Quotes About Tanned

she barely moved and was, of course, concerned only with her own beautification and cleanliness. She dozed or was, at any rate, lying down, eyes closed, on her front, on her back, on one side, on the other, covered in sunscreen, her gleaming arms and legs always fully extended so that no part of her would remain untanned, no fold in her skin, even her armpits, even her groin (nor, it goes without saying, her buttocks)

The people in L.A. do orient themselves to light. I used to call it 'Tan Fascist Culture.' Everyone there is tanned, wears dark sunglasses, looks like a movie star even when they're not.

He glanced up at me and then the figure who was questioning him, and I struggled, because I couldn't help it, to see what he was seeing-this vampire whose skin still glowed though it was tanned, and whose eyes were prismatic and undeniably fierce.

He was a crusty old bastard, dressed like my uncle in ancient denim coveralls, espadrilles and beret. He had a leathery, tanned and windblown face, hollow cheeks, and the tiny broken blood vessels on nose and cheeks that everyone seemed to have from drinking so much of the local Bordeaux.

Jessup was a littlish man, skinny, smiling, well tanned, with a small gray mustache, a small and well-trimmed gray beard—in a community where to sport a beard was to confess one's self a farmer, a Civil War veteran, or a Seventh Day Adventist. Doremus's detractors said that he maintained the beard just to be "highbrow" and "different," to try to appear "artistic." Possibly they were right.

He's lithe and tanned and taut. But to my eye he's lost something. He has a synthetic quality, like orange soda instead of freshly squeezed juice. It's orangey and bubbly and it quenches your thirst, but it leaves a bitter aftertaste. And it's not good for you.

I'm tanned from head to toe, and it looks like I've been in The Bahamas.

The tanned appearance of many New Englanders is not sunburn - it is rust.

He looks sun-tanned. Real tanned, not the normal Welsh version, where an upper layer of skin might have taken a little colour, but the six layers beneath are still all white and scared and fragile.

I was tanned, happy, and blowing a kiss to Cary, who'd playacted the role of a highfashion photographer by calling out ridiculous encouragements. Beautiful, dahling. Show me sassy. Show me sexy. Brilliant. Show me catty…rawr…

Back then I had muscles on my muscles, I was tattooed and tanned, wore the tightest of jeans to accentuate my snakelike waist and the whitest of tight vests to accentuate my muscle packed torso. To top it all off, I had the nicest piece of eye-candy on my arm in the form of a stunning, long-legged, mini skirted blonde.

I love having a little bit of bronzer of some sort and I love looking golden.

He was about six feet tall, slim and fit-looking. The eyes in the lean, slightly tanned face were a very clear grey-blue and as they observed the men they were cold and watchful. The narrowed, watchful eyes gave his good looks the dangerous, almost cruel quality that had frightened me

He opened his shirt and lowered his trousers. 'Bring the light over!' he ordered. I held the lamp close to the thin, tanned body. What with deep scars, bullet and sword marks, his body was like a collander. 'Now look at the other side!' He turned round and showed me his back. 'Not a scratch on the back, you see. Do you understand? Now take the lamp back.

A woman who's clearly had too much sun in her time and now resembles a mahogany-hued marmoset

I dreamed of a future as a muscular, tanned, kibbutznik, who plowed the fertile fields of the Jezreel Valley in the day, sang religiously in the dining hall in the evening, and fiercely guarded the farmland at night, riding a noble horse.

The abbot, perhaps, of a prosperous and deeply tanned order.

One weapons store was located next to a ballet school that also sold powdered vitamin drinks, the kind used by bodybuilders. In the window were tutus, enormous cans of whey protein, and pictures of tanned, overdeveloped men who grimaced and looked, in Hugh's words, as if they were being roasted alive in a hot oven.

They were average specimens of national manhood, slim and gaunt with deeply tanned skin from riding in jeeps and on motorcycles.

with decades of sunshine stored in his deeply tanned face.

I wanted a bronzer so I could look like I just came from Ibiza everyday.

Then she would be that hostess in Houston and I would be that tanned one from Florida, a small memory of chlorinated pool water, fruit juice and gin, steak raw in the middle, and hearty rhythms in the draperied twilight of the tomb-cool motel cubicle, riding the grounded flesh of the jet-stream Valkyrie. A harmless pleasure. For harmless plastic people, scruff-proof, who can create the delusion of romance.