Best 1022 quotes in «dresses quotes» category

It's easier to be careful in dresses. You have to be or you end up flashing your underclothes or destroying beautiful fabric. Dresses force you to be on guard.

I turned my attention to three dresses that were definitely not made for dining. They were going-out things, dancing looks. One was a swingy black dress made of a wet suit-like material, with a high neck and stiff A-line skirt. Alexander McQueen. Another was a red Gucci with little loops of textured fringe. It should have looked Elmo-like, but the sophisticated shape overrode the thought. I twisted the dress on the hanger, and the skirt rose and fell like the swelling of the ocean. The last dress was surprisingly heavy even though it was the shortest, narrowest, lowest-cut garment in that day's shipment. The tag said Hervé Léger and the dress was ribbed like a mummy, a very tight, shiny, green-and-gold mummy.

Tiny white flowers sprinkled the upper part of the gown like glimpses of stars at dusk, while the gathered waist and skirt darkened into solid twilight.

Put some make-up on me and I look not unlike a china doll. Put me in a puffy pink dress and I look delicate, dainty, petite. Dammit.

She wasn't dressed like a student. She wore an elaborate burgundy dress with long skirts, a tight waist, and matching burgundy gloves that rose all the way to her elbows. Moving deliberately, she managed to get down off the stool without tangling her feet and made her way over to stand nest to my table. Her blond hair was artfully curled, and her lips were a deeply painted red. I couldn't help wondering what she was doing in a place like Anker's.

The Scriven men wore stack-heeled boots and pearl-studded evening coats; the ladies in their vast skirts looked like mythical creatures, half woman, half sofa.

They're sitting on the floor in A Stitch in Time, surrounded on all sides by dresses of every imaginable color. Cora realizes as she glances around, her gaze flitting quickly from one wall to the next, that Etta has arranged them like the seasons: sparkling whites, grays, blacks for winter; shimmering greens and blues for spring; pinks and purples for summer; reds, oranges and yellows for autumn. Together they are breathtaking, almost too bright if stared at for too long, like falling through a rainbow lit by the sun.

I wish to learn silence from the dark woods, the unused middle rooms, from the girls in their white dresses,

Some women wear a miniskirt to reveal their thighs; some wear one to conceal their age.

The pink?" she suggested, holding the shimmering rose-colored satin in front of Sara's half-clad figure. Sara held her breath in awe. She had never worn such a sumptuous creation. Silk roses adorned the sleeves and hem of the gown. The short-waisted bodice was finished with a stomacher of silver filigree and a row of satin bows. Lily shook her head thoughtfully. "Charming, but too innocent." Sara suppressed a disappointed sigh. She couldn't imagine anything more beautiful than the pink satin. Busily Monique discarded the gown and sorted through the others. "The peach. No man will be able to keep his eyes from her in that. Here, let us try it, chérie." Raising her arms, Sara let the dressmaker and her assistant Cora pull the gauzy peach-hued gown over her head. "I think it will have to be altered a great deal," Sara commented, her voice muffled beneath the delicate layers of fabric. The gowns had been fitted for Lily's lithe, compact lines. Sara was more amply endowed, with a generous bosom and curving hips, and a tiny, scoped-in waist... a figure style that had been fashionable thirty years ago. The current high-waisted Grecian mode was not particularly flattering to her. Monique settled the gown around Sara's feet and then began to yank the back of it together. "Oui, Lady Raiford has the form that fashion loves." Energetically, she hooked the tight bodice together. "But you, chérie, have the kind that men love. Draw in your breath, s'il vous plaît." Sara winced as her breasts were pushed upward until they nearly overflowed from the low-cut bodice. The hem of the unusually full skirt was bordered with three rows of graduated tulip-leaves. Sara could hardly believe the woman in the mirror was herself. The peach gown, with its transparent layers of silk and shockingly low neckline, had been designed to attract a man's attention. It was too loose at the waist, but her breasts rose from the shallow bodice in creamy splendor pushed together to form an enticing cleavage.

When Paxton was a teenager, her friends had even envied her relationship with her mother. Everyone knew that neither Paxton nor Sophia scheduled anything on Sunday afternoons, because that was popcorn-and-pedicures time, when mother and daughter sat in the family room and watched sappy movies and tried out beauty products. And Paxton could remember her mother carrying dresses she'd ordered into her bedroom, almost invisible behind tiers of taffeta, as they'd planned for formal dances. She'd loved helping Paxton pick out what to wear. And her mother had exquisite taste. Paxton could still remember dresses her mother wore more than twenty-five years ago. Imprinted in her memory were shiny blue ones, sparkly white ones, wispy rose-colored ones.

When I think of New York City, I think of all the girls, the Jewish girls, the Italian girls, the Irish, Polack, Chinese, German, Negro, Spanish, Russian girls, all on parade in the city. I don't know whether it's something special with me or whether every man in the city walks around with the same feeling inside him, but I feel as though I'm at a picnic in this city. I like to sit near the women in the theaters, the famous beauties who've taken six hours to get ready and look it. And the young girls at the football games, with the red cheeks, and when the warm weather comes, the girls in their summer dresses . . .

A blond in a red dress can do without introductions -- but not without a bodyguard.

Women are women…How can they ignore their bodies, their looks, and above all, their dresses!

Your clothes should be as important as your skin.

A beautiful dress can be as exciting as a poem.

Acting can be a really silly thing. It's like playing dress-up.

A DIVINE IMAGE Cruelty has a human heart, And Jealousy a human face; Terror the human form divine, And Secresy the human dress. The human dress is forged iron, The human form a fiery forge, The human face a furnace sealed, The human heart its hungry gorge.

Adolescence isn't just about prom or wearing sparkly dresses.

A dim capacity for wings demeans the dress I wear.

A dress made right should allow one to walk, to dance, even to ride horseback.

A dress is a piece of ephemeral architecture, designed to enhance the proportions of the female body.

A dress should be tight enough to show you're a woman and loose enough to prove you're a lady.

A dog will recognize his master in whatever way he dresses. The master may dress in robes, suit and tie, or stand naked, but the dog will always recognize his master. If we cannot recognize God, our beloved master, when he comes in a different dress from another religion, then we are less than that dog.

A floor length backless black sequined dress would be my dream dress. As for my dream date - that would have to be a young Marlon Brando!

A fop takes great pains to hang out a sign, by his dress, of what he has within.

A good shoe is one that doesn't dress you but undresses you.

After all - life is not a dress rehearsal!

A great dress can make you remember what is beautiful about life.

A great man scarcely knows how he dines, how he dresses; but without railing or precision, his living is natural and poetic.

A holiday in a new dress—can earth offer anything more enchanting?

A horse doesn't know whether the rider on his back wears a dress or pants away from the track.

A little black dress is something to rely on. To fill you with confidence and ease. To have an attitude that is pure and effortless, yet sexy and classy.

All i want is a dress with puffy sleaves

All dress is fancy dress, is it not, except our natural skins?

A lot of old guys in movies are like cowboys - they talk like cowboys and they dress like cowboys.

All of the agreed-upon pariahs throughout pop-culture history put their identities into the thing we decry. And yet we derive our own identities from the act of hating. We connect on the things we are disappointed in. Some may argue that nothing in history gathers a crowd like complaining about Lady Gaga's meat dress.

A lot of people went underground with their spiritual life in the seventies, but they're out there in little nooks and crannies and in the countryside, people who look and dress straight, insurance salesmen types, but they're really meditators and chanters, closet devotees.

A lot of people have said I'd have probably done better in my career if I hadn't looked so cheap and gaudy. But I dress to be comfortable for me, and you shouldn't be blamed because you want to look pretty.

And dressed her [Madonna] up like a turkey. After I read that stuff, I thought long and hard about what one would do to dress someone up like a turkey. And I nailed it. I figured you've got to get out the Playtex glove, blow it up and put the glove over the head.

Always dress like you're going to see your worst enemy.

Always remember that if editors were so damned smart, they would know how to dress.

Among the writers of antiquity there are none who instruct us more openly in the manners of their respective times in which they lived than those who have employed themselves in satire, under whatever dress it may appear.

Always have fun with fashion. Dress to entertain yourself.

A modest, godly woman will dress modestly. . . The one who is simple and unpretending in her dress and in her manners shows that she understands that a true woman is characterized by moral worth.

And finding the hat, I always like to find the hat. And then props just dress the set. It's all fabulous.

And the good fairy said, I won't leave you money or pretty dresses but I will leave you the spirit to seek your fortune from your own efforts.

And then she said nothing else, for Henry put his arms around her and kissed her. Kissed her in such a way that she no longer felt plain, or conscious of her hair or the ink spot on her dress or anything but Henry, whom she had always loved. Tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks, and when he drew away, he touched her wet face wonderingly. "Really," he said. "You love me, too, Lottie?

And the gold of her ruined wedding dress.

And this is what we called our childhoods. Little more than a dress rehearsal for adding our digits to the butcher's bill of war.