Quotes About Style

There is nothing more dangerous to the formation of a prose style than the endeavour to make it poetic.

You know, lieutenant, you wear your weapon the way other women wear pearls. It's not a fashion accessory.

Roarke had to force himself not to snatch her up as she swept through the hallowed Senate halls. Members of the media were already leaping toward her, but she cut through them as if they weren't there. "I like your style, Lieutenant Dallas," he said when they'd fought their way to the car. "I like it a lot. And by the way, I don't think I'm in love with you anymore. I know I am.

I have to say you don't look anything like a policewoman. Maxia's perfect eyebrows arched as she gave Eve's dress a quick scan. Leonardo dresses you, doesn't he? No, I usually do it myself.

I like your style, Lieutenant Dallas, he said when they'd fought their way to the car. I like it a lot. And by the way, I don't think I'm in love with you anymore. I know I am.-Roarke

Normally, I admire your kick-in-the-face style, Lieutenant. But try that with this, and the two of us will be making love in heaven tonight. Heaven wouldn't have either of us

If men had to wear heels, they'd be outlawed across the land.

He wore command as he wore his suit—a good fit with clean lines.

The mind, and the unconscious mind in particular, is a canvas. We paint on it constantly. Art and music can add such colors, such style.

He swung around with a flutter of his lab coat. Beneath it he wore stovepipe pants and a T-shirt in loud, clashing colors.

there was even a whole section dedicated to throats and boobs, though they called it décolletage.

Why do you wear so many clothes?" "I won't next time.

I like your style, Lieutenant Dallas. I like it a lot. And by the way, I don't think I'm in love with you anymore. I know I am.

One thing you could say about Butch was that his wardrobe was full of options. Never thought I'd be glad that you're a clothes whore. I believe the term is sharp dresser.

I have peanut M&M's up there. Not my style Raisinets. Feh. Sam Adams. Thor narrowed his eyes. Cold? Downright icy. Thor crossed his arms over his chest and told him self he was not pouting like a five-year-old. I want Milk Duds.

What kind of look are you going for?" he asked instead. "Clothed.

All I see are ankles and wrists--and FYI, you're pulling a Mileyfrickin'-Cyrus with that belly flash. Not attractive.

That is a beautiful tuxedo," Phury announced as he and Z pushed the door wide. "I have one just like it ." "Fritz has the candles lit," Rehv said from behind the twins. "Hey, nice tux. I haveone just like it." "Me, too," Phury agreed. "The fit is fantastic, isn't it." "The shoulders, right? Tom Ford is the best—

Reilly's closet looked like Marilyn Manson's. Assuming he'd been reborn as an accountant.

The goatee was a neutral—unless you assessed it on style. In which case the fucker was a travesty of Rogaine proportions.

Zebra print leggings. A black leather jacket. Boots as big as your head, a pink feather boa, blue jeans, Hanes T-shirts in white and black—

Although he could have been wearing a seventies lounge suit and she probably would have drooled over the polyester.

At least I'm not pussy-whipped." "Nice. Fucking. Suit.

Why are you trying to sound like fucking Morpheus. Flo from Progressive is more your style.