Quotes About Appearance

When they passed room 103, four guys dressed like skaters ran to the doorway and leaned outside. "Hey, Tianna," the first one shouted. "Looking fine," the second one added. "Thanks," she answered, and watched the other two admire her. "I can't believe the impression you've already made with the guys.

Many girls at school were infatuated with his shallow athletic splendor and his golden handsome features that were biologically inherited and had nothing to do with the kind of person he might actually be.

Yet I have come to distrust book jackets calculated to prick desire like a Bloomingdale's window, as if you could wear what you read.

How did the apartment look?" Riggle wondered. "Nothing was out of place.

Clever plastic surgery can restore an appearance of youth, but nothing changes the expression of age and experience in the eyes.

How odd that people could be so ugly, not particularly because of appearence, but because of the atmosphere of judgemental bad temper and discontent they carried around with them.

Fair face does not equate to hallowed heart.

He is a nice-looking33 young man, but she one of the least attractive of girls, coarse-featured, with an ill-tempered mouth and a certain German vulgarity, which will be terrible at 35.

gauging the truth of a person merely by looking is a fool's habit.

I think beauty can be a great lie. Sometimes the greatest lie.

With a hologram, like when your teacher is one of them, if you aren't looking right at them, they sometimes seem to be hollow. You see them and suddenly they don't have a face that pokes out. Their faces poke in, their nose and so on, and there is nothing inside them. If you don't look right at them, they can look just like an empty shell.

ESTAÇÃO Esperar ou vir esperar querer ou vir querer-te vou perdendo a noção desta subtileza. Aqui chegado até eu venho ver se me apareço e o fato com que virei preocupa-me, pois chove miudinho Muita vez vim esperar-te e não houve chegada De outras, esperei-me eu e não apareci embora bem procurado entre os mais que passavam. Se algum de nós vier hoje é já bastante como comboio e como subtileza Que dê o nome e espere. Talvez apareça

Por que bonita, se coxa? Por que coxa, se bonita?

When, at a party, a woman (half socialite, half journalist) told me how "brave" she thought I had been for not getting a facelift, I was tempted to comment on the courage she had shown in dealing with the results of hers.

Each of her features alone was nothing, her nose too sharp, her chin over-strong. Yet together they made a whole like the heart of a flame. You could not look away.

They have wrinkles, but no wisdom.

She [Mother Legge] was a vast, dusky, double-chinned mountain of a woman, with astute, little grey eyes; eyes that seemed rather to aim at not seeing what she wanted to avoid, than at seeing what she wanted to see.

If we remove the dulling effects of the nineteen centuries that had passed, and make ourselves contemporaries with Christ and his little band of apostles, we might restore the difficulty, the trauma, the great paradox of Christ's appearance which requires us to fit together both a divine and a human nature, the creator of the universe and the babe born in a manger.

He tottered in. In a few moments he came out, hair piece in place. But the haggardness of his face made it look more spurious than before.

I drove out. There were a half-dozen cars there. A house man let me in. Brell came hurrying to me to pump my hand. He was a trim-bodied man in his late forties, dark and handsome in a slightly vulpine way, and I suspected he wore a very expensive and inconspicuous hair piece. He looked the type to go bald early. He had a resonant voice and a slightly theatrical presence. He wore tailored twill ranch pants and a crisp white shirt with blue piping.

His wife, Gerry, was a truly stunning blonde in her middle twenties, tall and gracious, but with eyes just a little cold to match a smile so warm and welcoming.

Willy Lazeer is an acquaintance. His teeth and his feet hurt. He hates the climate, the Power Squadron, the government and his wife. The vast load of hate has left him numbed rather than bitter. In appearance, it is as though somebody bleached Sinatra, skinned him, and made Willy wear him.

Emile, you're a goodlooking fellow and steady and you'll get on in the world. . . . But I'll never put myself in a man's power again. . . . I've suffered too much. . . . Not if you came to me with five thousand dollars.

Thus, in a Pageant Show, a Plot is made; And Peace it self is War in Masquerade.