He had green eyes. And skin the color of sunshine through honey.
Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes That on the green turf suck the honied showers, And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freakt with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears.
The Tennessee stud was long and lean The color of the sun and his eyes were green. He had the nerve and he had the blood And there never was a hoss like the Tennessee stud.
But I believe in true love, you know? I don't believe that everybody gets to keep their eyes or not get sick or whatever, but everybody should have true love, and it should last at least as long as your life does.
As for Fantine, she was a joy to behold. Her splendid teeth had evidently received an office from God,--laughter. She preferred to carry her little hat of sewed straw, with its long white strings, in her hand rather than on her head. Her thick blond hair, which was inclined to wave, and which easily uncoiled, and which it was necessary to fasten up incessantly, seemed made for the flight of Galatea under the willows. Her rosy lips babbled enchantingly. The corners of her mouth voluptuously turned up, as in the antique masks of Erigone, had an air of encouraging the audacious; but her long, shadowy lashes drooped discreetly over the jollity of the lower part of the face as though to call a halt. There was something indescribably harmonious and striking about her entire dress. She wore a gown of mauve barege, little reddish brown buskins, whose ribbons traced an X on her fine, white, open-worked stockings, and that sort of muslin spencer, a Marseilles invention, whose name, canezou, a corruption of the words quinze aout, pronounced after the fashion of the Canebiere, signifies fine weather, heat, and midday. The three others, less timid, as we have already said, wore low-necked dresses without disguise, which in summer, beneath flower-adorned hats, are very graceful and enticing; but by the side of these audacious outfits, blond Fantine's canezou, with its transparencies, its indiscretion, and its reticence, concealing and displaying at one and the same time, seemed an alluring godsend of decency, and the famous Court of Love, presided over by the Vicomtesse de Cette, with the sea-green eyes, would, perhaps, have awarded the prize for coquetry to this canezou, in the contest for the prize of modesty. The most ingenious is, at times, the wisest. This does happen.
A book about a lady knight with purple eyes and a passion for justice—one of her few treasured possessions—lay near the window. So far she’d paid Amanda at the Green Inn twice to read it to her. It was that precious. With her mind made up to leave Vaneis, she packed the three dresses she owned, the scarf, the book, some herbs for soap mix, and thirty shillings for the road in her satchel. The next morning, she made sure to pay the innkeeper five shillings for her month's rent. She filled a small rucksack full of food for her journey and left the inn with a smile on her face. Once outside, Ciardis squinted, looking up and down the caravan line. There were six wagons attached to huraks – large, ponderous beasts that looked like oxen with claws. The huraks were all clearly anxious to go as they snorted and pawed the fresh snow with the three dagger-shaped claws on each foot. You and me both, friend. She clutched her two cloth bags and stared around for Lady Serena, trying not to seem too obvious. "All riders up!" rang the call down the line. Ciardis gave up her nonchalant look in favor of panic and began to search frantically. She didn't see Lady Serena anywhere. What if it had all been a cruel joke?
I am," he said. He was staring at me, and I could see the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I'm in love with you, and I'm not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, and I am in love with you.
O, beware, my lord, of jealousy! It is the green->eyed monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on.
Painting is mute poetry, and poetry is blind painting. Therefore these two forms of poetry, or rather these two forms of painting, have exchanged the senses through which they should reach the intellect. Because if they are both of them painting, they must reach the brain by the noblest sense, namely, the eye; if they are both of them poetry, they must reach the brain by the less noble sense, that is, the hearing. Therefore we will appoint the man born deaf to be judge of painting, and the man born blind to be judge of poetry; and if in the painting the movements are appropriate {70} to the mental attributes of the figures which is are engaged in any kind of action, there is no doubt that the deaf man will understand the action and intentions of the figures, but the blind man will never understand what the poet shows, and what constitutes the glory of the poetry; since one of the noblest functions of its art is to describe the deeds and the subjects of stories, and adorned and delectable places with transparent waters in which the green recesses of their course can be seen as the waves disport themselves over meadows and fine pebbles, and the plants which are mingled with them, and the gliding fishes, and similar descriptions, which might just as well be made to a stone as to a man born blind, since he has never seen that which composes the beauty of the world, that is, light, darkness, colour, body, shape, place, distance, propinquity, motion and rest, which are the ten ornaments of nature.
There are unhappy times in the world's history, when he that is the least educated will chiefly have to say that he is the least perverted; and with the multitude of false eye-glasses, convex, concave, green, even yellow, has not lost the natural use of his eyes.
Jealousy: / It is the green->eyed monster that doth mock / The meat it feeds on.
"Jane, you look blooming, and smiling, and pretty," said he: "truly pretty this morning. Is this my pale, little elf? Is this my mustard- seed? This little sunny-faced girl with the dimpled cheek and rosy lips; the satin-smooth hazel hair, and the radiant hazel eyes?" (I had green eyes, reader; but you must excuse the mistake: for him they were new-dyed, I suppose.)
Beware, my lord, of jealousy; / It is the green->eyed monster that doth mock / The meat it feeds on.
When the rain came down — I was standing in the green My soul was touched by every tree that my eyes could see I am in peace, in love, in harmony — when the rain comes down When the rain came down — melded with my tears When the rain came down — flow away the fears When the rain came down — bigger than the sea When the rain came down — then came me.
As for me, I daily wished more to please him; but to do so, I felt daily more and more that I must disown half my nature, stifle half my faculties, wrest my tastes from their original bent, force myself to the adoption of pursuits for which I had no natural vocation. He wanted to train me to an elevation I could never reach; it racked me hourly to aspire to the standard he uplifted. The thing was as impossible as to mould my irregular features to his correct and classic pattern, to give to my changeable green eyes the sea-blue tint and solemn lustre of his own.
What I have to,” he replied. His eyes were a poison green as he stared at him. “I have to kill you.
Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art! Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes. Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart, Vulture, whose wings are dull realities? How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise? Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies, Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing? Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car? And driven the Hamadryad from the wood To seek a shelter in some happier star? Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood, The Elfin from the green grass, and from me The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree? -- Edgar Allen Poe, "Science, a Sonnet"
An eye in a blue face Saw an eye in a green face. "That eye is like this eye" Said the first eye, "But in low place, Not in high place."
We've tried each spinning space mote And reckoned its true worth: Take us back again to the homes of men On the cool, green hills of Earth. The arching sky is calling Spacemen back to their trade. All hands! Standby! Free falling! And the lights below us fade. Out ride the sons of Terra, Far drives the thundering jet, Up leaps the race of Earthmen, Out, far, and onward yet-- We pray for one last landing On the globe that gave us birth; Let us rest our eyes on the fleecy skies And the cool, green hills of Earth. -- Robert A. Heinlein, 1941
A green hunting cap squeezed the top of the fleshy balloon of a head. The
grew in the ears themselvse, stuck out on either side like turn signals
indicating two directions at once. Full, pursed lips protruded beneath the
bushy black moustache and, at their corners, sank into little folds filled
with disapproval and potato chip crumbs. In the shadow under the green visor
of the cap Ignatius J. Reilly's supercilious blue and yellow eyes looked down
upon the other people waiting under the clock at the D. H. Holmes department
store, studying the crowd of people for signs of bad taste in dress. Several
of the outfits, Ignatius noticed, were new enough and expensive enough to be
properly considered offenses against taste and decency. Possession of
anything new or expensive only reflected a person's lack of theology and
geometry; it could even cast doubts upon one's soul.
-- John Kennedy Toole, "Confederacy of Dunces"
He spake, and, downward sway'd, fell resupine, With his huge neck aslant. All-conqu'ring sleep Soon seized him. From his gullet gush'd the wine With human morsels mingled, many a blast Sonorous issuing from his glutted maw. Then, thrusting far the spike of olive-wood Into the embers glowing on the hearth, I heated it, and cheer'd my friends, the while, Lest any should, through fear, shrink from his part. But when that stake of olive-wood, though green, Should soon have flamed, for it was glowing hot, I bore it to his side. Then all my aids Around me gather'd, and the Gods infused Heroic fortitude into our hearts. They, seizing the hot stake rasp'd to a point, Bored his eye with it, and myself, advanced To a superior stand, twirled it about. As when a shipwright with his wimble bores Tough oaken timber, placed on either side Below, his fellow-artists strain the thong Alternate, and the restless iron spins, So, grasping hard the stake pointed with fire, We twirl'd it in his eye; the bubbling blood Boil'd round about the brand; his pupil sent A scalding vapour forth that sing'd his brow, And all his eye-roots crackled in the flame. As when the smith an hatchet or large axe Temp'ring with skill, plunges the hissing blade Deep in cold water, (whence the strength of steel) So hiss'd his eye around the olive-wood. The howling monster with his outcry fill'd The hollow rock, and I, with all my aids, Fled terrified. He, plucking forth the spike From his burnt socket, mad with anguish, cast The implement all bloody far away. Then, bellowing, he sounded forth the name Of ev'ry Cyclops dwelling in the caves Around him, on the wind-swept mountain-tops; They, at his cry flocking from ev'ry part, Circled his den, and of his ail enquired.
The prince had heard himself referred to as "idiot," and had shuddered at the moment; but his shudder, it so happened, was not caused by the word applied to him. The fact was that in the crowd, not far from where he was sitting, a pale familiar face, with curly black hair, and a well-known smile and expression, had flashed across his vision for a moment, and disappeared again. Very likely he had imagined it! There only remained to him the impression of a strange smile, two eyes, and a bright green tie. Whether the man had disappeared among the crowd, or whether he had turned towards the Vauxhall, the prince could not say.
To whom Telemachus, discrete, replied. Howe'er it interest us, let us leave This question, Mentor! He, I am assured, Returns no more, but hath already found A sad, sad fate by the decree of heav'n. But I would now interrogate again Nestor, and on a different theme, for him In human rights I judge, and laws expert, And in all knowledge beyond other men; For he hath govern'd, as report proclaims, Three generations; therefore in my eyes He wears the awful impress of a God. Oh Nestor, son of Neleus, tell me true; What was the manner of Atrides' death, Wide-ruling Agamemnon? Tell me where Was Menelaus? By what means contrived Ægisthus to inflict the fatal blow, Slaying so much a nobler than himself? Had not the brother of the Monarch reach'd Achaian Argos yet, but, wand'ring still In other climes, his long absence gave Ægisthus courage for that bloody deed? Whom answer'd the Gerenian Chief renown'd. My son! I will inform thee true; meantime Thy own suspicions border on the fact. Had Menelaus, Hero, amber hair'd, Ægisthus found living at his return From Ilium, never on _his_ bones the Greeks Had heap'd a tomb, but dogs and rav'ning fowls Had torn him lying in the open field Far from the town, nor him had woman wept Of all in Greece, for he had foul transgress'd. But we, in many an arduous task engaged, Lay before Ilium; he, the while, secure Within the green retreats of Argos, found Occasion apt by flatt'ry to delude The spouse of Agamemnon; she, at first, (The royal Clytemnestra) firm refused The deed dishonourable (for she bore A virtuous mind, and at her side a bard Attended ever, whom the King, to Troy Departing, had appointed to the charge.) But when the Gods had purposed to ensnare Ægisthus, then dismissing far remote The bard into a desart isle, he there Abandon'd him to rav'ning fowls a prey, And to his own home, willing as himself, Led Clytemnestra. Num'rous thighs he burn'd On all their hallow'd altars to the Gods, And hung with tap'stry, images, and gold Their shrines, his great exploit past hope atchiev'd. We (Menelaus and myself) had sailed From Troy together, but when we approach'd Sunium, headland of th' Athenian shore, There Phœbus, sudden, with his gentle shafts Slew Menelaus' pilot while he steer'd The volant bark, Phrontis, Onetor's son, A mariner past all expert, whom none In steerage match'd, what time the tempest roar'd. Here, therefore, Menelaus was detained, Giving his friend due burial, and his rites Funereal celebrating, though in haste Still to proceed. But when, with all his fleet The wide sea traversing, he reach'd at length Malea's lofty foreland in his course, Rough passage, then, and perilous he found. Shrill blasts the Thund'rer pour'd into his sails, And wild waves sent him mountainous. His ships There scatter'd, some to the Cydonian coast Of Crete he push'd, near where the Jardan flows. Beside the confines of Gortyna stands, Amid the gloomy flood, a smooth rock, steep Toward the sea, against whose leftward point Phæstus by name, the South wind rolls the surge Amain, which yet the rock, though small, repells. Hither with part he came, and scarce the crews Themselves escaped, while the huge billows broke Their ships against the rocks; yet five he saved, Which winds and waves drove to the Ægyptian shore.
"For the men in green: it was a proper moonlight evening for them. Did I break through one of your rings, that you spread that damned ice on the causeway?"
"You did right to hold fast to each other," I said: as if the monster- splinters were living things, and could hear me. "I think, scathed as you look, and charred and scorched, there must be a little sense of life in you yet, rising out of that adhesion at the faithful, honest roots: you will never have green leaves more--never more see birds making nests and singing idyls in your boughs; the time of pleasure and love is over with you: but you are not desolate: each of you has a comrade to sympathise with him in his decay." As I looked up at them, the moon appeared momentarily in that part of the sky which filled their fissure; her disk was blood-red and half overcast; she seemed to throw on me one bewildered, dreary glance, and buried herself again instantly in the deep drift of cloud. The wind fell, for a second, round Thornfield; but far away over wood and water, poured a wild, melancholy wail: it was sad to listen to, and I ran off again.
"We went upstairs together, the colonel first with the lamp, the fat manager and I behind him. It was a labyrinth of an old house, with corridors, passages, narrow winding staircases, and little low doors, the thresholds of which were hollowed out by the generations who had crossed them. There were no carpets and no signs of any furniture above the ground floor, while the plaster was peeling off the walls, and the damp was breaking through in green, unhealthy blotches. I tried to put on as unconcerned an air as possible, but I had not forgotten the warnings of the lady, even though I disregarded them, and I kept a keen eye upon my two companions. Ferguson appeared to be a morose and silent man, but I could see from the little that he said that he was at least a fellow-countryman.
I shook my head. "The men in green all forsook England a hundred years ago," said I, speaking as seriously as he had done. "And not even in Hay Lane, or the fields about it, could you find a trace of them. I don't think either summer or harvest, or winter moon, will ever shine on their revels more."
To the hill, then, I turned. I reached it. It remained now only to find a hollow where I could lie down, and feel at least hidden, if not secure. But all the surface of the waste looked level. It showed no variation but of tint: green, where rush and moss overgrew the marshes; black, where the dry soil bore only heath. Dark as it was getting, I could still see these changes, though but as mere alternations of light and shade; for colour had faded with the daylight.
The deep grief which this scene had at first excited quickly gave way to rage and despair. They were dead, and I lived; their murderer also lived, and to destroy him I must drag out my weary existence. I knelt on the grass and kissed the earth and with quivering lips exclaimed, "By the sacred earth on which I kneel, by the shades that wander near me, by the deep and eternal grief that I feel, I swear; and by thee, O Night, and the spirits that preside over thee, to pursue the daemon who caused this misery, until he or I shall perish in mortal conflict. For this purpose I will preserve my life; to execute this dear revenge will I again behold the sun and tread the green herbage of earth, which otherwise should vanish from my eyes forever. And I call on you, spirits of the dead, and on you, wandering ministers of vengeance, to aid and conduct me in my work. Let the cursed and hellish monster drink deep of agony; let him feel the despair that now torments me." I had begun my adjuration with solemnity and an awe which almost assured me that the shades of my murdered friends heard and approved my devotion, but the furies possessed me as I concluded, and rage choked my utterance.
"Enough! all shall bolt out at once, like the bullet from the barrel. Wood, close your book and take off your surplice; John Green (to the clerk), leave the church: there will be no wedding to-day." The man obeyed.
"Aire? Bah! I cannot say it. Well, our ship stopped in the morning, before it was quite daylight, at a great city--a huge city, with very dark houses and all smoky; not at all like the pretty clean town I came from; and Mr. Rochester carried me in his arms over a plank to the land, and Sophie came after, and we all got into a coach, which took us to a beautiful large house, larger than this and finer, called an hotel. We stayed there nearly a week: I and Sophie used to walk every day in a great green place full of trees, called the Park; and there were many children there besides me, and a pond with beautiful birds in it, that I fed with crumbs."
"On to the leads; will you come and see the view from thence?" I followed still, up a very narrow staircase to the attics, and thence by a ladder and through a trap-door to the roof of the hall. I was now on a level with the crow colony, and could see into their nests. Leaning over the battlements and looking far down, I surveyed the grounds laid out like a map: the bright and velvet lawn closely girdling the grey base of the mansion; the field, wide as a park, dotted with its ancient timber; the wood, dun and sere, divided by a path visibly overgrown, greener with moss than the trees were with foliage; the church at the gates, the road, the tranquil hills, all reposing in the autumn day's sun; the horizon bounded by a propitious sky, azure, marbled with pearly white. No feature in the scene was extraordinary, but all was pleasing. When I turned from it and repassed the trap-door, I could scarcely see my way down the ladder; the attic seemed black as a vault compared with that arch of blue air to which I had been looking up, and to that sunlit scene of grove, pasture, and green hill, of which the hall was the centre, and over which I had been gazing with delight.
But wide as pathless was the space That lay our lives between, And dangerous as the foamy race Of ocean-surges green.
"At Pavlofsk! He is at Pavlofsk, undoubtedly!" interrupted Lebedeff.... "But come--let us go into the garden--we will have coffee there...." And Lebedeff seized the prince's arm, and led him from the room. They went across the yard, and found themselves in a delightful little garden with the trees already in their summer dress of green, thanks to the unusually fine weather. Lebedeff invited his guest to sit down on a green seat before a table of the same colour fixed in the earth, and took a seat facing him. In a few minutes the coffee appeared, and the prince did not refuse it. The host kept his eyes fixed on Muishkin, with an expression of passionate servility.
One looked again, and beheld on the wall facing the door a quadrangular hole, about a foot square, with a grating of interlacing iron bars, black, knotted, solid, which formed squares--I had almost said meshes--of less than an inch and a half in diagonal length. The little green flowers of the nankin paper ran in a calm and orderly manner to those iron bars, without being startled or thrown into confusion by their funereal contact. Supposing that a living being had been so wonderfully thin as to essay an entrance or an exit through the square hole, this grating would have prevented it. It did not allow the passage of the body, but it did allow the passage of the eyes; that is to say, of the mind. This seems to have occurred to them, for it had been re-enforced by a sheet of tin inserted in the wall a little in the rear, and pierced with a thousand holes more microscopic than the holes of a strainer. At the bottom of this plate, an aperture had been pierced exactly similar to the orifice of a letter box. A bit of tape attached to a bell-wire hung at the right of the grated opening.
Most true is it that "beauty is in the eye of the gazer." My master's colourless, olive face, square, massive brow, broad and jetty eyebrows, deep eyes, strong features, firm, grim mouth,--all energy, decision, will,--were not beautiful, according to rule; but they were more than beautiful to me; they were full of an interest, an influence that quite mastered me,--that took my feelings from my own power and fettered them in his. I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously arrived, green and strong! He made me love him without looking at me.