Quotes About Face

Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him

A ricefield near Vercelli under creamy summer haze. the wings of her drooping hat shadow her false smile. Shadows streak her falsely smiling face, smitten by the hot creamy light, grey wheyhued shadows under the jawbones, streaks of eggyolk yellow on the moistened brow, rancid yellow humour lurking within the softened pulp of the eyes.

His round, pink face was smiling and happy, his green eyes lighted with an alcoholic shine.

Son, you looks like a character witness for a nightmare. You ugly enough to have your face capped." "We can't all be pretty," he grumbled. "Well, you ain't no gemstone, son. You got a face for swim trunk ads." "I'm seventy-one, Sister Paul. I'm a spring chicken compared to you. I don't see no mens doing backflips at the door over you. At least I ain't got enough wrinkles in my face to hold ten days of rain.

I love you. I love your smile, your snarl, your grin, your face when you're sleeping.

An unbearable smug look came over his usually impassive face.Uh-huh. You just keep telling youself that. You looove me. I took a swing at him, but he jumped back nimbly, and all I did was jar my left arm, making it hurt. He laughed at me, then pointed at the woods ouside the window.Pick a tree. I'll go carve our initials in it.

People Trust Me with their secrets, and I'm not sure why. It must be something in my face, probably my eyes.

Hawk's wings, to match her sharp instincts, her hard looks. She looked soft now—softer than the air and the clouds around her. Tender. Cradled in blue. Fang was holding his breath. He could see her face now, her mouth open in a perfect O, caught in mid-sentence, drawing in.

what you call a blind rabbit sitting on your face? An unsightly facial hare.

The most universal challenge that we face is the transition from seeing our human institutions as machines to seeing them as embodiments of nature.

I'd love to have a program like 'Dr. Laura.' I studied psychology at the University of Miami, and when I rode the bus home from school, perfect strangers would strike up conversations with me and end up telling me their life stories. I think they could sense that I was studying to help people. That, or I have a face like a priest.

If Unix could present the same face, the same capabilities, on machines of many different types, it could serve as a common software environment for all of them.

I'm still a Chicagoan in the fact that I can't do Christmas with sand and palm trees. It just doesn't compute - it's not Christmas unless your face hurts when you step outside.

Men's hearts and faces are always wide asunder; women's are not only in close connection, but are mirror-like in the instant power of reflection.

The beard, being a half-mask, should be forbidden by the police - It is, moreover, as a sexual symbol in the middle of the face, obscene: that is why it pleases women.

He'd used the amulet to read my thoughts again. I pictured smacking him in the face.

The remnants of his adolescent vulnerability were all over his face.

I get why we don't want to be in pain, but there's something very essential about what happens when we're in pain and some of the growth that can come from it if we stare at it straight in the face.

I feel happy with myself when I go to the steam room and steam my face. But truth be told, my ultimate beauty indulgence is lip balm - I can't go an hour without lip balm.

I was always taught that the first rule of bunker play is to just get the ball out. When you have a steep face in front of you, this rule applies more than ever. Here, you have to get the ball up in the air as quickly as possible.

The great advance of personal computers was not the computing power per se but the fact that it brought it right to your face, that you had control over it, that were confronted with it and could steer it.

Innocence: I am only stepping on your face because it lies in my path.

Pride will spit in pride's face.

I continued to stare at the empty seat because my sensation of a vibrant presence there was unrelieved. And in my staring I perceived that the fabric of the seat, the inner webbing of swirling fibers, had composed a pattern in the image of a face—an old woman's face with an expression of avid malignance—floating amidst wild shocks of twisting hair.