Quotes
Quotes about Eyes
Hung on the shower that fronts the golden West, The rainbow bursts like magic on mine eyes! In hues of ancient promise there imprest; Frail in its date, eternal in its guise.
And still the Raven, never flitting, Still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas Just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming Of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamplight o'er him streaming Throws his shadow on the floor, And my soul from out that shadow, That lies floating on the floor, Shall be lifted--nevermore.
Night after night, He sat and bleared his eyes with books.
What our eyes behold may well be the text of life but one's meditations on the text and the disclosures of these meditations are no less a part of the structure of reality.
It took me a long time not to judge myself through someone else's eyes.
Men are born with two eyes, but with one tongue, in order that they should see twice as much as they say.
Life is a tightrope with God at the end. If we walk with our eyes down, looking at what is happening right now in our lives, we are likely to waver and fall. However, if we focus at the end of the rope, where God and Heaven await us, we can see past all of the petty troubles this present life and walk more steadily. We may sometimes still stumble, but if we get back up and train our eyes on God once again, He will guide us to the end.
When the missionaries came to Africa they had the Bible and we had the land. They said "Let us pray." We closed our eyes. When we opened them we had the Bible and they had the land.
Though God's attributes are equal, yet his mercy is more attractive and pleasing in our eyes than his justice.
In various talk th' instructive hours they past, Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last; One speaks the glory of the British queen, And one describes a charming Indian screen; A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes; At every word a reputation dies.
A reputation once broken may possibly be repaired, but the world will always keep their eyes on the spot where the crack was.
Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire. Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow Of bragging horror. So shall inferior eyes, That borrow their behaviors from the great, Grow great by your example and put on The dauntless spirit of resolution.
How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell; Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs, Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes, Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
I am in Rome! Oft as the morning ray Visits these eyes, waking at once I cry, Whence this excess of joy? What has befallen me? And from within a thrilling voice replies, Thou art in Rome! A thousand busy thoughts Rush on my mind, a thousand images; And I spring up as girt to run a race!
A prince without letters is a Pilot without eyes. All his government is groping.
At length her grace rose and with modest paces Came to the altar, where she kneeled, and saint-like Cast her fair eyes to heaven and prayed devoutly; Then rose again and bowed her to the people; When by the Archbishop of Canterbury She had all the royal makings of a queen, As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown, The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems Laid nobly on her; which performed, the choir With all the choicest music of the kingdom Together sung 'Te Deum.' So she parted And with the same full state packed back again To York Place, where the feast is held.
Who knows but that hereafter some traveller like myself will sit down upon the banks of the Seine, the Thames, or the Zuyder Zee, where now, in the tumult of enjoyment, the heart and the eyes are too slow to take in the multitude of sensations? Who knows but he will sit down solitary amid silent ruins, and weep a people inurned and their greatness changed into an empty name?
Child of mortality, whence comest thou? Why is thy countenance sad, and why are thine eyes red with weeping?
But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end Like quills upon the fretful porpentine.
O Hamlet, speak no more. Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul, And there I see such black and grained spots As will not leave their tinct.
Let not soft slumber close your eyes, Before you've collected thrice The train of action through the day! Where have my feet chose out their way? What have I learnt, where'er I've been, From all I've heard, from all I've seen? What have I more that's worth the knowing? What have I done that's worth the doing? What have I sought that I should shun? What duty have I left undone, Or into what new follies run? These self-inquiries are the road That lead to virtue and to God.
Other men's sins are before our eyes; our own are behind our backs.
I was afraid that by observing objects with my eyes and trying to comprehend them with each of my other senses I might blind my soul altogether.
