The look was far worse to resist than the frantic strain.

He looked at her... in a way that every young girl wants to be looked at some time.

She was the first person in a good many years I've really liked. She was the first person I can remember who looked straight at me as if I counted.

For a second, two seconds, they had exchanged an equivocal glance, and that was the end of the story.
But even that was a memorable event, in the locked loneliness in which one had to live.

A glance is a spark.

We all need someone to look at us. We can be divided into four categories according to the kind of look we wish to live under. . . The fourth category, the rarest, is the category of people who live in the imaginary eyes of those who are not present. They are the dreamers.

Humans were built to look back; that's why we have that swivel joint in our necks.

...who looks at us?— glances fall upon us, curious or disinterested, nothing more.

His eyes glowed with a dark, quiet look of loneliness.