Best 62 quotes in «facade quotes» category

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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)

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

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

[...][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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

People love the facade of a perfection relationship because perfection seems alluring. What they don’t realize is perfection is terrifying.

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.

Russian Dolls: The more we stay layered up, the more we stay reactive. Instead of healing, our hardnesses bump into one another. We knock each other off balance, intentionally or not. That might sometimes peel away a little paint, making a crack in an outer façade. But those cracks allow light and insights in. And out.

She wondered how many of them were liars; their outer purity masking crimes as dark or darker than her own. How many would be chromes themselves, if the truth in their hearts were revealed.

She was the quintessential twenty-first-century woman: She could build a high-rise in a Chanel suit and Jimmy Choos, give lessons in multitasking, and freeze the heart of the coldest competitor with a single unblinking gaze over the rim of her ebony-framed reading glasses. But that persona was like a bodysuit that she pulled on at eight in the morning and peeled out of at five in the afternoon.

The fundamental basis by which the court’s decision might be made is, in itself, imperfect and subject to contradictions. There is very little consideration given to a priori knowledge regarding the circumstances being presented and as a result, arguments must be made empirically, under the assumption that assumptions themselves are, in fact, likely to give way to specious reasoning...Decisions must be made meticulously and according to specific, yet immeasurable criteria that can only be further manipulated by any cunning lawyer with the ability to make emotional pleas based on a requisite amount of inconsequential evidence to affect a decision beneficial to his clients. And so, in this respect, the law is capable of proving nothing except that its absurd attention to detail is really a kind of a façade meant to cover up the fact that a truly logical and just way to deal with such matters has not yet been devised. And the absence of adequate definition to its principles has given way to a kind of apathy among the men employed by the courts, who want nothing more now than to make a living for themselves and their families and not work themselves into too much of a frenzy about how little can be changed through their own initiative. Thus things aren’t likely to.

So I play my game, my desperate pretending game, with a facade of assurance without and a trembling child within. So begins the glittering but empty parade of masks, and my life becomes a front. I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk. I tell you everything that's really nothing, and nothing of what's everything, of what's crying within me. So when I'm going through my routine do not be fooled by what I'm saying. Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying, what I'd like to be able to say, what for survival I need to say, but what I can't say.

The only way to stop the political outrage game is not to play it.

The people of today would rather stand next to a man with no substance but covered in gold, rather than the man with substance and wisdom of gold. What if God was dressed as a carpenter with dirty nails and beaten boots? Would you recognize your Maker? Would you give him your time? Your vote? A cup of tea or water? Only those with truth in them will recognize truth. And you must learn to recognize all that is untrue to get the truth.

The problem with social media is that it's great for your ego, but terrible for your sanity.

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