Quotes About Appearance

The Devil's most devilish when respectable.

She rolled her shoulders over a corset that gave her the general appearance of the prow of a battleship, and curled one loose strand around her finger in a gesture that would have been coquettish, were she young.

went up to the dressing room and got kitted, all crinolines and kilted skirts and my tits about falling out the top of my daffodil taffeta dress whenever I grabbed a breath.

Claude was tall and bony, a beautiful woman with blunt-cut hair that had been white as feathers since she was in her twenties, and some of the lightest eyes Lesa had ever seen-which perhaps explained the depth of the crow's feet decorating her face. They couldn't all be from smiling, though Lesa wasn't sure she'd ever seen Claude not smiling. She had an arsenal of smiles, including a melancholy one for funerals.

He was really a striking man, with his freckles and auburn hair.

Even Matthew, whose taste did not run that way at all, could see that he was beautiful, his black hair slicked back, his suit impeccably tailored and his claret tie fastened with a silver stickpin, a fleur-de-lis that matched the discreet medallions on his cordovon loafers.

Unless something remarkable had changed, he wore spiky, kinky sandy-auburn braids a shade darker than his freckled skin and a shade paler than his light-catching eyes.

His wild dark hair, though glazed into ringlets, had defeated whatever product he'd worked through it, and the curls tumbled over his forehead to brush his brows.

Nothing makes a first impression like turning up shitfaced.

Her lips were lacquered red as the rubies waved through her hair like frozen blood, and diamonds set in platinum glittered in her ears and on her wrists and at her throat, cold as a frost-hardened dew.

Rien noticed the sameness in the shape of their features. Though Percival's face was squarer, and Tristen's was long, they were both thin and tall, with deep-set eyes. His nose wandered, hers was incongruously pert. Nevertheless, Rien thought the resemblance would have been striking if Perceval still had her hair, and if Tristen's was pigmented rather than wooly and white and if the line of his jaw wasn't concealed by his beard.

As Muire and the pretty gigolo sat down, the landlord appeared from his strategic retreat and came to them across the empty bar.

There was something tremendously comforting in having an adult appear and take care of things, Perceval admittd, watching the tall white man stir dinner with curious focus.

He looked so terribly young, a slender boy with a boy's narrow shoulders and his father's, green, green eyes.

The mirrors of his face gleamed all the wrong ways when he smiled.

She looked like a planetary: not tall, but her body bulky with high grav muscles, shoulders wide and sleeves of her coverall rolled up to show off sculpted forearms. She had a broad face with high, slanted cheekbones; coffee-dark eyes with a moderate fold, straight black hair chopped at the ear except for some longer locks, those dyed in fluttering streaks of red and gold.

The woman looking back at me is a stranger indeed. Her hair has grown out into a sort of boyish bob, steel black, silvering bangs falling across her forehead. They mostly hide the places where smooth, paler skin blends into her tanned medium-brown hide. The skin on the left side of her face, near the hairline, is oddly mottled, like a frog.

If I turned my head to look at this woman on the street, it would be because of her hearing-because she is tall, and stern as the iron color of her hair. It would be because of the stubborn military shoulders and the chipped flint of an unmistakably Iroquois nose, the crows's-feet at the corners of her eyes. I might not even notice the glittering steel of her left hand until she moved into my line of sight.

A Gallic-nosed fellow, slight with silver-shot dark curls and dark eyes, brushed rudely past them just as Jack returned from the top of the plank. He reeked of vertiver and musk; Jack's nose wrinkled as he passed, and he half-smiled at himself to realize how accustomed he'd become to the Puritan cleanliness of American colonials, and their aversion to heavy perfumes.

He sipped his drink, made a thinking noise, and rubbed a spatulate fingertip across his annoyingly well-formed nose.

There is a thoughtfulness in her small nose and pointed chin that I am unused to seeing in the children of the Light.

His hair was unmistakeable, a startling light color that Lesa was almost temptd to call blond, though nobody classically blond had survived Assessment.

So even though, to the outside world, Claire Willoughby was Simple Pleasures, Inc., Claire knew she was actually little more than window dressing for the business. Truth be told, she was so organizationally challenged, she couldn't arrange her own underwear drawer, let alone tell people how to arrange their lives.

His faded jeans hugged his taut hindquarters and strong thighs with much affection, and his denim work shirt strained against the muscles of his broad back.