Quotes About Faces

The measurement of good policy is the well-being of the community. I saw the human faces of failed policies, and they weren't smiling.

Arizona faces many challenges ahead. None is more important or more pressing than passing a new state budget.

I find that Americans completely lack sensibility and good taste. They are boring, and they all have faces like unbaked rolls.

Cicero himself appeared, hand in hand with Tullia, nodding good morning to everyone, greeting each by name ("the first rule in politics, Tiro: never forget a face").

This audience is at an end," Rand said. "I will forget every face that departs now.

The shape of women's faces changes subtly during their ovulatory cycle, and men prefer female faces at the time of ovulation.

when women are ovulating, their fusiform face areas respond more to faces, with the ("emotional") vmPFCs responding more to men's faces in particular.

Thus, shorter refractory periods mean a higher rate of action potentials. So is testosterone causing action potentials in these neurons? No. It's causing them to fire at a faster rate if they are stimulated by something else. Similarly, testosterone increases amygdala response to angry faces, but not to other sorts.

Wilder wrote, 'The roses scented the wind, and along the road the fresh blossoms, with their new petals and golden centers, looked up like little faces.

Holmes!" I exclaimed. "I thought you were busy." "By the time you let me go, the blood had clotted beyond all recognition," he said dismissively. He ignored the expressions on the faces around us that his statement had brought, and waved a hand at the young constable.

Life possesses an amazing array of profoundly sad faces.

Ever since that night I've been on the road Travelling and trying to forget That awful night I lost all my friends I see their faces yet.

There are few faces that can afford to smile: a smile is sometimes bewitching, in general vapid, often a contortion.

A smile appears on the faces of most archaic figures, a happiness of expression seeming to transcend that of human beings.

Robbing humans of their faces and individuality is no less a form of evil than diminishing their dignity or looking for threats primarily among those who have immigrated or harbour different religious beliefs.

There... Poor little things. You see them? Standing with their numbers on their blank, indifferent faces, Nuremberg in miniature, the ranks of painted wooden men... Poor dominoes. Your pretty empire took so long to build, now, with a snap of history's fingers down it goes.

Emotions Revealed: Recognizing Faces And Feelings To Improve Communication And Emotional Life.

Thoughtfully I resume my patrolling to and fro between the benches. Now and again I catch a searching glance above the edge of a copy book. I stand still near the stove and look at the young faces. Most of them are good-natured and ordinary, some are sly, others stupid; but in a few there is a flicker of something brighter. For these life will not be so obvious and all things will not go so smoothly. Suddenly

How various is a face; but an hour ago it was strange and it is now touched with a tenderness that comes, not from it, but from out of the night, the world and the blood, all these things seem to shine in it together.

It is strange to see these enemies of ours so close up. They have faces that make one think—honest peasant faces, broad foreheads, broad noses, broad mouths, broad hands, and thick hair. They ought to be put to threshing, reaping, and apple picking. They look just as kindly as our own peasants in Friesland.

I take out my cigarettes, break each one in half, and give them to the Russians. ... Now red points glow in every face. They comfort me. It looks as though they are little windows in dark village cottages, saying that behind them are rooms full of peace.

It is true that in this time people set their faces hard for photographs, partly from custom, partly because of deficits in photographic technology, but this crowd might not have smiled for the better part of a century. The women seem suspended in a state somewhere between melancholy and fury and are surrounded by old men in strange beards that look as if someone had dabbed glue at random points on their faces, then hurled buckets of white hair in their direction.

The rest, with faces contorted from the strain of trying to listen, saw distant men gesturing wildly into the sound-killing miasma of whispers, coughs and creaking shoe leather.

But they are only the faces of the dead. Coming into detail as we hurtle toward them. They see us, too. Fingers scratching at the ice's rough underside, desperate to be the first to pull us down.