Quotes About Scowling

Is that tender right there?" "A little." She backtracked and did it again. "Do you do that on purpose?" he asked, scowling. "Do you press it again to see if you can get a holler out of me?" "Of course not. I'm just trying to see if I feel any inflammation.

scowling like he'd received Botox injections while constipated.

he was scowling like he'd received Botox injections while constipated.

For all my success with the Ramones, I carried around fury and intensity during my career. I had an image, and that image was anger. I was the one who was always scowling, downcast. I tried to make sure I looked like that when I was getting my picture taken.

They look stern at first, do a lot of scowling, but behind their eyes, once you get them talking, there's a hurt, docile quality, possibly related to past wrongs done them, a quality I associate with the thunked-as-kids: Long ago the world turned on them in some unexpected and unpleasant way, and they are, not unreasonably, expecting that it could happen again at any moment.

The truth is that when Lennon is Bosephus, she is so mean to me. She can't smile because the mustache will come off. So in between takes, it's just scowling. And then when we are on camera, Bosephus treats me like a piece of meat. I'm repulsed and also attracted to it.

There was something very comforting about him, and I was not sure if it was his easy manner or his complete immunity to my scowling.

Brooding's different,' he muttered to the empty chair across from him. 'Could be any subject, for one thing. A subject not at all cynical. Like the meddling of the gods – no, all right, not like that one. Smithing, yes. Horseshoes. Nothing cynical about horseshoes . . . I don't think. Sure. Keeping horses comfortable. So they can gallop into battle and die horribly.' He fell silent. Scowling.

Isn't it beautiful? she pleaded. But he only scowled. He would rather have had it ugly just then.

YOU—THE IRISH GIRL. OVER HERE." A THIN, SCOWLING MATRON in a white bonnet beckons with a bony finger. She must know I'm Irish from the papers Mr. Schatzman filled out when he brought me in to the Children's Aid several weeks ago—or perhaps it is my accent, still as thick as peat. "Humph," she says, pursing her lips, when I stand in front of her. "Red hair.