grey eyes - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Sarah had the eyes of dove feathers, not the albino kind, but the ones with a hue so softly grey that they could have been pencil drawn. They had that look of birds flying on sunlit days, the shine and quick movement, yet relaxed, purposeful, at ease.
His eyes reminded her of ashes and smoke blowing in the wind coming from a fire that burned everything to the ground. They were intense, coming from that fire that burned deep within his soul.
“Your eyes are like smoke: gray and full of heat.” Erick’s own eyes dipped into Troy’s, his arms only slightly loosening.
“Hate to break it to you, Shakespeare, but smoke isn’t full of heat, it’s an effect of heat.” Troy corrected, yet it was hard to take his bitter tone seriously after what had just happened.
“That works too.” Erick’s crooked smirk switched to a small smile. “They always get darker and grayer when you’re angry.”
“Like you would notice.”
“Like I wouldn’t.”
He took the opportunity to study her eyes. The first couple days, he'd labeled them "grey." If he was feeling particularly poetic, he called them "silver." Neither word did them justice. They were so solid, so bright, the exact lustrous color of a polished shard of metal. If you looked closer, like he was just now, you'd see the swirls of glittering onyx black and tinges of blue at the edges. They weren't monochrome or boring. That had simply been his terrible judgement. They were beautiful.
Lucy lost herself in his eyes. They glistened brightly, cold and metallic, rivalling the most excellently polished suit of armour. The sclerae that surrounded them were pristine, untouched by red. They were pure. They were cold. They were beautiful
Her eyes are gray, but not like those people from the Seam. They are very pale, as if almost all the color has been sucked out of them. The color of slush that you wish would melt away.
He has the most wonderful eyes – they are blue, mostly, but darken to grey in correspondence to his mood. He seldom smiles with his lips, but it is his eyes that shine instead, and it is this radiance that makes every man and woman who sees it feel the irresistible impulse to smile, too, for this smiling of the eyes is the most sincere and pure emotion that my husband would show, even if he didn’t want to show it. The eyes never lie – if I could say but four words to advise one on how to understand my husband’s thoughts, those would be the four I’d choose.
Her eyes were grey, not a dull, unremarkable grey like that of concrete or stone. They were the grey of the last ashes on a fire, tossed up on the breeze; the grey of a pigeon's wing, soft as down; the grey of the ocean an instant before dawn's first rays strike the water. Those eyes glanced my way once, and ensnared me from that moment in a net of intrigue.
Her eyes were a washed out grey, like an old white shirt that's been washed with the dark colors a few hundred times too often.
His eyes as grey as the ash in the dying fire.
Her eyes, well for a lack of a better word, were grey; you could use that one word description but you wouldn't do her justice. I was struck by their coldness, like a stab of ice. every detail in her iris so clear, so concise. For my lack of words, she was like a piece of art that nobody could understand, leaving everyone who stared confused, uncomprehending. It was the grey that flash of metal hitting the bright rays of the sun. It was like a hatch had opened in her eyes and the color had fallen out, leaving her eyes to look like the dazzling and breath-taking snow, or the sparkling diamond. It was the type of grey that women wished would grow out of their heads. But like i said, i could not do her justice... how could you do justice to a masterpiece?
Her eyes were the soft grey of a signet on the Thames, but with the lustrous sheen of polished opals.
Grey eyes like concrete, like wet cement, like steel, like cold iron, like an baby beluga, grey as a wolf's coat.
Grey eyes like pale smoke, like cloudy skies, grey as quarry rock.
Grey eyes like slate grey, like polished gun metal, grey as the graphite in my pencil, like silvery moons, like wisps of cloud at twilight, as grey as the shackles.
Grey eyes like lumps of clay, like brushed steel, like gravel, iron grey, the color of gathering storm clouds.
His eyes were a cold grey, they showed no sense of kindness or compassion, or any feeling for that matter.
Grey eyes like the color of ash remnants of a roaring fire.
His eyes were like storm clouds, swirling with determination and vigor.They glittered in the sunlight but appeared blank and cold in the shadows of the night.
My stunned eyes locked onto unfamiliar grey ones. But they weren't just a grey, that term was far too plain in comparison. His eyes shimmered like the rare rays of light bouncing off of pebbles on a cloudy day. Beautiful. Abssolutely beautiful.
Him and his ash colored eyes that always became sprinkled with red. It always looked like someone was trying to set fire to ashes and refused to give up, resulting in a pulsing red on grey.
Her eyes were not merely gray; they were a sea. A stormy, treacherous sea that tore apart anyone who looked into them and dragged the onlooker down into their depths.
“I try, but I feel as if I have no way to keep it there. My smile stays for a few seconds, but leaves like the snow on a hot day. It has no will to be there anymore.” Ro replied, her normally bright silver eyes looking as if dark storm clouds covered them. But, something was hiding behind the clouds and the knight was going to do everything in his power to get it uncovered.
“I love you. I really do, I have since I saw you that first night.” Those first three words uncovered the hidden object. A smile and a set of moons. Ro’s smile returned, the knight finally getting the princess to her castle again, far away from the evil dragon.
“I love you too.” She replied as the storm clouds rolled away and the moon soared high in the sky.
His eyes were the perfect shade of winter grey. They were cloudy skies, they were quarry rock, how did I not notice them before?
Yasmeen's eyes were irritated and tired, the iris that always reminded me of a soft, comfortable, fluffy blanket looked torn, broken.
A tear began to flow from her eyes, the eyes that are staring at me. They aren't emotionless; they are strong locks holding all her powerful feelings within. They're glaciers to kept her emotions frozen, but it's an ice that can't bear the memories of her childhood. It's a lock that opened for her brother's sake.
This woman is young, but she's certainly a warrior, one who's found the light to continue after she's seen the deepest floors of hell.
“Your eyes, they’re not grey, they’re silver. Brilliant and bright. Silver like the wolf that cried to the moon, silver like the raging sea before the first ray of light touches its waves, silver like the shackles that bind you, the ones I will melt with my love."