?
If Dee saw me now, she'd be on the floor laughing.
And if Ash saw me right now, she'd scratch out my eyes and blast my new neighbor into outer space. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

A certain ultra-dignified gentleman of unusual prominence carried himself so stiffly that nobody felt free to call him by his first name. He quarreled with a friend of earlier days and from then on the two never spoke. The day the friend died an associate found the ultra-dignified gentleman staring through the window. When he came out of his reverie, he soliloquized with a sigh, ""He was the last to call me John."" Is any man really entitled to regard himself a success who has failed to inspire at least a goodly number of fellow mortals to greet him by his first name? — B.C. Forbes

Many women are singing together of this:
one is in a shoe factory cursing the machine,
one is at the aquarium tending a seal,
one is dull at the wheel of her Ford,
one is at the toll gate collecting,
one is tying the cord of a calf in Arizona,
one is straddling a cello in Russia,
one is shifting pots on the stove in Egypt,
one is painting her bedroom walls moon color,
one is dying but remembering a breakfast,
one is stretching on her mat in Thailand,
one is wiping the ass of her child,
one is staring out the window of a train
in the middle of Wyoming and one is
anywhere and some are everywhere and all
seem to be singing, although some can not
sing a note. — Anne Sexton

Quirk was still staring out the window. "I'm trying to keep hold of this thing," he said. "The guy isn't going to stop and — Robert B. Parker

His eyebrows pulled in, and then he cradled me to him with both arms, still staring out the window. I watch you sleeping a lot. You always look so peaceful. I don't have that kind of quiet. I have all this anger and rage boiling inside of me - except when I watch you sleep. — Jamie McGuire

I was staring out the classroom window and daydreaming of adventure when I spotted the flying saucer. — Ernest Cline

Cooper grinned at me. "So, are you going to see me off at the airport? Stand in the terminal lounge, staring out the window, waiting for my plane to take off?"
I snorted. "Um, no. I was going to drop you off at the departure terminal so I didn't have to get a parking spot."
He gaped and narrowed his eyes. "When you get home, do me a favour and Google the word chivalry," he said flatly. "It's spelled c-h-i-v - "
"Shut up," I said with a laugh.
"Or even look up the definition of 'nice boyfriend'. I'm pretty sure it says 'does not drop off loved one at terminal gate' or 'does not tell boyfriend to shut up'. — N.R. Walker

I like to put my iPad on the window and leave it there for however long the journey is, so that I'm staring out, and it's staring out. We're kind of staring out together. It's very poetic to me, watching that absent-minded passing of time. You realize how much you've taken in. What is left of that memory of you staring out of the window for an hour? It's all on the iPad. — Damon Albarn

I'm a girl."
When Deryn opened her eyes, the lady boffin was staring at her with no change of expression.
"Indeed," she said.
Deryn's mouth feel open. "You mean you ... Did you barking know?"
"I had no idea at all. But I make it a policy never to appear surprised." Dr. Barlow sighed, staring out the window. "Though on this occasion, it is proving rather more demanding than usual. A girl, you say? And you're quite certain? — Scott Westerfeld

It's hard to convince people when you're just staring out the window that you're doing your hardest work of the day. — Charles M. Schulz

I thought he was the saddest person I had ever met, in those moments when I glimpsed him staring out the window. — Jojo Moyes

I'm the guy who spends 15 minutes staring out of the window wondering what to have for lunch. — Robert Webb

I will waste an extraordinary amount of time, you know. And if it's not watching television, I'll be sitting staring out of the window. And yes, I know there's the idea of the artist, sitting there doing nothing while things are going on, but actually, no. It's vacant space. I'm thinking about the laundry. — Glen Duncan

Surely no one would ever use such a weapon against a city."
"There are no limits in war," Volger said, still staring out the window. — Scott Westerfeld

Look at those beautiful villages, in the heart of nature." Evans was staring out the window but saw only poverty. The — Michael Crichton

A writer is never just looking out of a window or staring into space. They are building a universe to share with the world — Brenda Ashworth Barry

The best parts of Mumbai though are not the attractions and landmarks, but the vibrant, mesmerising journeys between them. I spent hours in a cab staring out of the window, and could easily spend hours more and never be bored. — Lewis Waller

It was dreadful, when she thought about it with the tiniest bit of hindsight, to admit this was the case. That a small part of herself was such a masochist, so enjoyed putting herself through all of this, that she liked hearing sad songs on the radio and staring gloomily out the window late at night. The tears in her eyes as she walked home of an evening, thinking about how much she loved him and how great they were together. It was so adolescent. — Harriet Evans

My favorite pastime is staring out the window. When I go on tour, I can spend hours and hours just staring out the window, thinking about nothing. I love all that. — Noel Gallagher

I'm ordered to a week of bed rest and I don't object because I feel so lousy. Not just my heel and my tailbone. My whole body aches with exhaustion. So I let my mother doctor me and feed me breakfast in bed and tuck another quilt around me. Then I just lie there, staring out my window at the winter sky, pondering how on earth this will all turn out. — Suzanne Collins

People who might once have bought a newspaper to beguile themselves now look at their Android. Magzines readers look at their Android, too. Amazingly, even manufactures of chewing gum have taken a hit, because nervously chewing while staring out the window has become nervously tapping while staring into a handled screen. — Bruce Sterling

I used to think I was unstable, because I had this thirst for something. I could never figure out what it was. I couldn't sleep at night, and I always wanted to be somewhere else. I have a window tattooed, this little box, and it's because wherever I was, I wanted to be somewhere else. And, I always saw myself, wherever I was in life, staring out the window. — Angelina Jolie

He started his engine and turned on the windshield wipers in time to see a tall old man stepping out of the cab. He paid the driver, then turned and stood motionless under a misty streetlamp's glow, staring up at a window of the house like a melancholy traveler frozen in time. As — William Peter Blatty

Light
jumping out of window
is staring the dark
from afar. — Suman Pokhrel

Why do people who read Shakespeare still spend hours watching shitty TV or staring out of the window or arguing about whose dinner party to go to? — Glen Duncan

I'd happily just stay on the road. Getting home from America, sitting in my kitchen with a cup of tea, staring out of the window is pretty depressing. I didn't have a tour manager to tell me what to do so I had to start reaching out to people and making plans. That was hard. You become very vegetable-y. — Ben Lovett

Julian's skin was cold, as if he'd been leaning out the window into the night air. She turned his hand and drew with her finger on his bare forearm. It was something they'd done since they were small children and didn't want to get caught talking during lessons. Over the years they'd gotten so good at it that they could map out detailed messages on each other's hands, arms, even their shoulders through their T-shirts.
D-I-D Y-O-U E-A-T? she spelled out.
Julian shook his head, still staring at Livvy and Ty. His curls were sticking up in tufts as if he'd been raking his hands through his hair. She felt his fingers, light on her upper arm. N-O-T H-U-N-G-R-Y. — Cassandra Clare

My idea of a productive day, as both a child and an adult, was reading for hours and staring out the window. — Gail Caldwell

After a couple seconds his eyelids fluttered at the scent that was wafting off Detective Michaels. Damn 'em all to hell. He smelled like something he wanted to rut against and come hard on. Fuck. Judge rolled his window down all the way. He'd rather smell the trash on the street than get a hard-on for this good-smelling, eager-to-prove-himself, straight asshole. He chanced a look at Michaels and was shocked to see him slouched and confident riding with him. He had a dark pair of aviator shades on, staring out the window with one hand propped on the door. It was almost as if he didn't know he was hot. And damnit if that wasn't sexy in itself. — A.E. Via

I'm doing one of three things: I'm writing. I'm staring out the window. Or I'm writhing on the floor. — Thomas Harris

From the floor, I see the tops of the Philadelphia skyline out of her window. Staring at it, I realize that the night sky isn't really black, which is the way I've always thought of it. It's actually a dark shade of blue, the darkest possible. — Siobhan Vivian

All motivation derives from the primary fact of mortality. Take mortality away and motivation loses its ... motivation. Thus vampires spend a lot of time lounging around and staring out of the window and finding they can't be arsed. — Glen Duncan

Sometimes I caught my mother digging through old photo albums or staring at the wall or out the window. She'd get that look on her face that I knew meant she missed my father. Not enough to want him back. She missed him just enough for it to hurt. On — Sherman Alexie

What no wife of a writer understands is that a writer is working when he's staring out the window. — Burton Rascoe

That night,I lay on my side,staring out the window into the invisible world outside.I kept trying to fall asleep,but then my eyes would dart open,just to check.I couldn't help but hope that Margo Roth Spiegelman would return to my window and drag my tired ass through one more night I'd never forget. — John Green

Even as I begin to realize the magnitude of what I'm doing, a thought occurs to me. Somewhere in the city of rebirth, Paul is lifting himself out of bed, staring out his window, and waiting. There are pigeons cooing on rooftops, cathedral bells tolling from towers in the distance. We are sitting here, continents apart, the same way we always did: at the edges of our mattresses, together. On the ceilings where I am going there will be saints and gods and flights of angels. Everywhere I walk there will be reminders of all that time can't touch. My heart is a bird in a cage, ruffling its wings with the ache of expectation.
In Italy, the sun is rising. — Dustin Thomason

Whirs. See?" Heidi grabbed the string and pulled. The snail toppled over. "No, not like that," Vanja said. "I'll show you." She placed the snail upright and slowly dragged it a few meters. "I've got a little sister!" she said aloud. Robin had gone to the window where he stood staring out into the backyard. Stella, who was energetic and presumably extra-lively since it was her party, excitedly shouted something that I didn't understand, pointed to one of the two smaller girls, who handed her the doll she was clutching, took out a little carriage, placed the doll in it, and began to push it down the hall. Achilles had found his way to Benjamin, a boy eighteen months older than Vanja, who usually sat deeply absorbed in something, a drawing or a pile of Legos or a pirate ship with plastic pirates. He was imaginative, independent, and well-behaved, — Karl Ove Knausgard

I look over at Ed. He's staring out the window giving Leo the thumbs-down. I wait till he's looking at me, then I give him two fingers up. He gives me two fingers back. I give him the middle finger. He gives it back to me. I don't know any more signs, so I make up one. Three fingers. Take that, mister. He sticks up four. I call your four and raise you five. He skips straight to ten and does something with his thumb that disturbs me. I bounce my hands on my lap. Ed bounces his lap right back. — Cath Crowley

Baby?" Dex asked gently. "Are you okay?" I shook my head, staring out the window as the trees went past. "No." "Do you want to quit and go home?" I turned my head to look at him. He looked so damn sympathetic. "You know I'd understand. I just want to make you happy." Ugh. My heart started to swell like a warm balloon. I gave him a small smile. "I don't know what I want, Dex." He swallowed. "Do you still want me?" Everything inside me melted. I twisted in my seat to face him and reached up to touch his cheek. "Of course I still want you. Dex, I love you. You know I do. I'm just ... really freaked out. Everything that's going on in that place is ... " "Too much?" "Yes. Too much. — Karina Halle

Sometimes a cloudless swatch of sky would blow past the moon, and Pella could see the outline of Mike's face in a slightly sharper relief. It was strange the way he loved her: a sidelong and almost casual love, as if loving her were simply a matter of course, too natural to mention. Like their first meeting on the steps of the gym, when he'd hardly so much as glanced at her. With David and every guy before David, what passed for love had always been eye to eye, nose to nose; she felt watched, observed, like the prize at the zoo, and she wound up pacing, preening, watching back, to fit the part. Whereas Mike was always beside her. She would stand at the kitchen window and look out at the quad, at the Melville statue and beyond that the beach and the rolling lake, and realize that Make, for however long, had been standing beside her, staring at the same thing. — Chad Harbach

He stood lamely staring out at the grief-stricken crowd like he was watching a hurricane wreak havoc outside his window. He was powerless to stop the destruction but it was his burden to watch it transpire. — Sarah Noffke

There's nothing wrong with occasionally staring out the window and thinking nonsense, as long as the nonsense is yours. — Lemony Snicket

I was fading helplessly away with open eyes, staring straight at the ceiling. Finally I stuck my forefinger in my mouth and took to sucking on it. Something began stirring in my brain, some thought in there scrabbling to get out, a stark-staring mad idea: What if I get a bite? And without a moment's hesitation I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my teeth together.
I jumped up. I was finally awake. A little blood trickled from my finger, and I licked it off as it came. It didn't hurt, the wound was nothing really, but I was at once brought back to my sense. I shook my head, went over to the window and found a rag for the wound. While I was fiddling with this, my eyes filled with water
I wept softly to myself. The skinny lacerated finger looked so sad. God in heaven, to what extremity I had come! — Knut Hamsun

Is there a reason why you're standing there, staring out the window and watching the neighbors? Are we preparing to kill them and drag them down to the basement and bury them alive? — R.L. Mathewson

For one moment I had a cold feeling he was watching. Over the arm of the couch, I caught a glimpse of his face staring back at me through the dark beyond the window - where just a few minutes earlier I had been crouching. A switch of perception, and I was out on the fire escape again, watching a man and a woman inside, making love on the couch. ... I thought to myself, go ahead, you poor bastard - watch. I don't give a damn anymore. — Daniel Keyes

We all did a lot of staring that day.
The point that struck me as most interesting about our collective staring was the objects at which people stared.
Jethro stared out the window. Billy stared at the fireplace. Cletus stared at the front door. Beau stared at the kitchen table. Duane stared at the refrigerator. Roscoe stared at Momma's sewing desk.
I sat in my recliner and stared at the spot where the hospital bed had been. — Penny Reid

I went to bed without reading, instead staring out my window with the curtains drawn, wondering about boys. Why did they behave so oddly? One minute their teasing was relentless, and then bam!
they'd stun you with a thoughtful gesture. Either way, their actions made you want to cry. Maybe that was the intent. — Richelle E. Goodrich

One ancient retired Air Force nurse does nothing but screams 'Help!' for hours at a time from a second-story window. Not six weeks ago, a huge stole HELP WANTED sign was found attached right below the retired shrieking nurse's window.
Unit #5, kittycorner across the little street from Ennet House, is for catatonics and various vegetablish, fetal-positioned mental patients. It is, understandably, a pretty quiet place. But in nice weather, when its more portable inmates are carried out and placed in the front lawn to take the air, standing there propped-up and staring, they present a tableau it took Gately some time to get used to. A couple newer residents got discharged late in Gately's treatment for tossing firecrackers into the crowd of catatonics on the lawn to see if they could get them to jump around or display affect. — David Foster Wallace

On the train: staring hypnotized at the blackness outside the window, feeling the incomparable rhythmic language of the wheels, clacking out nursery rhymes, summing up moments of the mind like the chant of a broken record: god is dead, god is dead. going, going, going. and the pure bliss of this, the erotic rocking of the coach. France splits open like a ripe fig in the mind; we are raping the land, we are not stopping. — Sylvia Plath

In terms of how the music developed, it was my normal process, which I would say is really a hybrid process of sketching on bits of paper, playing the piano, playing synthesisers, using the computer, staring out of the window, finding things I'd forgotten about, happy accidents, failed plans, best intentions, equipment failures. It is a multidimensional process incorporating a lot of planning and intention and a lot of randomness. Ultimately I just follow the material where it wants to go a lot of the time. — Max Richter

You'd like some soothin', wouldn't you, Mr. Fairfax?" she asked in a sympathetic voice. A raw chuckle left his throat as he thought of Emma forcing this poor little minx into a calico dress and an old lady's snood. "I sure would, Callie," he answered honestly, "but I'm afraid there's only one woman I want." A mischievous grin curved Callie's mouth. "Miss Emma?" "The same," Steven admitted with a sigh, "but don't you tell her. I want this to be our little secret." Callie sat down in the chair Emma always occupied when she read to him. He found himself missing that redheaded hellcat with a fierce keenness, as though they'd been parted a month instead of a few hours. "She got real upset, Miss Emma did," Callie confided in a happy whisper, "when I came over here and told her Miss Chloe'd sent me to look after you." Steven laughed. "Good," he replied, staring out the window at the sun. It seemed to be immersing itself in the far side of the lake. "I'm making progress." Callie — Linda Lael Miller

Between takeoff and landing, we are each in suspended animation, a pause between chapters of our lives. When we stare out the window into the sun's glare, the landscape is only a flat projection with mountain ranges reduced to wrinkles in the continental skin. Oblivious to our passage overhead, other stories are unfolding beneath us. Blackberries ripen in the August sun, a woman packs a suitcase and hesitates at her doorway, a letter is opened and the most surprising photograph slides from between the pages. But we are moving too fast and we are too far away; all the stories escape us, except our own. When I turn away from the window, the stories recede into the two-dimensional map of green and brown below. Like a trout disappearing into the shade of an overhanging bank, leaving you staring at the flat surface of the water and wondering if you saw it at all. — Robin Wall Kimmerer

There is the image of the man who imagines himself to be a prisoner in a cell. He stands at one end of this small, dark, barren room, on his toes, with arms stretched upward, hands grasping for support onto a small, barred window, the room's only apparent source of light. If he holds on tight, straining toward the window, turning his head just so, he can see a bit of bright sunlight barely visible between the uppermost bars. This light is his only hope. He will not risk losing it. And so he continues to staring toward that bit of light, holding tightly to the bars. So committed is his effort not to lose sight of that glimmer of life-giving light, that it never occurs to him to let go and explore the darkness of the rest of the cell. So it is that he never discovers that the door at the other end of the cell is open, that he is free. He has always been free to walk out into the brightness of the day, if only he would let go. (192) — Sheldon B. Kopp

Quentin did not answer, staring at the window; then he could not tell if it was the actual window or the window's pale rectangle upon his eyelids, though after a moment it began to emerge. It began to take shape in its same curious, light, gravity-defying attitude
the once-folded sheet out of the wistaria Mississippi summer, the cigar smell, the random blowing of the fireflies. "The South," Shreve said. "The South. Jesus. No wonder you folks all outlive yourselves by years and years and years." It was becoming quite distinct. He would be able to decipher the words soon, in a moment; even almost now, now, now.
"I am older at twenty than a lot of people who have died," Quentin said. — William Faulkner

Where once September seemed merely and quietly odd, staring out the window during Mathematics lectures and reading big colorful books under her desk during Civics, now the other children sensed something wild and foreign about her. — Catherynne M Valente

Volyova felt as if her brain consisted of a room full of precocious schoolchildren: individually bright, and - if only they would pool themselves - capable of shattering insights. But some of those schoolchildren were not paying attention; they were staring dreamily out of the window, ignoring her protestations to focus on the present, because they found their own obsessions more intellectually attractive than the dull curriculum she was intent on dispensing. — Alastair Reynolds

We feel something, and reach out for the nearest phrase or hum with which to communicate, but which fails to do justice to what has induced us to do so ... We stay on the outside of our impressions, as if staring at them through a frosted window, superficially related to them, yet estranged from whatever has eluded casual definition. — Alain De Botton