Best 125 quotes in «skin quotes» category

A human being was connected to the world through his or her skin and how could someone with clogged pores feel the environment or be sensitive to its vibrations?

A SHADE OF CLASS Benevolence is gift-wrapped in a variety of beautiful skin colors Kamil Ali

Apple Cider Vinegar has excellent antibacterial properties, but its benefit in your first aid kit go far beyond that, especially when it comes to your skin.

all the words all the poems know my warm, soft spots.

A woman is not less a human. There is no piece of literature or institution that can prove otherwise. It does not matter, the skin color, the economic status, or country of origin, a woman is a human.

... and all we knew about her that we didn't know the night before was that she had eyes like pansies and skin like the moon.

Darling, this feeling of missing you, is piercing through my skin and crawling down the veins, to run as an ache within.

Even when they did not look at each other or speak to each other, he could feel a powerful current between them.

Every touch of you on my skin has burnt and etched your name on my soul. Whenever I close my eyes and try to feel myself, all I can hear is constant echoes of your name in my head, and all I can feel is the constant longing for the darkness.

For most of us, the most common and unfortunate side effect of skin problems is isolation. We don't want to be seen the way we look. You can hide a lot of physical flaws, but not acne. It's right there, on the first thing people notice about us - our face. And it's hard for some of us to imagine that people can see the face - the PERSON - behind the acne.

For you i have saved poems under my skin.

I am skin, but underneath lives fire and stars and wild!

I don’t know why we fight. It takes much too effort to stay mad at you. To dodge your skin in the hallway and leave the kitchen without bringing you a treat. It takes much too effort to stare at the sink so my eyes don’t smile at you in the mirror. It takes much too effort to look away as we undress and lie apart in the now bigger bed. It takes much too effort to stiffen my body because sleepy limbs forget fights and pride is always lost in dreams. It takes much too effort to awaken every hour to make sure we are islands with a gulf of white sheets separating us. I dread the light peeking through the parted curtains and empathise with your groans — I didn’t get any sleep either. I really don’t know why we fight. It takes much too effort to stay mad at one another when it’s so easy for us to love.

If you feel like a failure in any area of your life, then you are in need of some self-forgiveness.

I had a dream about you. You was a crocodile and i was always looking for you with fear. Your teeth were alabaster and your skin green as grass. Unfortunate you had already a girlfriend. And i hoped she finish like a handbag. I love you from my all reptile heart, which is poikilothermic.

I had to learn the hard way that treating the skin like an A-bomb drop zone is completely counterproductive. And through my healing journey, I've discovered something miraculous: that moisturizers can heal in unimaginable ways.

I have a message for your daughter,” said Cale. “I am bound to her with cables that not even God can break. One day, if there is a soft breeze on her cheek, it may be my breath; one night, if the cool wind plays with her hair, it may be my shadow passing by.” And with this terrible threat he faced forward and the procession started once more. In less than a minute they were gone. In her shady room Arbell Swan-Neck stood white and cold as alabaster.

I know not what it is about you that makes me go crazy but I do know that the radiance in your eyes is more dazzling than that in all the diamonds of this world! And that the inimitable fragrance of your skin is more sublime than that of all the perfumes of this world!

I loved you with texture. You loved with a softness. Texture brought detail, softness brought folds. Folds brought creases and creases had secrets.

I’m sorry that I don’t like your tattoos.”I walked away. I walked back to him. “I mean that I don’t like tattoos, not just your tattoos. I like your skin, though.”I walked away.

I’m turned on by women who are comfortable in their own skin; and I’m turned off by those who are uncomfortable in their own shoes.

Infatuated painted clouds, enamored of our silky bed-lagoon, reflect with silent tremors your sweetest of the kisses...whispers...then lightly consume its shining sunset skin with loving smiles greeting the lacy starry night ahead...making our senses dance so softly stepping on to the adorn petals of the place no one else knows...

In the moonlight the fine geishalike skin took on the luster of a seashell.

In the storm-lit darkness, the beaded sweat and raindrops on her arm were like so many glittering stars, and her skin was like a span of night sky.

A strange skin tag grew on right side of my belly in my early forties. My doctors did not pay any attention to it and it was only years later that I discovered through experimentation with supplements that I had a DHEA hormone deficiency.

A true romance is not something that happens between the skins. It is something that burns our souls beautifully and leaves us craving to be destroyed even more.

Beauty is not in the face. Beauty is not in the skin color. Beauty is not the wrinkle-free skin. Beauty is not in the long hair or in the way, how the colorful curls on your head roll upon your neck. Looks don’t define your beauty, looks don’t last. Always remember, beauty is more than skin deep. It is not what you see outside.

Be worried if you always flock in the company of people who peel off other people's skins with their teeth in their absence. A time will come when they'll try to pick a bite on you too!

Coming out of sleep, I had the advantage of two worlds, the layered firmament of dream and the temporal fixtures of the mind awake. I stretched luxuriously—a good and tingling sensation. It's as though the skin has shrunk in the night and one must push it out to daytime size by bulging the muscles, and there's an a itching pleasure in it.

Consider my Lover; the yellow church of his skin, the clean wells of his ears; How the notes of a song come to him like birds descending on a power line; How in his absence I am of two throats--each of them cramped.

Creativity and ideas fired between every synapse underneath my skin and I felt radiant from the inside out.

Don't forget that healing takes time. Don't expect to try meditation and a new skincare line and end up with perfect skin in a week. Give yourself the gift of time and patience. The body is a complicated, miraculous system and each body processes change in its own time.

Don't look shy if you wear rag and people gag, many are in the grave wearing skeleton, and you should even be happier for wearing a skin without clothes.

Don't rely on labels to give you the information you need. Trust only the ingredient list and your gut.

Every moment those cold fingers of you touches my skin in these rainy nights, they lit fire to my soul a bit at a time. These moments make me crave to be destroyed, even more. In the end, when my whole soul is engulfed in the fire that you have started, I want to pull you into my arms and destroy you too, in every breathtaking way that exists.

Everything goes away; your dark circles, your wrinkles, your spots and your acne. The layers of your skin don’t define who you are as a person, who you are to yourself, to the people around you and who you are to the world. Take care of your health, try to maintain a proper weight and diet. Always take care of yourself, your mind and your heart. Eat healthy, exercise, run, jump, relax but, don’t chase beauty. Don’t spend hours worrying about your skin or hair color.

Footjob…. Feetjob in overall point of view it should be meatjob. After all if you remove the hair… if there is such… then remove the skin….. look it's fucking meat.

From birth to death and further on As we were born and introduced into this world, We had a gift hard to express by word And somewhere in our continuous road, It kind of lost it sense and turned. There was that time we sure remember, When everything was now and 'till forever Children with no worries and no regrets, The only goal was making a few friends. But later on everything has changed, By minds that had it all arranged To bring the people into stress, Into creating their own mess. We have been slaved by our own mind, Turned into something out of our kind Slowly faded away from the present time, Forced to believe in lies, in fights and crime. They made it clearly a fight of the ego, A never ending war that won't just go They made it a competitive game, To seek selfish materialistic fame. They turned us one against eachother, Man against man, brother against brother Dividing us by religion and skin color, Making us fight to death over a dollar. Making us lose ourselves in sadly thoughts, Wasting our days by living in the past Depressed and haunted by the memories, And yet still hoping to fly in our dreams. Some of us tried learning how to dance, Step after step, giving our soul a new chance Some of us left our ego vanish into sounds, Thus being aware of our natural bounce. Some tried expressing in their rhymes, The voice of a generation which never dies They reached eternity through poetry Leaving the teachings that shall fulfill the prophecy Others have found their way through spirituality, Becoming conscious of the human duality Seeking the spiritual enlightenment, Of escaping an ego-oriented fighting Science, philosophy, religion, Try to explain the human origin. Maybe changes are yet to come, And it shall be better for some Death's for the spirit not an end, But a relieving of the embodiment So I believe that furthermore, We'll understand the power of our soul But leaving behind all we know, And all that we might not yet know It all resumes to that certain truth, That we all seek to once conclude.

Here he was now, stuck in the labyrinth of his mind, a labyrinth of demolished roses, staring at the cosmos between his eyelids and feeling the star spots on his skin.

Holding you in my arms always feels like holding a musical instrument that I love the most, moving my fingers on your skin feels like playing it. And my soul closes its eyes and starts singing along with the music I start creating.

I climb the door instead of a tree Just to crawl with myself walking free What if I’m a lizard beneath my skin Changing my colours of the human I’ve been

I don't feel good anymore with this skin... probably a new title... a new chapter.. something new will be more okay than that... to much honesty... I am not on this... After all if you don't know this fact, I am going to point it to you... Marriage is successful if it's build on a lie...

I fell in love with the boy next door, and my own flesh became a thing I'd never really worn before. Sometimes, pressing my palms together, I thought I felt a magnetic field between them- something invisible but shaped, like sound, or heat, an egg of light, and it was thought I could hold the life force itself in my hands.

If it’s just a kiss, it’s on skin; if love, it’s on soul.

If you already hate tofu, the term "tofu skin" is probably an effective emetic. But this stuff is addictive. You start by making fresh soy milk. I'm not going to soft-pedal how much work this is: you have to soak, grind, squeeze, and simmer dried soybeans. The result is a thick milk entirely unlike the soy milk you get in a box at Whole Foods in the same way Parmigiano-Reggiano is unlike Velveeta. Then, to make tofu skins (yuba in Japanese), you simmer the soy milk gently over low heat until a skin forms on the surface, then pluck it off with your fingers and drape it over a chopstick to dry. It is exactly like the skin that forms on top of pudding, the one George Costanza wanted to market as Pudding Skin Singles. Yuba doesn't look like much- like a pile of discarded raw chicken skin, honestly. But the texture is toothsome, and with each bite you're rewarded with the flavor of fresh soy milk. It's best served with just a few drops of soy sauce and maybe some grated ginger or sliced negi. "I'm kind of obsessed with tofu skins right now," said Iris, poking her head into the fridge to grab a round of yuba. Me too. In Seattle, I had to buy, grind, boil, and otherwise toil for a few sheets of yuba. In Tokyo, I found it at Life Supermarket, sold in a single-serving plastic tub with a foil top. The yuba wasn't as snappy or flavorful as homemade, but it had that characteristic fresh-soy aroma, which to me smells like a combination of "healthy forest" and "clean baby." Iris and I ate it greedily. (The yuba, not the baby.) Yuba isn't technically tofu, because the soy milk isn't coagulated. Japanese tofu comes in two basic categories, much like underpants: cotton (momen) and silken (kinugoshi). Cotton tofu is the kind eaten most commonly in the U.S.; if you buy a package of extra-firm tofu and cut it up for stir-frying, that's definitely cotton tofu. Silken tofu is fragile, creamier and more dairy-like than cotton-tofu, and it's the star of my favorite summer tofu dish. Hiya yakko is cubes of tofu, usually silken, drizzled with soy sauce and judiciously topped with savory bits: grated ginger or daikon, bonito flakes, negi. It's popular in Japanese bars and easy to make at home, which I did, with (you will be shocked to hear) tons of fresh negi.

I had to piece together a diet for her, too. I knew which combinations of which foods on which days would rehang everything that was draped so delicately beneath her skin. In a matter of months, the body under the smock was organized anew, redistributed

I have always been obsessed with fragrances. The burgundy tenderness of fragrances gives me a high. The Intoxication of fragrances casts a magic spell on me.

It is irrational to assume that you can fault someone because of the color of their skin, no matter what color that may be.

IT'S NEVER TOO LATE It's never too late to look after yourself. Never too late to eat healthily, get plenty of rest, exercise regularly and look after your skin. You'd be amazed at how quickly your skin and body can rejuvenate given the right environment.

I’ve never been with a boy who hasn’t seen me naked. It’s always the squeaky futon, bear-it-all, turn-off-the-lights quickstep. Don’t chalk it up to “daddy issues.” Maybe I’m sick of keeping private parts private. I don’t want rainwater secrets on my lips, tasting of “don’t make too much noise”. October’s dust in my lungs, maybe I don’t want bits of four AM lingering in my subconscious. Smokers breathe in fire, coat their insides in ash. Is that suicide or arson? Listen to me, listen to me. I’m alive. I’M ALIVE. I’m naked and bruised, but I’m alive. I’m not a piece of fruit. Don’t press into my flesh, looking for soft spots. My whole body is tender and rotten, but I’m alive. I’m alive and just because you can see it all, doesn’t mean you know it all