Quotes About Style

I like teams which repeat their style, clubs that are synonymous with one style.

My name is synonymous with corsets and ringlets.

Contrary to far too popular a belief, style, fashion, and fabulousness are not synonymous with stank, haughty, and self-aggrandizing.

I think glamour is synonymous with me.

I see there is a lot of behaviour in men's fashion, which is systematic. It's a lot about all these kind of clothes that can be easily combined with each other, and it's less and less, I think, about making a fashion statement.

House dresses are still available; I did my research. The only problem procuring them is that you'll need to order from the kind of website where the pitch for their stylishness can be summed up by the following: "Zip-Front Housecoats for Elderly People - Faded Flowers Pattern." It's as if the editor of Vogue penned that evocative line herself.

The style of flirtation specific to classrooms was of service to the students all their lives.

Diamonds are forever, and so are the Flairs.

The author apologizes for being unable to afford a ghost writer, which explains the lack of a distinctive prose style.

The secret of my success is my hairspray.

Griffin's mother loathed grading papers, too, of course. Who didn't? But she was meticulous about correcting errors, offering style and content suggestions in the margins, asking pointed, often insulting, questions (How long did you work on this?) and then answering them herself (Not long, one hopes, given the result).

And here I was in brown slacks and a tweed jacket over a sports shirt called, according to the salesman, Hot Hula. At least there were no wild Balinese babes doing things on the shirt; it was just colorful.

What constitutes a fit between artist and mentor? It is not necessarily style, or even sensibility, though sensibility gets closer to describing it. Aesthetic might be the best. If a shared aesthetic exists, the mentor can come to view the mentee as another of his projects: a shaping and sculpting, and a carrying forward of the mentor's aesthetic.

Part of their problem was Percy. He fought like a demon, whirling through the defender's ranks in a completely unorthodox style, rolling under their feet, slashing with his sword instead of stabbing like a Roman would, whacking campers with the flat of his blade, and generally causing mass panic.

He'd changed since the last summer. Instead of Bermuda shorts and a T-shirt, he wore a button-down shirt, khaki pants, and leather loafers. His sandy hair, which used to be so unruly, was now clipped short. He look like an evil male model, showing off what the fashionable college-age villain was wearing to Harvard this year.

Seriously, who has monogrammed pajamas?

Aphrodite strikes again, huh? You're gonna be the best-dressed warrior in town, beauty queen.

You mean a bad heel? I said. Couldn't I just, like, wear something besides sandals? No offense. -Percy

Carter got jeans, boots, and a T-shirt that read Property of Alexandria University in English and Arabic. Clearly, even personal shoppers had him pegged as a complete geek.

Louise's possessions looked like a refugee's beside his, a refugee who spent a lot of time in IKEA.

She was dressed in a rainbow-striped jumper that looked as if it had been crocheted for a gorilla by a gorilla.

The coat was forties-style, made from Canadian beaver at a time when people didn't think about whether or not it was wrong to wear fur. Although Gloria would no longer wish to wear the skin of another animal on top of her own, the way she looked at it now, the beavers were already long dead and had lived the happy, uncomplicated life of Canadian beavers before the war.

Since I was a girl I always felt as if I would like to write stories. I never had that ambition or shine to make a name; first place because I knew what time and labor it meant to acquire a literary style. Second place, because whenever I wanted to write a story I never could think of a plot.

Where's your dress?