Quotes About Appearance

Her face was focused and contained, as if she was concentrating on something more important than answering the door. She was slight, with dark eyes, a thin face, and prominent ears. She was wearing denim shorts, a light green blouse, and sandals. Her hair was damp, as if she wasn't long from the shower. Holman thought she looked like a child. She stared at him with curious indifference. "Yes?" "I'm Max Holman. Richie's father." Holman

they could use in an identity search. "Six feet, one ninety

Moths and butterflies are not the same thing. Moths sneak around in the dark munching your sweater and are ugly. Butterflies hand out with flowers in the daytime and are pretty. Never mind any facts or what silkworm moths are responsible for, or what poisonous butterflies do.

Remember: The best deceivers do everything they can to cloak their roguish qualities. They cultivate an air of honesty in one area to disguise their dishonesty in others. Honesty is merely another decoy in their arsenal of weapons.

The people around you are generally mysterious. You are never quite sure about their intentions. They present an appearance that is often deceptive—their manipulative actions don't match their lofty words or promises. All of this can prove confusing. Seeing people as they are, instead of what you think they should be, would mean having a greater sense of their motives.

Everything is judged by its appearance; what is unseen counts for nothing. Never let yourself get lost in the crowd, then, or buried in oblivion. Stand out. Be conspicuous, at all cost. Make yourself a magnet of attention by appearing larger, more colorful, more mysterious than the bland and timid masses.

We see people not as they are, but as they appear to us. And these appearances are usually misleading.

a show or display of innocence are the least innocent of all. The only means to gain one's ends with people are force and cunning. Love also, they say; but that is to wait for sunshine, and life needs every moment. JOHANN VON GOETHE, 1749-1832

when people overtly display some trait, such as confidence or hypermasculinity, they are most often concealing the contrary reality.

The wayfarer was lean and keen-featured, and somewhat bowed at the shoulders; his paws were thin and long, his eyes much wrinkled at the corners, and he wore small gold ear rings in his neatly-set well-shaped ears. His knitted jersey was of a faded blue, his breeches, patched and stained, were based on a blue foundation, and his small belongings that he carried were tied up in a blue cotton handkerchief.

The impact had cut your upper lip in two, he had said, clean down the middle. Clean down the middle. Like a harelip.

And despite the eyeliner, and the lipstick that defines her lips, she has a face now that a passerby's gaze will engage and then bounce from, as it would a street sign or a mailbox number. ...this is what aging is...

In the mirror, Mariam had her first glimpse of Rasheed: the big, square, ruddy face; the crooked nose; the flushed cheeks that gave the impression of sly cheerfulness; the watery, bloodshot eyes; the crowded teeth, the front two pushed together like a gables roof; the impossible low hairline, barely two fingers widths above the bushy eyebrows; the wall of thick, coarse, salt-and-pepper hair. Their gazes met briefly in the glass and slid away. This is the face of my husband, Mariam thought.

daytime brief, gloomy, the sun rarely out, and then only to make a cameo appearance before it vanished. He remembered

Dig beneath a beautiful piece of writing [...] and you will find all manner of dishonor.

a face as suggestive of early maturity as his brother's was of lingering boyishness.

Sure, he had a wife and fifty-four kids, but he looked like a college freshman. A yummy college freshman majoring in Oh-my-god-I-gotta-get-me-some-of-that.

I feel like run-over crap, I complained. You look like run-over crap, Jenks said. Drink your tea.

Suddenly I felt vastly underdressed. Hell, even the woman dressed down as a hobo had diamonds on.

Oh God. "Jenks, you aren't a carton of milk with an expiration date. You look great—

Anyone ever tell you that you look like an orange in that jumpsuit? Auntie Lenore? More like Auntie Clementine.

I was with a six-foot-four, athletic, angsty young man dressed in casual linen pants and matching fawn-colored shirt. Under it was a skintight two-piece suit of silk and spandex that had set us back a couple hundred dollars, but after seeing him in it, my head bobbed and my card came out.

I glanced at the pain charms draped around my neck, thinking I looked like a drunken prostitute at Mardi Gras.

I'm a pixy, Rachel. I may look all tough and stuff, but I got wings, and I know infatuation when I see it.