Quotes About Concealment

I didn't want to open my eyes. My head was splitting, and all I wanted to do was lie down and hide.

The radiant globes on their high wrought-iron towers were an advantage to the dark-adapted eye, if one could manage not to be dazzled. For the shadows between were cool and velvet, and a man-or something shaped like a man-in muffling black could vanish into them.

He turned to face Murchaud, and bit his lip on the smile he wanted to taste.

Kit hid his flinch as Will's gloved fingers tightened on his arm.

A shape was only a mask, to be discarded upon an instant.

Someone unraveled from the shadows under a gorse shrub, uncoiling taller than anything had a right to from such a small hiding place. The woman swayed like a cobra, standing clad only in a deluge of golden bracelets and necklaces and a bright patterned sarong that stood out like blood on black marble against her skin. Rubies glittered in her ears, her nose, her navel. Rows of tiny beadlike scars shiny as drops of sweat covered her breasts, her arms, her forehead.

Kit caught Will's eye, and the smile he sent down might have melted Will like a candle end. Lovesick fool, Will thought, and looked down before someone could notice his silly grin and draw an entirely correct conclusion.

The whole shadow of Man is only as big as his hat.

Icebergs behoove the soul(both being self-made from elements least visible)to see them so: fleshed, fair, erected, indivisible.

What I have always found is, anything one keeps hidden should now and then be hidden somewhere else.

The trick to hiding something, she'd told him once, is to put it right out in plain sight.

Things didn't really go away. You just learned to push them deeper.

There were some parts of himself that he would probably never find because he dared not go looking for them in the shadows where she had cast them.

She had become an expert at wearing masks, so much so that sometimes it was difficult to find her true self beneath the layers:

I was grateful for the darkness that hid our faces at least, but nothing can hide the voice. It is always naked.

Sometimes people have a lot to lose by telling stories in certain ways, so they work very hard to hide the things that don't fit with their views of themselves,

Part of running a good business is not letting anyone know how bad things have really become.

They were like an iceberg, it occurred to me, my father the seven-sights that was under the water and my mother the luminous portion riding the waves. But no, they were two icebergs: solitary phenomena, impressive, independent, known only to themselves. I felt their hidden seven-eighths inside me as a dark bulkiness whose outlines I was always trying to map.

How can I look so real everyday, when really I'm just a cardboard cut-out image of myself-lamenated in coats of artifical happiness with shiny plastic all around- so quite I should be a mime- I wrap my arms around myself when I go out in the wind because I don't know how to make sure that I won't blow away- and I'm standing with my eyes closed so I won't have to see the ground when I fall...

This is my social face," he said lightly. "Don't confuse it with the animal beneath.

Be silent now and do not tell your magic.

Sometimes I think we only imagine ourselves. It's hard sometimes, coming face-to-face with your truer nature -- the part that you conceal, even from yourself.

She'd worn her most ostentatious clothes because she knew that the best camouflage was a kind of flagrancy: you didn't have to worry how people took you so much if the first thing they noticed was that you were rich.

So it makes sense for the tips of icebergs to fall in love, without knowing anything about the bottom parts?