Quotes About Mask

He was one of those guys who smile as a tactic, you know, and not because they actually feel anything worth smiling about. Kind of like the way a chimpanzee smiles.

Your transparency is just another one of your disguises, isn't it?

A capacity for interiority in the growing adult is threatened by the temptation to squander that capacity ruthlessly, to revel in hollowness. The syndrome especially plagues anyone who lives behind a mask...A hundred ways to duck the question: how will I live with myself now that I know what I know?

There are a plenty of shots that I have been amazed by, but a lot of these shots are played because you have worn an iron mask. Take away the protection, and let me see if they play them. Don't forget that the past players did not have any protection.

Back in the NBA's pre-mask era, ballers with busted noses or orbital bones had two unappealing options: Sit out and heal, or strap on a Michael Myers-looking opaque face shield closely related to that worn by hockey goalies.

You're used to having a camera in your face when you're playing a character - it's like having a mask on. But when you have to be you, you're so worried you'll make an idiot of yourself. Acting is a kind of escapism.

The hardest thing of all is when pain is hidden behind a mask of calm.

We somehow must become what we are not, sacrificing what we are, to inherit the masquerade of what we will be.

He shows no anger, I show no anger but in flashes of humor, all is courtesy and horror.

I had been right the first time. His sonorous voice echoed through a hollow place of sorrow, catching its reverberations from those ragged walls. His gaiety masked a deep well of loneliness; he was a bright outward shape wrapped around shadows.

gives us a road to the decency and legitimacy we want while sparing us the difficulty and struggle of true virtue. Dissociation turns virtue into a mask. It gives us the means to construct a "face of The Good." It counts the mere mouthing of glossy ideas of The Good the same as an honest struggle toward what is actually possible.

There was something different about his face. It was not quite smiling, but the disciplined austerity had somehow gone from it. It was as though he had allowed some of himself to come out from that place deep within where he had hidden most of his life.

She looked her usual calm, dignified self—but he had learned last night, if he had not suspected it before, that she had had long practice donning this particular mask.

She felt no uncontrollable physical passion. Only something far, far worse. Only a deep feeling of affection. Only a craving to get behind his mask—because he assuredly did wear one, however much he denied doing so. Only a longing to know the man as he was and to find that after all he was likable and lovable. Only a need to deny reality and find her fantasy lover again.

Los ojos suelen ser el punto débil de cualquier disfraz, ¿sabe usted? Porque el portador del mismo debe ver el mundo y debe dejarlos expuestos por muy bien que oculte el resto de su persona. Sin embargo, sus ojos son su disfraz... o al menos son la parte más importante. Me es imposible vislumbrar siquiera un trocito de su alma por mucho que los mire.

She was feeling almost happy. She allowed herself the qualifier of almost because she had accepted the fact that self-deception was also self-destructive. She would not deceive herself any more or hide behind any mask in an attempt to shield herself from the reality of her life.

Rebecca was conscious of a dull ache inside, which she could not disguise.

Her mouth smiled, smiled hard, but her eyes did not smile, ever. Her eyes watched and looked for something they knew they'd never find.

You can put lipstick on a pig. It's still a pig.

concealed from view a face so face-like in its appearance as to be positively facial.

In fairytales, when the mask came off, the handsome prince still loved the girl, no matter what -and that alone would turn her into a princess.

There is a false love that will make you something you are not.

Scccccratccch the most clever postmodern-relativist professor's Mercedes with a key, and you will see how fast the mask of relativism (with its pretense that there can be neither right nor wrong) and the cloak of radical tolerance come off.

Who knows what true loneliness is—not the conventional word, but the naked terror? To the lonely themselves it wears a mask. The most miserable outcast hugs some memory or some illusion. Now and then a fatal conjunction of events may lift the veil for an instant. For an instant only. No human being could bear a steady view of moral solitude without going mad.