Quotes About Appearance

Gold gives the appearance of beauty even to ugliness; but everything becomes frightful with poverty.

I've exercised with women so thin, buzzards followed them to their cars.

She has all the right equipment to look sexy, pretty even. She just overdoes everything-like she's a coloring-book women who got scribbled on by a toddler,

The great gifts of models are not that they're more beautiful than the next person, it's that they're able to be photographed and not be self-conscious.

It is rather a mark of vanity not to dress well. The sloven thinks that nature has done enough for him.

A young lady can only look charming at so much per yard. A pretty miss in calico is a lovely woman in silk; and a charming girl in muslin is an angel in satin. At least she thinks so, and who would contradict a lady?

She had not been sure what to wear—a classic peach maid of honor dress or a black leather corset. Her compromise: peach leather with a fringed hem, sleeveless so as to display arms with the relative dimensions and consistency of marble columns on a Georgian mansion. Big Cyndi's hair was done up in a mauve Mohawk and pinned on the top was a little bride-and-groom cake decoration.

On the news, the neighbors are always like, 'Gee, I didn't know that nice man was chopping up little kids—he always seemed so polite.' But you go back, you ask their schoolteachers, you ask their childhood friends, they almost always tell a different story. They're never surprised.

Ian Cornwell tries too hard to look professorial—unruly hair, unkempt beard, tweed jacket, mustard-hued corduroy pants.

Butterface." Then Thomas spoke slowly. "But. Her. Face." Adam tried not to smile

Big Reg was twice divorced, separated from his third wife, and had two other women with him today. Both women wore navel-revealing tube tops, and neither had the figure for it. The tube tops appeared so tight they squeezed all flesh south, giving both women a gourdlike shape. "You." Hester pointed at the tube top on the right. "Me?" Somehow, despite the word being one syllable, she had managed to crack gum mid-word. "Yes.

Someone parked two spots away from the red Buick. The car door opened, and a pole dancer got out. Yes, Maya knew her occupation. Long blond hair, shorts that barely covered half a cheek, a boob job that lifted them high enough to double as earrings—you didn't need the pole dancing equivalent of gaydar to see that this woman was either a pole dancer or a sixteen-year-old boy's fantasy come to life. When

She was dressed in Seventies American Hooker—fishnet stockings, high boots (those two looks seemed to be a contradiction), a skirt that covered up as much of her as, say, a belt would, and a purple top so tight it could have been sausage casing. Myron

der Mann war groß und dünn, hatte Wangenknochen, mit denen man Tomaten hätte schneiden können comma und perfekt frisierte Haare.

The girl cupped her hands over her eyes and blinked. She was pretty enough, with blonde highlights that you can only find in youth or a bottle. "Hi." Loren

She was also dressed differently. The rest of the group, including Wiley Corval, had gone with the blue-blazer, khaki, loafer-sans-socks spirit, even if that wasn't exactly what they were wearing. Poor man's yacht club. Enid wore mom jeans, Velcro white sneakers, and a stretched-out cable-knit sweater that was a yellow usually found on a Ticonderoga pencil.

As a soldier, you don't stand at attention because it looks nice. You stand at attention because, on some level, it either gives you strength or, just as important, makes you appear stronger to both your comrades and enemies. For

Aaron looked strung-out, wearing a denim jacket over a grungy white T-shirt—the latest in heroin chic minus the chic.

Her makeup looked as though it'd been applied with a paintball gun.

Vespa stepped in without saying hello. He still looked natty, still wearing a blazer that seemed to have been tailored by the gods, but the rest of him looked strangely unruly. His hair was always unkempt—that was his look—but there is a fine line between unkempt and not touched at all. It had crossed that line. His eyes were red. The lines around his mouth were deeper, more pronounced.

Butterface." Then Thomas spoke slowly. "But. Her. Face.

Now that she was closer, she could see that Hat Tilt looked like Jay-Z—if Jay-Z suddenly aged ten years and never worked out and was a pasty white guy trying to look like Jay-Z. "No

Shauna stalks into a room as though it offends her. She was a plus-size model, one of the few known by one name. Shauna. Like Cher or Fabio. She stood six one and weighed one hundred ninety pounds. She was, as you might expect, a head-turner, and all heads in the waiting room obliged. Shauna

The receptionist wore a hideous wig and looked at us as though we'd just plopped out of a dog's behind. I