Quotes About Smile

Ronald Tilfer—at least, she assumed the man in the brown UPS uniform was him—smiled and waved behind him as he exited from the restaurant. He was short with tightly cropped salt 'n' pepper hair and, as you noticed in these uniforms with shorts, nice legs. Wendy pushed herself off her car and cut him off before he reached the vehicle. "Ronald

They walked between two restaurants, Ruby Tuesday and McDonald's. The McDonald's had the most garish Ronald McDonald statue sitting in a booth. Ronald had a big smile and was too brightly painted and looked as though it might wink as they passed. Myron wondered whether it gave kids nightmares because, when Myron was unsure of his next move, he wondered about things like that. Kitty

Elena looked in her rearview mirror and tried on a sympathetic, we're-all-in-this-together smile. Meh. This part would be a pain in the ass. Cops and egos. Tough recipe. Add in a dollop of territorial bullshit and customary dick swinging plus the rarity of landing a single murder case let alone a double murder, and Elena expected a shitshow of epic proportions.

On the screen, Lily looked up from the couch toward the maybe-man. When she smiled widely at him, Maya felt a rock take form in her chest. Lily wasn't good with strangers. So whoever this was, whoever was wearing that familiar forest green shirt . . 

Megan eyed the drink, enjoying the warmth of it. "You know what sucks about being a mother?" "Diapers?" "Well, yes. But I mean now. Now that they are older and more or less real human beings." "What?" "You live for their smile." Lorraine

Loren held up her identification. "I'm Investigator Loren Muse from the Essex County prosecutor's office. I'd like a moment of your time." Marsha Hunter blinked, confused. "What's this about?" Loren tried a disarming smile. "Could I come in a moment?" "Oh, yes. Of course." She

She rose. Lindsey was pretty in a way that only the young are, with that enthusiasm and smile that belong exclusively to the innocent or the cult recruiter.

Patrick—if it is indeed Patrick—is still on the ground gasping for air as I make my arrival. I stop, spread my arms, and offer them my most winning smile. The three thugs stare at me as though I am a museum piece that they can't comprehend. Melon Shirt takes one step toward me. "Who the fuck are you?" I am still smiling. "You should leave now." Melon

Martha took another step. Titus put on a warm smile and beckoned for her to follow him inside. She made her way toward the porch, hugging herself, shivering from either cold or fear, though more likely a toxic combination of both. Her hair was wet. Her eyes had that look Titus had seen plenty of times before—like two shattered marbles. Titus

Could you move a little closer?" She smiled. "I think not." "I showered." She ignored the remark. "I understand that you occasionally do some investigative work," Susan Lex said. Myron did not reply. "Is that correct?" "Depends on what you mean by investigative work." "I'll take that as a yes," Susan Lex said. Myron gave her a suit-yourself shrug.

The first involved the "trust fall." Ms. Owens, a PE teacher with a smile that looked like it'd been painted on by a drunk clown, started off by trying to fire us up. "Good morning, everyone!" A few groans. Then—and I hate when adults do this—she shouted, "I know you're more excited than that, so let's try it again! Good morning, everyone!" The

The battle-ax receptionist—she looked about fifteen years too old to play the prison matron in B-movies—watched the scene play out, the hint of a smile on her dry, lipstick-caked lips. Loren

They stumbled out the door and to the diner down the street. Most of the patrons looked even more hungover than they did. The waitress, a seen-too-much big-hair, brought them an urn of coffee before they even asked. She was on the plump side, just the way Fester liked them. He gave her a smile and said, "Hi, sugar." She

I can't believe you still do this," Myron said. "Are we moralizing again?" Win asked with a smile. "How nice for us." "Let me ask you something." "Oh, please do." "Something I always wanted to know." "My ears are all atwitter." "Putting aside my repugnancy for a moment—" "Not on my account," Win said. "I so enjoy when you're superior.

You smile, but it never really reaches the eyes.

He opened the door. "Hello?" "Daddy! Uncle Mo!" It was Jill, his eleven-year-old princess, tearing around the corner, that smile plastered on her face. Mike felt his heart warm—the reaction was instantaneous and universal. When a daughter smiles at her father like that, the father, no matter what his station in life, is suddenly king. "Hey

Myron entered his office building on Park Avenue. He exchanged a brief elevator smile with a young woman in a business suit. The elevator reeked of drugstore cologne, the kind where some guy decides that taking a shower is too time-consuming so he opts for sprinkling himself with enough cologne to glaze a wedding cake. The young woman sniffed and looked at Myron.

Her words didn't resonate the way the truth does, but Myron didn't argue the point. He scanned his Client Wall and tried to bring his focus around to Lamar Richardson's visit. "So the case is closed." She smiled. "Like legs in a nunnery.

A tall woman in a blue business suit and fancy sunglasses strolled purposefully down the sidewalk. Myron smiled at her, and she returned it. He would have preferred a faint or even a small swoon, but you can't have everything.

But it's not up to you to decide what's safe," she said. "It's not up to me either." "Don't tell me," Ash said. "It's in God's hands." She smiled at him. It was, as always, even with the strange hair color and new cut, beatific. The smile struck his heart with a gentle boom.

Harry was not an attractive man. His eyes had enough bags under them to take a three-week cruise. His nose was caricature bulbous. His hair was a shock of white that wouldn't come down without the threat of gunfire. But his smile, well, it was beatific. The smile warmed her—brought her back and made her feel safe.

We all have our scars and torment and ghosts. We all walk around and smile and pretend everything is okay. We are polite to strangers and share the road with them and stand in line at the supermarket and we manage to disguise the hurt and desperation. We work hard and make plans and more often than not, that all goes to hell.

His lips parted into a timid smile, and our neighbor's image blurred with my sudden tears. "Hey, Boo," I said.

When I pointed to him his palms slipped slightly, leaving greasy sweat streaks on the wall, and he hooked his thumbs in his belt. A strange small spasm shook him, as if he heard fingernails scrape slate, but as I gazed at him in wonder the tension slowly drained from his face. His lips parted into a timid smile, and our neighbor's image blurred with my sudden tears. "Hey, Boo," I said.