Pastoral Resources

The infant runs toward it with its eyes closed, the adult is stationary, the old man approaches it with his back turned.

Green is my favorite. And it's my favorite because it's the color of my wife's eyes, grass, trees, life, and money, and mother earth!

To attempt this would be like seeing without eyes or directing the gaze of knowledge behind one's own eye. Modern science can acknowledge no other than this epistemological stand-point.

In reality, everyone is good in bed. Close eyes. Shutdown brain. Pause as necessary. Restart brain. Open eyes. What's there to not be good at? Bed is the one place where laziness is rewarded.

But the main things about a man are his eyes and his feet. He should be able to see the world and go after it.

He must pull out his own eyes, and see no creature, before he can say, he sees no God; He must be no man, and quench his reasonable soul, before he can say to himself, there is no God.

No matter how poor my eyes are I can still talk.

I don't have feeling in my feet to my fingertips; I also have active lesions in my bone marrow and in my eyes.

My eyes were made to erase all that is ugly.

What I wish to show when I paint is the way I see things with my eyes and in my heart.

Without my husband's costumes I wouldn't have known how to accomplish what I saw in my own mind's eyes for choreography. And then seeing our choreography and knowing the background of it I am sure helped my husband a great deal with what he designed for us.

I often shoot with scissors in my eyes.

True hearts have eyes and ears, no tongues to speak; they hear and see, and sigh, and then they break.

I wouldn't consciously pursue trying to make something for the charts. It's just not in my scope now. I'd rather stick needles in my eyes.

You can have a movie with hardly any cuts, or very few cuts, that is fascinating, you can't take your eyes away from it... Look at some of the long takes in Citizen Kane.

Any biographer must of necessity become a pilgrim a peripatetic, obsessed literary pilgrim, a traveler with four eyes.

Small is the number of people who see with their eyes and think with their minds.

Few are those who see with their own eyes and feel with their own hearts.

He who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead; his eyes are closed.

I dream that someday the step between my mind and my finger will no longer be needed. And that simply by blinking my eyes, I shall make pictures. Then, I think, I shall really have become a photographer.