I am pure light, not just a fistful of clay. The shell is not me, I came as the royal pearl within. Look at me not with outward eye but with inward vision of the heart; Follow me there and see how unencumbered we become.
Take a look at me now, cause there's just an empty space. And you coming back to me is against all odds and that's what I've got to face.
A tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me!... Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.
Maybe the first time you saw her you were ten. She was standing in the sun scratching her legs. Or tracing letters in the dirt with a stick. Her hair was being pulled. Or she was pulling someone's hair. And a part of you was drawn to her, and a part of you resisted--wanting to ride off on your bicycle, kick a stone, remain uncomplicated. In the same breath you felt the strength of a man, and a self-pity that made you feel small and hurt. Part of you thought: Please don't look at me. If you don't, I can still turn away. And part of you thought: Look at me.
She looks at me. She does. She.
He looks at me, the light in his eyes fractures into millions of bits—a kaleidoscope of darkness that may never be fixed.
People look at me and they dont see what they think is a typical Aboriginal.
Actors come up and just blatantly hit on my wife in front of me and don't even look at me.
I like having little kids look at me. It's fun. They make these little faces.
I have a dog and sometimes I'll be the littlest kid with my dog and marvel at his ears and his nose and how he looks at me. If he died, I'd bawl like a baby.
You're not like the others. I've seen a few; I know. When I talk, you look at me. When I said something about the moon, you looked at the moon, last night. The others would never do that. The others would walk off and leave me talking. Or threaten me. No one has time any more for anyone else. You're one of the few who put up with me. That's why I think it's so strange you're a fireman, it just doesn't seem right for you, somehow.
People look at me, and they have a certain perception, and they slap a label on me. The guy you saw in a wrestling ring is not who I am.
I never even believed in happiness. I didn't think it existed. Now look at me. I'm ready to believe in just about anything.
When they see us dance. When they see how you look at me. When they see how I smile at you.
I have a crumble baby belly, boobs are worse for wear after two kids...I'm doing all right. I'm 33. I don't look in the mirror and go, "Oh, I look fantastic!". Of course I don't. Nobody is perfect. I just don't believe in perfection. But I do believe in saying, "This is who I am and look at me not being perfect!". I'm proud of that.
I'm-A-God-Look-At-Me.
Bad days, good days, ‘I’ll cut you if you look at me the wrong way’ days. I’ll take them all.
Sean looks at me then, his eyes bright, in a way that makes me feel out of sorts. I glare back.
I'm a guy that people look at me not only as a guy that hit the ball.
What right do we have to claim, as some might, that human beings are the only inhabitants of our planet blessed with an actual ability to be "aware"? The impression of a "conscious presence" is indeed very strong with me when I look at a dog or a cat or, especially, when an ape or monkey at the zoo looks at me. I do not ask that they are "self-aware" in any strong sense (though I would guess that an element of self-awareness can be present). All I ask is that they sometimes simply feel!
I was not very strong growing up, and my uncle used to look at me, like, This kid is not growing up, he is growing tall but he can be broken like a banana.
Whenever I look at me, all i see are things I'd like to change. Whenever Damon looks at me, all he sees is a glorious gift from the universe somewhere in the middle lies the truth.
Its just that, when the orchestra look at me, I want them to see a completely involved person who reflects what we rehearsed, and whose function is to make it possible for them to do it.
Look at me, he said to her. His arms and legs jerked. Look at me. You got your wish. I have learned how to love. And it’s a terrible thing. I’m broken. My heart is broken. Help me. The old woman turned and hobbled away. Come back, thought Edward. Fix me
I want you to take a good, hard look at me, America, because this is exactly what you’ve got coming.
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