Best 62 quotes in «facade quotes» category

To the short-sighted, through the fog, God must be a monster.

Well, people are like that too. THey create a false door - to deceive. If they are conscious of weakness, of inefficiency, they make an imposing door of self-assertion, of bluster, of overwhelming authority - and, after a time, they get to believe in it themselves. They think, and everybody thinks, that they are like that. But behind that door, Renisenb, is bare rock... And so when reality comes and touches them with the feather of truth - their true self reasserts itself.

We live in a lawless society with a facade of law enforcement.

We might feel that we must demonstrate explicitly when we’re upset, or not upset. This perceived need may stem from our family of origin, from how we learned to be heard when a simple “no” wasn’t enough. We may have learned to mask certain feelings, or portray feelings that weren’t ours. But as adults we each need to learn to state our personal truth without having to prove it or shout it.

You scream it in everything you do. You’re holding on to what happened because you think that’s all you have.” “It is all I have.” “Find more

Your silences remain; they are your biggest mask.

A man is the facade of a temple wherein all wisdom and all good abide.

All great experience has a guarded entrance and a windowless facade.

A lynch mob is [unlimited] Majority Rule stripped of its fancy trappings and its facade of respectability.

I am who I am. There’s no facade. No put-on. And being voted sexiest doesn’t concern me. Maybe that’s the sexy part.

Even though photographers are only shooting the outside, beauty is more about who you are as a person - the life you lead - not your facade.

It's somehow symbolic of Hollywood that Tara was just a facade, with no rooms inside.

It has been aptly said that all Egypt is but the facade of an immense sepulcher.

Men’s greatest weakness is their facade of strength, and women’s greatest strength is their facade of weakness.

It was only literally hours after the wedding when he felt he didn't have to keep up the facade.

I've always felt that if one was going to take seriously this vocation as an artist, you have to get beyond that decorative facade

Symbolism erects a facade of respectability to hide the indecency of dreams.

A homely face does not guarantee a homely character. Appearance is the body, character is the spirit, and the soul bears the most vital qualities.

Underneath that facade, I'm a terrified little sissy, just like everybody else. But I never let it show.

The weakness of men is the facade of strength; the strength of women is the facade of weakness.

A chair down the row from mine shifted and my mouth watered from the aroma of hot cinnamon rolls. I snuck a peek and noticed red, silky, curly hair. I knew her. Echo Emerson. Not a cinnamon roll in sight, but damn if she didn’t smell like one. We had several of our main courses together and last semester one of our free periods. I didn’t know much about her other than she kept to herself, she was smart, a redhead and she had big tits. She wore large, long-sleeved shirts that hung off her shoulders and tank tops underneath that revealed just enough to get the fantasies flowing. Like always, she stared straight ahead as if I didn’t exist. Hell, I probably didn’t exist in her mind. People like Echo Emerson irritated the crap out of me. “You’ve got a f*cked-up name,” I mumbled. I didn’t know why I wanted to rattle her, I just did. “Shouldn’t you be getting high in the bathroom?” So she did know me. “They installed security cameras. We do it in the parking lot now.” “My bad.” Her foot rocked frantically back and forth. Good, I’d succeeded in getting under that perfect facade. “Echo … echo … echo …” Her foot stopped rocking and red curls bounced furiously as she turned to face me. “How original. I’ve never heard that before.” She swept up her backpack and left the office. Her tight ass swayed side to side as she marched down the hallway.

A man's work reveals him. In social intercourse he gives you the surface that he wishes the world to accept, but in his book or his picture the real man delivers himself defenceless. No affectation of peculiarity can conceal a commonplace mind. No one can produce the most casual work without disclosing the innermost secrets of his soul.

A leader is generally not more virtuous than most ordinary people. The opposite is usually true. Because people are reluctant to be led by those perceived as evil, a leader expertly creates a façade, behind which he hides all that may appear dirty. This is a difficult art where the leader has to wear two masks, one in public and the other in private—and no one should see the true face of a leader.

All facades fall sometime, then the mask comes off and the real heart is seen.

Any halfway clever devil would decorate the highway to Hell as beautiful as possible.

Because sometimes people who seem good end up being not as good as you might have hoped.

Choice of sources can shield extreme bias behind a façade of objectivity.

Behind the facade of elected government are a bunch of corporate controlled gangsters running the country.

Deacon was good, too-almost as good as me. His charisma draws people in, even if it's only a facade.

den rå facade kan dække over en meget stor følsomhed

First, create your ego. Then destroy it. This is all of life.

Distance gives a clearer view. You can't see the facade of a building while staying inside.

Every beautiful facade seemed to conceal rot and ruin that I could almost see.

Façade. One, simple word. But, very complex portents. It’s like living a life of half-dead. You are neither fully inside a grave, nor completely out of it, beyond the oppressive calmness of the slabs, tombstones and plaques. There is one solace though, you soon discover that you are not alone in the vast graveyard of the half-dead. This is what Kamini soon realized when she plunged herself back into the world that the destiny had conspired her to inherit.

[Her delicate beauty must avoid a strong light. There is something about her uncertain manner, as well as her white clothes, that suggests a moth.]

I talk about a life that I pretend to live and you ask me what I’m talking about. But when I finally tell, you regret finding out.

I am looking for the one I can’t fool.

I don't know what is behind the curtain; only that I need to find out.

HONEY: (Apologetically, holding up her brandy bottle) I peel labels. GEORGE: We all peel labels, sweetie; and when you get through the skin, all three layers, through the muscle, slosh aside the organs (An aside to NICK) them which is still sloshable--(Back to HONEY) and get down to bone...you know what you do then? HONEY: (Terribly interested) No! GEORGE: When you get down to bone, you haven't got all the way, yet. There's something inside the bone...the marrow...and that's what you gotta get at. (A strange smile at MARTHA)

I do have friends, but they don't know me, only someone I've created to take my place. Someone sculpted from ice.

If we’re wrapping ourselves up to conceal any vulnerability, whatever happens to us has to go through all those extra layers. Sometimes love doesn’t even reach where we truly live.

[...][I]f you adapted too much in order to deal with them, you ran the risk of forgetting who you were and you could end up being neither and nothing.

It can happen that if anyone is talking to a person they know cannot see well, they are careless. They permit themselves an expression of face that on other occasions they would not allow.

It is seldom possible to respect someone about whom you know everything.

it's through the simple things in life, through its games, when our minds mature the most and we grow knowledgeable. It's also when the cloth masks of our outer, false personalities are torn asunder, and we are able to see every last blemish of a man's genuine character that they hide beneath... no matter how dark or obscene it may be.

No matter what its citizens get up to, Hamburg always manages to keep its nose clean.

Mrs. Baker's social manner was almost robotlike in its perfection. All her comments and remarks were natural, normal, everyday currency, but one had a suspicion that the whole thing was like an actor playing a part for perhaps the seven hundredth time. It was an automatic performance, completely divorced from what Mrs. Baker might really have been thinking or feeling.

Nightmares are seldom a foreshadowing of real events, but always a showing of real fears.

Oh, I loathe weddings. I loathe sitting down and participating in inane conversations with proud parents and smug couples who all look like they might secretly hate each other.

Now I understand why you grow so many flowers." She shifted her head, not understanding. I said, "To cover the stink of sulphur.