Quotes About Lips

The smile that curved lovely lips made Tristen shiver with memory.

I found myself looking at her profile: straight, proud nose and an arch expression. Her lips curved.

Comme elle vous trouve immensément naïf, Tout en faisant trotter ses petites bottines, Elle se tourne, alerte et d'un mouvement vif.... Sur vos lèvres alors meurent les cavatines...

And for a dreamer of words, what calm there is in the word round. How peacefully it makes one's mouth, lips, and the being of breath become round. Because this too should be spoken by a philosopher who believes in the poetic substance of speech.

The gem, which he had supposed colorless, caught a ray of sunlight from the god-gate in the roof and flashed a watery green. For some reason, it reminded him of her eyes. He put it to his lips, his thoughts full of things that could never be.

He did not shrug his shoulders; and for want of that muscular outlet he thought the more irritably of beautiful lips kissing holy skulls and other emptinesses ecclesiastically enshrined.

his lips were curled with that incipient smile which is apt to accompany agreeable recollections.

The Word of fire burns today On the lips of our prophets in an evil age.

The time at length arrives, when grief is rather an indulgence than a necessity and the smile that plays upon the lips, although it may be deemed a sacrilege, is not banished.

He [Widmerpool] moistened his lips, though scarcely perceptibly. I thought his mixture of secretiveness and curiosity quite intolerable.

A sad angel with gentle feminine hands, as red as those of a peasant woman, with lips perfumed with honey, tobacco and green tea.

Ter a porta fechada, os lábios fechados: mas o meu silêncio proclama ordens.tu não dizes nada, e eu vou ou não dizes nada, e eu não vou. Toda a minha presença é palavra. Avança então, avança no lodo da noite. Decide. Eu decidi a tua morte e não estamos pagos. Mais ainda. Queria pedir misericórdia: não há misericórdia.

Your lips are for songs about rivers in the morning and lakes at twilight.

they would praise me too if their lips weren't locked in fear. Lucky tyrants - the perquisites of power! Ruthless power to do and say whatever pleases them.

What is a poet? An unhappy man who hides deep anguish in his heart, but whose lips are so formed that when the sigh and cry pass through them, it sounds like lovely music.

Her mouth was a red word of worship. I remember that. Red like she'd lipsticked it with blood. I stared at the petaling of her lips, the way she pursed them, incisors briefly lettering the plush flesh. Unlike the rest of them, she could sing: big operatic notes. A little rough along the higher registers, sure, but her voice when it plunged was smoky as the belly of an old whiskey cask.

We don't need to pray to prove that we're properly pious or really serious. Instead, we pray because we are completely assured, and because the Father hears our prayers because they come to Him through the lips of His dear Son.

When lovers kiss on the cheeks, it is because they are searching, feeling for one another's lips. Lovers are made by a kiss.

without knowing why, he yielded to the temptation of those lips and flung onto them, eating them, partaking of their sacrament... Eucharist of love with a red host!

Before the lipstick goes anywhere near the lips, I like to apply a tiny amount of foundation or concealer to create a really great base. This then makes it easier to guide the bullet of the lipstick along the lip outline.

This is my body. I am my soul. These are my lips. I am my word. This is my skin. I am my action. These are my legs. I am my contribution. This is my smile. I am my laughter.

Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you. I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands. I will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods; with singing lips my mouth will praise you. (Ps. 63:3–5 NIV)

The notes were born on her breath, and they died at her lips.

He'd have been glad to witness her kissing his dusty, bomb-hit lips. Yes, i know it. In the darkness of my dark-beating heart, i know. He'd have loved it, all right. You see? Even death has a heart