green eyes - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Her eyes were the hue of the new spring growth, bright and soft all at once. There were flecks of strength, of the kind of green that comes only as summer advances. And they were never more beautiful than when she cried, when her gentleness flowed over her cheeks, nor when she became the wise woman we came to depend on, decorated with laughter lines. Yet the soul and the eyes are ageless, and to me, so was she.
His eyes were every hue of the forest, rimmed cooly with moss. Their lightness reminded him of summertime, when the sun-rays warmed each extended leaf. Next to the shade of his hair, that deepest brown, he was alive in the same way birds are, casually wild.
His eyes were hues of the forest, surrounded with dark moss. It was the kind of earthy green that revives the grass after a cruel, unforgiving winter. Interwoven shades hiding the chaotic nature behind. Never before have eyes held such danger and beauty all at once. He was a wild fire: reckless, untamed, yet undeniably captivating.
His eyes were more than plain old green. They were the green the brings the earth back to life after an unforgiving cold. The green that revives grass from the harsh conditions of winter. The green that, even in the darkest times can be that light that shows you the way home. The beacon of hope in the dreariest of days. And there, in that moment. I knew the true answer. I had already found my home. For then, I had figured out. Home is wherever you can find it.
His eyes were green. The kind of green that pushed its way through the piles of gritty snow to remind you that spring was coming. The kind of green that budded on the prisoners of winter, bringing life back to their branches. That churning, passionate green that the ocean turns during a storm. That colour of the forest after it rains. The colour of the tadpoles making ripples in the pond. That green colour that brings hope and life no matter what has happened. And looking into those eyes, I could see it. And he knew that I could.
Her eyes were the glimmering color of emerald, sparkling in the light of the morning sun like a fresh sheen of morning dew. When she turned her head, this way and that, they caught the light and played tricks with anything and everything that screamed 'spring.' And when she lifted her pale face to the sky, emerald shifted into the color of deep ocean shimmering in the moonlight.
The alien DNA had seeped into his skin and was already tinkering with his own. As he stretched out on the shaggy unkempt grass of the common he became aware that Sabina had stopped her fidgeting and was instead staring mutely into his eyes. "What?" he said, giving away the tension he'd felt since the encounter the previous day.
"Your eyes," she said in tones that were barely audible over the rumble of the London traffic, "they match the grass...exactly. They even have flecks the same colour as the bare patches of soil."
Danny snorted. "My eyes are dark brown, I'm black in case you never noticed." Then he looked away, he didn't enjoy her creative games.
"But they're green, the exact green of the grass I'm telling you!" Now she had gone too far, he got up to leave. This grass wasn't even a nice shade, it was beaten by all the foot-traffic, murky, probably struggling to breathe under a layer of pollutants. Sabi's eyes widened and she let out an involuntary gasp...
Eyes the colour of deep forest pools, the colour of springtime ferns, the colour of freshly cut grass, the colour of pond scum, the colour of autumn carrot tops, the green of the first spring leaves on a plum tree, sea green, mossy green flecked with the colour of pecan shell, as green as summertime water trough.
Her eyes were a soft washed out green, like a favourite sweater that's been washed too many times.
His eyes were the green of fresh asparagus tips, flecked with the colour of nutmeg.
Willow's eyes snapped open. Relief was Jack's first emotion, but it was soon poisoned by a creeping, twisting feeling that something was wrong. Her eyes were still green, but they were no longer the bright, sparkling emerald of five minutes ago. It was like the vivid colour had been washed, over and over, until it achieved a paler, much softer shade of green- less like a gemstone and more like the tiny baby leaves just sprouting from a twig. But as he studied her irises, he noticed that a band of brightest emerald still curled around her pupil, and that slender strands of gold still pierced through the green like spokes around a wheel.
She toyed with how to describe her eyes in her on-line dating profile, 'the deep green of fresh basil rimmed with chocolate' seemed a little over-kill, but just 'green' seemed a little to plain. So in the end she settled for 'the colour of pistachios.'
Her eyes were the colour of the kelp on the shore, flecked with splinters of driftwood.
His eyes were lighter, like a meadow on a summer day. Hers were dark, like a forest at sunset; the green of the leaves clinging to the very last bits of light they could.
His eyes were the colour of snot.
His gaze rises slowly when I whisper his name, greeting me with the full force of his smoky dark green eyes, the exotic black flecks within holding the light.
I suppose, if you wanted to be boring and totally cliche, his eyes were green. Grass green, emerald, whatever one-word descriptors you want to use. If you wanted to go for slightly insulting, pond-scum green or muddy green would work as well (though that'd earn you at least a slap if he heard it and was feeling cantankerous that day). If you asked me, though? I'd struggle to paint an accurate word picture of the eyes I adored so much. Deep, intelligent green that provided a sharp contrast to his brother's cognac-colored eyes. Green of the sort you'd see on a young tree in the forest, right where the stem meets the leaf. When he was tired, a dark, muted green that almost matched his favorite shirt in color. The shirt, however, was nowhere near as luminous as the eyes I could spend hours looking into, learning to read his every mood. No matter the mood, his eyes were always, always passionate when they turned upon me. I guess I could consider myself lucky if he weren't so dangerous.
His eyes were the kind of green that mint ice cream gets jealous of. The kind of green that distracts you from everything around. His eyes were the kind of green that gets noticed even when you can't see them because his eyes showed straight through to his personality. That happy, light, noticeable green is the variety he had.
His eyes were a shade of green that was a mixture of the sky and grass. All of his emotions were bundled into deep cyan.
As he peered at me though eyes that swam with tears, it struck me that his eyes were the colour of kermit the frog, and I had to stifle an inappropriate smile.
Eyes the same color as the ocean on a stormy day, green with tinges of blue, grey and silver.
Her eyes were the green of the pale peas you find in the summer mange-tout.
His eyes reminded me of slime, gushing from the trail of a slug. His heavy breathing and oily red dotted face forced me to take a few steps to the side. Maybe he was a good athlete, and maybe the best. The way he oozed sweat made me think I would be better off with a losing team.
As I leaned into her soft pink lips, I began to notice the beauty behind her eyes. When the sun shone down in them, they looked as though they were deep enough to hold a universe. They sparkled like a bright, clear emerald lit by the flames of beauty itself. Green tendrils circled her pupil, filling up her iris with every wonder in life, intoxicating me with their depth.
His green eyes seemed the picture of perfection, slicing into one's soul. There was a momentary flash in them a sparkle, reminding me of the day we first met. Those green eyes reminded me of dew grass freshly watered. A unfamiliar warmth rushed through my body. A perfectly round tear raced down his face. His muted green eyes glistened with sorrow. He was alive.
His smile was wavy. Through his eyes I could see the meadow we had walked through. Sometimes I wondered how it was possible they were so light, with a gold-orange circle around its pupil, like a wedding ring, but even better. They were like a puddle when it was raining, little drops of blue rimmed his iris. He was so, so beautiful.
“I’m Jack Williams, pleasure to meet you.” The twin said, his traditional smile crossing his face as he scratched the back of his head. His brown hair was sticking up in a few tufts at the top, most of it slicked back in a messy way; not the gelled back version that Ludwig had. His green eyes would make the grass on a professional baseball field get even greener with envy. The pitches mound was pierced with the pupil and the bases and the dirt was scattered around all throughout. Depending on the light, it looked like cool colored fireworks were going off in his eyes; light and dark blues, deep greens, and golds that rivalled all the gold at Fort Knox.
As my eyes started to focus, I could make out the small features of the man’s face. Ivory skin. Rosewood hair. Evergreen eyes, eyes that softened as I stared into them.