Quotes About Appearance

These boys both fell out of the ugly tree at a young age, hitting every damned branch on the way down. Then their mommas whupped them with an ugly stick and fed them ugly soup every day of their lives. They were Uh-glee, with a couple of capital double-ugs.

He'd described himself as looking like a child molester waiting for a chance to strike. He wasn't comfortable with his appearance.

Dark hair, olive skin, handsome features. It always made Amy guilty to find him good-looking. Ian Kabra.

I'm exactly as I appear. There is no warm lovable person inside. Beneath my cold exterior, once you break the ice, you find cold water.

A narcissist is someone better looking than you.

Mrs. Todd was a pretty if coarse-looking girl with thick brows, an endearing husky laugh and rather too much flesh on her bones for my taste, which often rules me but is no tyrant.

He was a man one always forgot. To this day I cannot describe him, except his fatness and his powdered clean-shaven cheeks and his big laugh; all his identity escapes me - except that he was called Joe. There are some men whose names are always shortened.

From behind he looked younger than he was in his dark thin ready-made suit a little too big for him at the hips, but when you met him face to face he looked older, the slatey eyes were touched with the annihilating eternity from which he had come and to which he went.

How can the lord of goblins, the delighter in graveyards, the naked devotee covered with ashes, haggard in appearance, wearing twisted locks ornamented with snakes, be the supreme being?

and though he appeared outwardly clam

its contemporary metropolitan setting, its self-conscious 'coolness', its underlying preoccupation with the surface appearance of things and an accompanying cynicism and bleakness as audiences witnessed the machinations of its characters. Yet

She'd done her face, I guessed, in the hasty, automatic way of women who don't need to slap it on like warpaint.

She was professionally attired in a tailored blue dress suit and skirt. A

circa 1985. Vida's great claim to fame was winning a televised wet T-shirt contest in Destin she'd beaten 150 other competitors-but two children and ten thousand cheeseburgers had deflated her prized assets and hidden her waist in a roll of hard fat.

Our coating, our shell, our packaging—however you want to think of it—is the first thing we see when we wake up. It's the first thing we bring into every interaction. People look. Judge. A split-second determination is made that can and does impact who we are and what people make of us. Being who you are starts with the physical.

Red hair framed a face with a freckled nose, and her blue eyes had thick lashes like the undulating fringe of a sea anemone. But to Lara, the kind of beauty Shelly possessed was like that of nightshade berries. They appear to be delicious but are actually dangerous.

Beauty is more than a skin-deep issue. Our outer covering is our calling card. In order to feel great, to do great things, we need to understand that undeniable truth. Everything I've ever done has been to help others in a world that judges them every second of the day.

It isn't Prada that the devil wears but a smile that belies the truth of his intent.

I saw her as she showed herself to the world: fun, smart, sexy. Funny how those things are often a smoke screen from one's true self. It's easy to act all those things. Up for adventure. Head nods at complex scenarios when she's not really listening. Ready for bedroom play even when there is no bedroom. In the beginning, Sophie was all those things. I didn't know they were a construct. I thought they were key parts of who she was.

In a community that gets life based on appearances, problems tend to be diagnosed in terms of how things appear.

It is as if the stuff of which we are made were totally transparent and therefore imperceptible and as if the only appearances of which we can be aware are cracks and planes of fracture in that transparent matrix. Dreams and percepts and stories are perhaps cracks and irregularities in the uniform and timeless matrix. Was this what Plotinus meant by an 'invisible and unchanging beauty which pervades all things'?

The thought struck me that she would always look beautiful, even when she was being ugly. Hers was a big, lovely, empty face: the face of a pom-pom girl at a football match, the face advertisers use to help them sell preposterous and irrelevant things.

It was as if all of those hundreds of people were costumed for home, for themselves, not for the public promenades.

Nothing exists as we see it. Nothing we see is really there, as we think we are seeing it. Our eyes are liars. Everything that seems real, is merely part of the illusion. Nothing exists, as we think it does. Not you. Not me. Not this room. Nothing.