"She wondered what he knew, what he sensed in her. Think you're good-lookin'? Rose did not know if she was good-looking, though there were days, like today, when she was pleased enough. Recently she had applied for a passport and surprised herself by not knowing what to write on the form. Her hair was ordinary brown, but how to describe the mucky nothing of her eyes. Blueish-grey with gold flecks? A few green bits?

'What colour', she said to William, 'are my eyes?'"

(Anne Enright, What are you like?)