Don’t wait for a light to appear at the end of the tunnel, stride down there and light the thing yourself.

In Hollywood a girl’s virtue is much less important than her hair-do. You’re judged by how you look, not by what you are. Hollywood’s a place where they’ll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss, and fifty cents for your soul. I know, because I turned down the first offer often enough and held out for the fifty cents.

If you’re gonna be two-faced at least make one of them pretty.

The first day we rode our bikes to Chelsey and parked them. It was a terrible feeling. Most of those kids, at least all the older ones, had their own automobiles, many of them new convertibles, and they weren’t black or dark blue like most cars, they were bright yellow, green, orange, and red. The guys sat in them outside of the school and the girls gathered around and went for rides. Everybody was nicely dressed, the guys and the girls, they had pullover sweaters, wrist watches and the latest in shoes. They seemed very adult and poised and superior. And there I was in my homemade shirt, my one ragged pair of pants, my rundown shoes, and I was covered with boils. The guys with the cars didn’t worry about acne. They were very handsome, they were tall and clean with bright teeth and they didn’t wash their hair with hand soap. They seemed to know something I didn’t know. I was at the bottom again.

Since all the guys had cars Baldy and I were ashamed of our bicycles. We left them home and walked to school and back, two-and-one-half miles each way. We carried brown bag lunches. But mot of the other students didn’t even eat in the school cafeteria. They drove to malt shops with the girls, played the juke boxes and laughed. They were on their way to U.S.C.

He was one of those who looked like a genius. I looked like a dishwasher so these types always pissed me just a bit.

TOMORROW ALWAYS LOOKS THE SAME! THAT’S THE PROBLEM!

Section Chief Elliott Gordon: Ladies, is there a problem here?
Marcus Copeland, Kevin Copeland: [as Tiffany and Brittany Wilson] Yes.
Agent Jake Harper: No! Sir, no, no, there’s… there’s no problem.
Section Chief Elliott Gordon: These are two of our VIP guests. Issue them keys. Immediately.
Agent Jake Harper: Yes, sir.
Marcus Copeland: [as Tiffany Wilson] V. I. P. Learn your acronyms, okay?
Kevin Copeland: [as Brittany Wilson] What a sweetheart!
Section Chief Elliott Gordon: Enjoy your stay.
Kevin Copeland: [as Brittany Wilson] Has anyone ever told you you look *just* like Denzel Washington?
Section Chief Elliott Gordon: Yeah, actually I have heard it once… or twice.
Kevin Copeland: [as Brittany Wilson] What a beautiful chocolate man! Beautiful!

Never get impressed by someone’s appearance, rather dig deep down into their thoughts to reveal the real person inside out.

Kakeru Manabe: Guess so.
Yuki Sohma: And maybe, try to re-button your shirt.
Kakeru Manabe: Nah, it doesn’t have to be buttoned perfectly. It’s good enough the

Tohru Honda: Momiji!
Momiji Sohma: Tohru!
Tohru Honda: Hi there!
Kyo Sohma: What are you, stupid?!
Momiji Sohma: Waaahhh! Kyo’s hitting me!
Kyo Sohma: IDIOT! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU

It suits him.

Huh? Who’s this? She looks awful like Kisa.. How would you like some yummy candy, sunshine?

Just looking at you in that suit makes me sweat.

Howl : Wow, Sophie, your hair looks just like starlight. It’s beautiful.
Young Sophie : You think so? So do I!

This isn’t so bad, now, is it? You’re still in good shape and your clothes finally suit you.

The kind who can’t lie. And I feel so calm when I’m with him. Even if…he’s not as good-looking as Hatori-san. Well I was always in love with him. But it was just one-sided. This is the first time I’ve been back to the Sohma house in a long time…I wonder if I’ll get to see Hatori-san?

Don’t worry. Just when you think your life is over, a new storyline falls from the sky and lands right in your lap.

I found Pete and Selma. Selma looked great. How did one get a Selma? The dogs of this world never ended up with a Selma.

I had a cigar in my mouth and whiskey on my breath. I felt like money. I looked like money.

I finally got dressed. I went to the bathroom and threw some water on my face, combed my hair. If I could only comb that face, I thought, but I can’t.

We’ve all heard that little woman who says, “Oh, it’s terrible what these young people do to themselves, in my lsi other drugs, is a terrible thing”.
Then you look, the woman who speaks in this way: you have no eyes, no teeth, no brains, no soul, no ass, no mouth, no warmth, no spirit, nothing, just a stick… and avran made ​​you wonder how to reduce it in that state teas and pastries and the church.

Wow Chip, that chip on your shoulder makes you look even shorter.

Miss Mo Eyebrows.

Your breathtaking eyes, your radiant smile, your lustrous hair… I adore everything about you!

I fell in love with you, not for your looks, but for who you really are.

I knew I was in love when I stopped thinking about how pretty you look and started seeing the beauty within you.

I love you for who you’re from the inside. The lovely looking outside is just a bonus.

How much he pay ya’ll anyway? Every time I see ya’ll, man, ya’ll got the silk shirts on, jewelry, you know, lookin’ real Miami. You know? I caught you walkin’ up in the club, you got the hamburger meat all hangin’ out, you know?

Verone pay ya’ll to keep a straight face like that? ‘Cause If I was makin’ money, shit, I’d get that mole removed off my damn nose.

Whoa, fellas, fellas. I know my tags are outta date, but damn.

I want the great masses of my people to take a greater pride in their appearance and to give their hair proper attention.

‘I have a date,’ he explained. ‘This is an emergency.’ He paused to catch his breath. ‘Do you know’ – breath – ‘how to iron?’

I walked over to the pink shirt. It was wrinkled like an old woman who’d spent her youth sunbathing. If only the Colonel didn’t ball up his every belonging and stuff it into random dresser drawers. ‘I think you just turn it on and press it against the shirt, right?’ I said. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t even know we had an iron.’

‘We don’t. It’s Takumi’s. But Takumi doesn’t know how to iron, either. And when I asked Alaska, she started yelling, “You’re not going to impose the patriarchal paradigm on me.” Oh God, I need to smoke. I need to smoke, but I can’t reek when I see Sara’s parents. Okay, screw it. We’re going to smoke in the bathroom with the shower on. The shower has steam. Steam gets rid of wrinkles, right?’

You look a bit tired… I think you should go upstairs and give me a massage.

I do not like the human race. I don’t like their heads, I don’t like their faces, I don’t like their feet, I don’t like their conversations, I don’t like their hairdos, I don’t like their automobiles.

Every man is actually weak, and apparently strong. To himself, he seems weak; to others, formidable.

Yo girlfriend look like my mom!

I like my girls skinny with brains. I like my hoodies f**ked with Lame. I like my friends imaginary with no names. And I make music for the f**k of it, no fame.

Circumstances may appear to wreck our lives and God’s plans, but God is not helpless among the ruins. God’s love is still working. He comes in and takes the calamity and uses it victoriously, working out His wonderful plan of love.

Fat, black, nasty, who your baby daddy? Sure as hell ain’t Puerto Rican Gates.

God’s road for us may not be one that appears successful from our human vantage point, yet serves as part of his divine plan to fulfill his purposes in our lives.

There is, if one is lucky, the “first sweet sleep of night” and the last deep sleep of morning, but between the two appears a sinister, ever widening interval.

I’m a bookworm. I know with my physical appearance that I don’t look like the typical reader. I’m in Barnes & Noble all the time, and you can look at people that look like they are supposed to be in there. I am in there, pants sagging, hat backwards.

You cannot look at a person and tell whether they’re good or bad.

Evil looks like you and I. I know what evil looks like, and I know that it comes in all shades and colors.

Kids really don’t care about what their friends look like.

Once my school was integrated, and I was there with white kids and a few black kids, it really didn’t matter to us what we looked like.

Barbers have the power to give you a disheveled look.

When I had lain awake a little awhile, those extraordinary voices with which silence teems, began to make themselves audible. The closet whispered, the fireplace sighed, the little washing-stand ticked, and one guitar-string played occasionally in the chest of drawers.

For me, now, a puzzle emerges. What, then, fuels insomnia – fear or anxiety? Anxiety, everyone says. Anxiety, my hypnotherapist says; you are safe in your bed yet your heart is racing as if a tiger is present. You must learn to see that there is no tiger.

But there is a tiger: sleep deprivation. Sleep deprivation isn’t a perceived threat but a real one, like thirst or starvation. It is the fear of not sleeping that raises the heart rate and tenses the muscles; fear, not anxiety. Here is where insomnia becomes intractable, because it deploys fear to act like anxiety. Where fear is a response to an external threat, insomnia is almost unique in giving rise to a fear that then causes the external threat. Being afraid of the saber-tooth tiger is what makes the tiger keep coming back – not seem to come back, but in fact come back. It is no use to say ‘don’t be afraid’. There is a tiger in your bedroom, you ought to be afraid.

Mousa: You do not look like men Griggs sent before. You not look like you are with military.
Rambo: I’m not.
Mousa: What you are? Mercenary?
Rambo: No.
Mousa: You’re not with military, not mercenary – what you are? Lost tourist?
Rambo: I’m no tourist.

I may be biased but, I think this truck is pretty dope.

You can learn a lot about a person by looking at his/her truck.

A lighthouse may seem old and cracked
But can save you when you fight against the gale
And so you look for a pair of bright eyes
When everything else seems to fail.

Your new life will spring up as soon as the new you begins to show up.

You know, wearing that flag on that jacket, looking the way you do, you’re asking for trouble around here, friend.

Sophie looked warily at the demon’s thin blue face. It had a distinctly cunning look as it made this proposal. Everything she had read showed the extreme danger of making a bargain with a demon. And there was no doubt that this one did look extraordinarily evil. Those long purple teeth. ‘Are you sure you’re being quite honest?’ she said.

‘Not completely,’ admitted the demon. ‘But do you want to stay like that till you die? That spell has shortened your life by about sixty years, if I am any judge of such things.‘

“Typical!” he said to Sophie. “I break my neck to get here, and I find you peacefully tidying up!”
Sophie looked up at him. As she had feared, the hard black-and white light coming through the broken wall showed her that Howl had not bothered to shave or tidy his hair. His eyes were still red-rimmed and his black sleeves were torn in several place. There was not much to choose between Howl and the scarecrow. Oh, dear! Sophie thought. He must love Miss Angorian very much. “I came for Miss Angorian,” she explained.
“And I thought if I arranged for your family to visit you, it would keep you quiet for once!” Howl said disgustedly. “But no—.”

Spring – Summer – Fall – Winter – Spring. A barber can make your appearance feel like a seasonal cycle and bring out the best in you (inside and out).

How to look like a million bucks? Barbing skills, that’s how.

How you say a lot about how you look. I am a Barber because it’s a state of Mind.

Take your ass to the barbershop. Tell the barber that you’re sick of looking like an asshole.

You were created as a masterpiece and you are one of God’s expressions of beauty. Short, tall, thin, thick, freckles, big eyes, small ones… it doesn’t matter.

We can always find something to be thankful for, and there may be reasons why we ought to be thankful for even those dispensations which appear dark and frowning.

Don’t mess with your barber. He can ruin your look by giving you a disaster haircut.

Goddamn fangs, lookin’ like a motherf**kin’ extra from Blade. Oh, we wanna talk about hair? Let’s talk about hair for a second, shall we? Let’s talk about that bald-ass, shiny head of yours: lookin’ like the black Destro. Honestly, this motherf**ker looks like a Milk Dud. Nah, nah, nah, you don’t have to be a Milk Dud. You could be Tic Tacs the way your goddamn breath’s been kickin’. You smell like you’ve been chewin’ on buttholes all afternoon — diarrhea buttholes, diarrhea stinky buttholes. Get a toothbrush homes!

The best-dressed man is an Italian who is trying to look English, or an Englishman who is trying to look Italian.

Each religious sect has its own physiognomy. The Methodists have acquired a face; the Quakers, a face; the nuns, a face. An Englishman will pick out a dissenter by his manners.

For a long moment, while Brock stood off observing them, Ned and Barley appraised one another as only Englishmen can who are of the same height and class and shape of head.

Englishmen have a genius for looking uncomfortable. Their feelings are terribly mixed up with their personal appearance.

Jeep hairs do not care.