Quotes About Appearance

Luster returned, wearing a stiff new straw hat with a colored band and carrying a cloth cap. The hat seemed to isolate Luster's skull, in the beholder's eye as a spotlight would, in all its individual planes and angles. So peculiarly individual was its shape that at first glance the hat appeared to be on the head of someone standing immediately behind Luster.

Ellen was in her late thirties, plump, her face unblemished still. It was as though whatever marks being in the world had left upon it up to the time the aunt vanished had been removed from between the skeleton and the skin, between the sum of experience and the envelope in which it resides, by intervening years of annealing and untroubled flesh.

She [Mrs. Hines] stood before the door as if she were barring them from the house--a dumpy, fat little woman with a round face like dirty and unovened dough, and a tight screw of scant hair.

Dalton Ames. Dalton Ames. Dalton Shirts. I thought all the time they were khaki, army issue khaki, until I saw they were of heavy Chinese silk or finest flannel because they made his face so brown his eyes so blue. Dalton Ames. It just missed gentility. Theatrical fixture. Just papier-mache, then touch. Oh. Asbestos. Not quite bronze.

Al ÅŸunu, diyorum, çikolatay? ona vererek. ÖnlüÄŸümü ç?kar?p o yana geçtim. Baya?? güzeldi. Hani ÅŸu kara gözlüler vard?r ya, bir aldatacak olsan b?ça?? saplayacak gibi görünürler, onlardand?.

He sho a preacher, mon! He didn't look like much at first, but hush!

Hollis thought he looked like William Burroughs, minus the bohemian substrate (or perhaps the methadone). Like someone who'd be invited quail shooting with the vice-president, though too careful to get himself shot.

Hollis blew gently on the thin tan island of foam afloat in her half pint of Guinness, to see it move, then drank some. Always a mysterious beverage to her. Unsure why she'd asked for it. She liked the way it looked more than how it tasted. How would it taste, she wondered, if it tasted the way she thought it looked? No idea.

unlikely tan on one of Lonny Zone's whores and the crisp naval uniform of a tall African whose cheekbones were ridged with precise rows of tribal

Her black hair, rough-cut and shining, brushed pale bare shoulders as she turned her head. She had no eyebrows, and both her lids and lashes seemed to have been dusted with something white, leaving her dark pupils in stark contrast.

The color of its skin reminded him of Zone's whores;

Hubertus Bigend, a nominal Belgian who looks like Tom Cruise on a diet of virgins' blood and truffled chocolates.

Hackney, he thought irritably, glaring at it. Always gotten up as something it wasn't.

Shaylene had big hair without actually having it, Flynne's mother had once said. Something that came up through any remake, like marker ink through latex paint.

Do I look like a metaphysician?" "You look like a guy in an office. What exactly do you do there, Wilf?

True that you've got your own whole other body, up there?" "More or less. Somebody built it, but you couldn't tell." "True that you've got your own whole other body, up there?" "More or less. Somebody built it, but you couldn't tell." "Look like you?" "No," Flynne said, "prettier and tittier." "Go on," Clovis said, pull the other one.

She wore loose black silks and black espadrilles. `I'm an exotic. I got a big straw hat for this, too. You, you just wanna look like a cheap-ass hood who's up for what he can get, so the instant tan's okay.

If you don't change your hairstyle because it's mostly fallen out and you don't shave, you've no cause to go chasing yourself in a mirror.

Necesito vuestro consejo —les interrumpió Buttercup—. ¿Qué puedo hacer para mejorar mi apariencia personal? —Empieza por bañarte —repuso su padre. —Y, de paso, hazte algo en ese pelo —le dijo su madre. —Excávate el territorio que llevas detrás de las orejas. —No te olvides de las rodillas.

The world loves to be amused by hollow professions, to be deceived by flattering appearances, to live in a state of hallucination; and can forgive everything but the plain, downright, simple, honest truth.

Look up, laugh loud, talk big, keep the color in your cheek and the fire in your eye, adorn your person, maintain your health, your beauty, and your animal spirits.

Play not the peacock, looking everywhere about you to see if you be well decked, if your shoes fit well, if your stockings set neatly and clothes handsomely.

Struck by the ugliness of the German women on the streets and in restaurants and cafés. As a race they are certainly the least attractive in Europe. They have no ankles. They walk badly. They dress worse than English women used to. Off to Danzig tonight.

Surely the Germans must be the ugliest-looking people in Europe, individually. Not a decent-looking woman in the whole Linden. Their awful clothes probably contribute to one's impression.