Quotes About Appearance

It must be sheer hell for you to be cursed with such a pretty boy's face, he drawled. The agony of finding a different woman in your bed every night must wear you thin. I don't know where you get your stamina with this terrible burden you bear. The muscle in Ramsey's jaw flexed, which pleased Brodick considerably. We know you've had as many women in your bed as I have, Ramsey snapped. But I meant what I said. There are more important matters to discuss.

My uncle's a big man, muscular. He's given to bulk in his shoulders.Yes, I suppose he could be a little frightening. So is his wife, Sara interjected with a smile. I couldn't tell them apart. He pinched her backside for being insolent. Dunnford has a mustache. So does she.

Christina was so feminine, so dainty, so damned innocent-looking … and she wore a knife strapped to her leg.

Was it their face, in fact, for which they were guilty? Did it fail to please in some way? Worse yet, did it offend? IN

There were no state regulations about hairstyles or clothes. It was what everyone else was wearing that determined the rules of the day. And because the range was so narrow, people were always looking out for the tiniest variations. It was a real test of ingenuity to look different and attractive, and yet similar enough to everyone else so that nobody with an accusing finger could pinpoint what exactly was heretical.

It's as though a smile is ageless, or perhaps eternal, independent of the decay and collapse of the surrounding features.

I can hardly believe that the face is so important to a man's existence. A man's worth should be gauged by the content of his work; possibly the convolutions of the surface of the brain have something to do with it, but his face certainly does not. If the loss of a face can cause conspicuous change in the scale of evaluation, it may well be owing to a fundamental emptiness of content.

Why did one have to put up a hue and cry about anything so trifling as the skin on one's face, which, after all, was only a small part of the human capsule? ... While such a situation would be understandable in a pimply adolescent who lives in visions, it was ridiculous for me, the section head of a respectable laboratory, moored securely to this world by an anchor-like weight, to be afflicted by psychological hives.

I can hardly believe that the face is so important to a man's existence. A man's worth should be gauged by the content of his work; possibly the convolutions of the surface of the brain have something to do with it, but his face certainly does not. If the loss of a face can cause conspicuous change in the scale of evaluation, it may well be owing to a fundamental emptiness of content.

If I were just in trousers, somehow I could go out into the world. It would make no difference whether I was naked from the waist up and my feet bare just as long as I had trousers on. Otherwise if you go walking around the streets without trousers, no matter how new your shoes and how elegant your coat, it's enough to raise a big hue and cry. Enlightened society is a kind of trouser society.

If the convention of the face were empty, perhaps a disguise too was just as empty.

what they sold in the bar was the fake mask of alcohol.

thanks to the mask, signs of fatigue or shame showed on my face no more than on yours.

that Kashiwada could have the outward appearance of a human being yet have a demon lurking inside him.

Every inch of me had been cut, filed, steamed, exfoliated, polished, painted, or moisturized. I didn't look a thing like Opal Mehta. Opal Mehta didn't own five pairs of shoes so expensive they could have been traded in for a small sailboat. She didn't wear makeup or Manolo Blahniks or Chanel sunglasses or Habitual jeans or La Perla bras. She never owned enough cashmere to make her concerned for the future of the Kazakhstani mountain goat population. I was turning into someone else.

There is a rare gentleness in you, the sweeter for its brief appearances.

My dress is of plain forest green wool, but the other girls are wearing beautiful tunics the color of gems- ruby dresses with sapphire mantles and dappled with jewels that dance before me like little insects on fire. My hair is dark as a crow, but theirs is red and gold and even longer than mine. A ray of sun slashes through the turbulent Irish sky, and I see that my friends' perfect skin shimmers in the sun, making them almost translucent.

I suppose that Lucy and I were worthy of the male gaze, what with her pale blond beauty shown off nicely in a peach summer frock, in contrast to my black hair set against light skin. Tonight I wore my favorite dress of pale green linen, which everyone said complemented my eyes, and a cotton bolero jacket perfect for a summer evening.

Shoes really did lead the perfect life. They were polished and taken care of and not expected to do anything more painful than occasionally step in a bit of mud or a rare puddle. She'd wager her shoes never wished they could just disappear.

Ye said yerself that the man was bonny enough to sup with a spoon.

I must admit that I never expected to find such beauty here. His gaze raked her again. It quite takes my breath away. Sophia quirked a brow. He didn't look breathless. He looked calm and collected-a bit predatory, perhaps, but nothing to suggest that her appearance had been anything more than a pleasant surprise.

Financial standing, a social position beyond what she has now, and a husband to dote upon her every wish. What more could she ask for? Maybe youth. Vigor. Teeth . Lord Cameron has his own teeth. Margaret narrowed her eyes at the other candidate. I'm not so certain about Munro. They seemed somewhat clacky at dinner, so I'm suspicious.

his brown hair slicked to one side as if his comb only worked in one direction.

Women never dress without thought.