Quotes About Masking

notice." The false cheer in her voice is evidence of how

So I am learning to pretend, to smile and nod, to display empathy I do not feel. I am learning to pass, to look like everyone else, even though I am broken inside

Her words were like tinfoil; they shone and they covered things up.

I was able to hide a lot behind 'Walton,' and found that to be quite useful.

I'm fine, I said, which is what people who aren't fine always say.

I tended to lean toward character work. I love to disguise myself.

It was important not to show any emotion. But I felt hollow, like if you blew across my lips I would sound a note, deep and low.

This was a new skill she'd acquired, the ability to look, to the outside world, utterly serene and even cheerful, while, in her skull, all was chaos.

Once he'd been set off inside, it mattered so much that he was somehow afraid to show how much it mattered.

i love walking in the rain because no one knows im dying

Most times, it's just a lot easier not to let the world know what's wrong.

even the meanest person has still at his disposition high-sounding words wherewith to mask his real character.

An uncommon prudence is habitual with the subtler depravity, for it has everything to hide.

The worst kind of pain is when you're smiling just to stop the tears from falling.

He knew what he was, what depths of depravity and cruelty he had plumbed, what ambitions drove him. He prided himself on knowing those things—but that didn't mean he needed anyone else to see them as well.

This was how it could be done. This was how you lived with a terrible secret. You just did it. You pretended everything was fine. You ignored the deep, cramplike pain in your stomach. You somehow anesthetized yourself so that nothing felt that bad, but nothing felt that good either.

This is how you lived with a terrible secret. You just did it. You pretend everything was fine. You ingored the deep, cramplike pain in your stomach. You somehow anesthetized yourself so that nothing felt that bad, but nothing felt good either.

It could have been so much worse. He rarely hit her face. She'd never broken a limb or needed stitches. Her bruises could always be kept secret with a turtleneck or sleeves or long pants. He would never lay a finger on the children. The boys never saw. It could be worse. Oh, so much worse. She'd read the articles about proper domestic violence victims. That was terrible. That was real. What Perry did didn't count.

I manage to hide in my movies.

hoarders of guilty secrets are inevitably consumed with appearances.

Faking is a social activity in which people act together to draw a veil over unwanted realities and encourage each other in the exercise of their illusory powers.

The whole point of wearing a disguise was to be seen wearing her.

Of course, Rita would never know what I really was, not if I could help it. I had worked very hard to keep her blissfully ignorant of the true me, Dexter the Dark, the cheerful vivisectionist who lived for the purr of duct tape, the gleam of the knife, and the smell of fear rising up from a truly deserving playmate who had earned his ticket to Dexterland by slaughtering the innocent and somehow slipping through the gaping cracks in the justice system.… Rita

You go to work the next day pretending nothing happened. Your co-workers ask if everything's okay and you tell them you're just tired. And you're trying to smile. And they're trying to smile.