"She stood very still, because her first perception was not of sight, but of touch: the consciousness, not of a visual presence, but of a slap in the face...She knew that she could not move until her permitted her to...She knew it was the most beautiful face she would ever see, because it was the abstraction of strenght made visible. She felt a convulsion of anger, of protest, of resistance- and of pleasure. He stood looking up at her; it was not a glance, but an act of ownership... He looked up as if he expected her to be there, as if her knew she would be back. She saw the hint of a smile, more insulting than words. He sustained the insolence of looking straight at her, he would not move, he would not grant the concession of turning away- of acknowledging that he had no right too look at her in such manner. He had not merely taken that right, he was saying silently that she had given it to him.
'Why do you always stare at me?'
'For the same reason you've been staring at me.'"


-Ayn Rand