Quotes About Skin

At times sun may burn bloody coppery on your skin…But have that charm and smile on your chinIt's the tolerance and inner strength of your soul that winsIn this wheel of life, with time that spins

Launching a brand is not for those with thin skin. It takes courage, intelligence and foresight.

Could she love such an unstormy sky as his eyes, such a downy and untarnished skin, such a candid smile?

The manners and customs of bugs are peculiar; they wait till the candle is out, and then, as soon as it is dark, sally forth—not at random; they make straight for the neck, the place of their predilection; sometimes they select the wrists; a few rare ones prefer the ankles. It is not exactly known for what reason they inject into the sleeper's skin an exquisitely irritating oily substance, the virulence of which is intensified by the slightest rubbing...

At school, I couldn't help but grin. At home, something ripped under my skin when I smiled, trying to pretend that everything was fine. Deadly moods lurked in a purple-white haze, smoke clinging to the curtains, turning stale overnight.

Especially, [the skin] is both identity and sex, what one is and what one feels in the realm of the sensual, [...] where the self meets the world-intercourse being, ultimately, the self in the act of meeting the world. The other person embodies not one's own privacy, but everything outside it.

punishment evokes sexual feelings in him; skin is logically connected in his mind with force, because sex is what he feels when he feels the urge to hurt her. [...] Force is suggested by the skin, because both to him mean real touch; [...] still conditioned by civilization to have abstract sexual impulses, he is drawn most by the silhouette, halfway between the fictive and the real.

Like Alec, his complexion was almost swarthy. But the Indian sun had darkened Aidan's still more, so that his skin was a dark, burnished hue that made him appear almost a foreigner- particularly when combined with the beard he'd grown, the patch he'd still worn over one eye upon his return home.

ANTHONY'S [only in 1755 edition] (A'NTHONY'S)  FIRE.n.s.A kind of erysipelas.   

If truth were a crayon and it was up to me to put a wrapper on it and name it's color, I know just what I would call it-dinosaur skin.

A wide wrinkle like a comprehensive bracket sign was written upon his forehead, the point between his brows, and there were patches of brown on his dark-blond skin.

Blonde: A word sir, Have you got a cure For freckles? They come out all over In the summer. Mephistopheles: Ah, Summer speckles, Dotted like a tabby cat. Take an extract Of toad-tongue, Boil with frog spawn At dawn, And spread upon your skin When the moon is thin And waning.

Lace is a kind of white writing which you can only read when there's skin behind it.

and she had started to relax - but she was relaxing into something terrible, and she was going about the world in a state of complete indifference to whatever might come, a wild girl with dream patterns and faint, dark animals etched on her skin, a creature who had passed beyond fear and was, therefore, beyond saving.

I felt a tightness on the skin. A visceral type of cognition that I had experienced before. But this was stronger, more immediate: the certainty of something out there, just beyond the threshold of consciousness. It was the experience of haragei.

One writes of scars healed, a loose parallel to the pathology of the skin, but there is no such thing in the life of an individual.

There are two things in life that I really wanted to do: be an actress, and to be in skin care, and I've gotten to do both of them.

There is nothing so agonizing to the fine skin of vanity as the application of a rough truth.

Ginger twitched his ears and the loose skin on his back and legs to let Jerry know he was here and he was happy. Then he lowered his head down on his paws again and he let out a deep sigh that sounded almost like a sob, there was in it so much relief and pain and pleasure and remembering.

Because what is the face, what finally, is the skin over the flesh, a cover, a disguise, rouge for the insupportable horror of our living nature.

Esistere è questo, pensai, un sussulto di gioia, una fitta di dolore, un piacere intenso, vene che pulsano sotto la pelle, non c'è nient'altro di vero da raccontare.

He had rid himself so fiercely of memory, language, the capacity to find meaning that it seemed obvious the hatred he had for himself, for his own skin, for his moods, for his thoughts and words, for the brutal corner of the world that had enveloped him.

Existence is this, I thought, a start of joy, a stab of pain, an intense pleasure, veins that pulse under the skin, there is no other truth to tell.

In our present state of degeneration it is through the skin that metaphysics must be made to re-enter our minds.