The glow was red and still, like the reflection of a fire: not an active fire, but a dying one which it is too late to stop.
It was a large room with walls of white tile that glittered in the reflections of electric lights and looked like silver brocade.
A faint glow streamed from behind the buildings into the sky, the reflection of thousands of unknown lights, the electric breath of the city.
The black shape of a structure came next, barely visible against the sky, then a big building, close to the tracks; the building was dark, and the reflections of the train lights streaked across the solid glass of its walls.
Lillian seemed to fit the image he had not known he held, had not known he wished to find; he saw the grace, the pride, the purity; the rest was in himself; he did not know that he was looking at a reflection.
They were alone in the silence of a dead city-it seemed to her that he was miles away, a reflection of suffering without identity, a fellow survivor whose problem was as distant to her as hers would be to him.
She saw the man who had left, by his reflection on Ken Danagger’s face.
It was the reflection of the neon sign that burned on the roof of the building above his head, saying: Rearden Steel.
Rearden did not answer; he was looking at the reflection of a neon sign on dark windows in the distance.
She paced the room for about half an hour, in a leisurely manner of reflection.
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He seized her hand, he pressed his mouth to it, then his face, not to let her see the reflection of what his years had been like.
"I know it," he said, his voice low, so that she did not hear the pain, but felt it within herself as if by direct reflection from him.
The reflection of a distant electric sign kept beating in faint flashes on the ceiling above her head.
What you saw was its reflection projected over this valley.
He felt as if some ray of light were growing stronger on his face, because he saw its reflection on hers, as she watched him-he saw the shock vanishing, then the wonder-he saw her face being smoothed into a strange serenity that seemed quiet and glittering at once.
You must never think that their existence is a reflection on yours-yet that’s what you’re thinking.
She saw the reflection of her smile in his.
The knowledge that she was seeing her own reflection in the side mirror of a florist’s window, came an instant too late: she had felt the enchantment of the full context to which that image and city belonged.
The stars were vanishing, the sky was growing darker, but in the bank of clouds to the east thin cracks were beginning to appear-first as threads, then faint spots of reflection, then straight bands that were not yet pink, but no longer blue, the color of a future light, the first hints of the coming sunrise.
There was a sound of exultant laughter under the angry violence of her voice, her face was lifted, her eyes seemed to be greeting some spectacle at an incalculable distance, so that the glowing patch on her forehead did not look like the reflection of a studio spotlight, but of a sunrise.
It seemed to him for an instant that he saw an incongruous look on the worn, cynical faces of the newsmen, a look that was not quite respect, expectation or hope, but more like an echo of these, like a faint reflection of the look they might have worn in their youth on hearing the name of Robert Stadler.
It had been easy, because she had felt as if she were in some dreary non-world, where her words and actions were not facts any longer-not reflections of reality, but only distorted postures in one of those side-show mirrors that project deformity for the perception of beings whose consciousness is not to be treated as consciousness.
The flames that went up to the sky of a winter night and devoured a home in Wyoming were not seen by the people of Kansas, who watched a trembling red glow on the prairie horizon, made by the flames that went up to devour a farm, and the glow was not reflected by the windows of a street in Pennsylvania, where the twisting red tongues were reflections of the flames that went up to devour a factory.
They remained silent, letting the room be filled by the sounds which centuries of men and of struggle had established as the symbol of joyous attainment: the blast of the cork, the laughing tinkle of a pale gold liquid running into two broad cups filled with the weaving reflections of candles, the whisper of bubbles rising through two crystal stems, almost demanding that everything in sight rise, too, in the same aspiration.
The day when he grasps that the reflection he sees in a mirror is not a delusion, that it is real, but it is not himself, that the mirage he sees in a desert is not a delusion, that the air and the light rays that cause it are real, but it is not a city, it is a city’s reflection-the day when he grasps that he is not a passive recipient of the sensations of any given moment, that his senses do not provide him with automatic knowledge in separate snatches independent of context, but…
…that the reflection he sees in a mirror is not a delusion, that it is real, but it is not himself, that the mirage he sees in a desert is not a delusion, that the air and the light rays that cause it are real, but it is not a city, it is a city’s reflection-the day when he grasps that he is not a passive recipient of the sensations of any given moment, that his senses do not provide him with automatic knowledge in separate snatches independent of context, but only with the material of…
I wouldn’t wish it on my worst-" He stopped short; his smile vanished and a dim reflection of the look he had worn for three days came back to his face, as if at the sudden presence of an image he had forgotten.
…I’ll perform for the sole purpose of watching your dishonor and to which you’ll submit for the sake of an unspeakable sensation …. I want you-and may I be damned for it! …. She was reading the papers, leaning back in the darkness-he saw the reflection of the fire touching her hair, moving to her shoulder, down her arm, to the naked skin of her wrist…. Do you know what I’m thinking now, in this moment? …. Your gray suit and your open collar …. you look so young, so austere, so sure of…
There are no more uses of "reflection" in the book.