Everybody Wears A Mask Quotes

Why do you wear a mask and hood?" I think everybody will in the near future," was the man in black's reply. "They're terribly comfortable.

Horror itself is a bit of a bullied genre, the antagonist being literary snobbery and public misconception. And I think good horror tackles our darkest fears, whatever they may be. It takes us into the minds of the victims, explores the threats, disseminates fear, studies how it changes us. It pulls back the curtain on the ugly underbelly of society, tears away the masks the monsters wear out in the world, shows us the potential truth of the human condition. Horror is truth, unflinching and honest. Not everybody wants to see that, but good horror ensures that it's there to be seen.

A person never knows their own true face. Everybody thinks that the phoney, posed social mask they wear is their real face.

Everybody put on masks, including you and me. We all wear masks.

Stop wearing that mask that is trying to be a match for everybody, and realise that you have to have more of a 1s and 10s model. A 1s and 10s model means that if you want to be a 10 for somebody you have to risk being a 1 for somebody else. [...] You wanna express who you really are.

It is a very strange world! You don’t know people’s real lives; all that you know are their masks. You see them in the churches, you see them in the clubs, in the hotels, in the dancing halls, and it seems everybody is rejoicing, everybody is living a heavenly life, except you—of course, because you know how miserable you are within. And the same is the case with everybody else! They are all wearing masks, deceiving everybody, but how can you deceive yourself? You know that the mask is not your original face. But

Why do you wear a mask and hood?” Fezzik asked. “I think everybody will in the near future” was the man in black’s reply. “They’re terribly comfortable.

Yo, Darth Hideous. You’re so ugly you should wear a mask every day! And: I h8 u, Freak! And the last one: I bet your mother wishes you’d never been born. You should do everybody a favor—and die. Of

Contrary to what the white supremacists might think, claiming the right to deny other people their liberty is not a freedom movement, and nor is refusing to wear a mask designed to protect other people's health.

Everybody remarked that the retiring managers looked cheerful, as is the Paris way. None will ever be a true Parisian who has not learned to wear a mask of gaiety over his sorrows and one of sadness, boredom or indifference over his inward joy.

Everybody wears so many different masks. Who we are is constantly in flux—so who you get from someone else at any given time is something special, if you think about it. Relating to another person in a real way—even if it’s brief—is a rare gift.

I don’t like stories. I like moments. I like night better than day, moon better than sun, and here-and-now better than any sometime-later. I also like birds, mushrooms, the blues, peacock feathers, black cats, blue-eyed people, heraldry, astrology, criminal stories with lots of blood, and ancient epic poems where human heads can hold conversations with former friends and generally have a great time for years after they’ve been cut off. I like good food and good drink, sitting in a hot bath and lounging in a snowbank, wearing everything I own at once, and having everything I need close at hand. I like speed and that special ache in the pit of the stomach when you accelerate to the point of no return. I like to frighten and to be frightened, to amuse and to confound. I like writing on the walls so that no one can guess who did it, and drawing so that no one can guess what it is. I like doing my writing using a ladder or not using it, with a spray can or squeezing the paint from a tube. I like painting with a brush, with a sponge, and with my fingers. I like drawing the outline first and then filling it in completely, so that there’s no empty space left. I like letters as big as myself, but I like very small ones as well. I like directing those who read them here and there by means of arrows, to other places where I also wrote something, but I also like to leave false trails and false signs. I like to tell fortunes with runes, bones, beans, lentils, and I Ching. Hot climates I like in the books and movies; in real life, rain and wind. Generally rain is what I like most of all. Spring rain, summer rain, autumn rain. Any rain, anytime. I like rereading things I’ve read a hundred times over. I like the sound of the harmonica, provided I’m the one playing it. I like lots of pockets, and clothes so worn that they become a kind of second skin instead of something that can be taken off. I like guardian amulets, but specific ones, so that each is responsible for something separate, not the all-inclusive kind. I like drying nettles and garlic and then adding them to anything and everything. I like covering my fingers with rubber cement and then peeling it off in front of everybody. I like sunglasses. Masks, umbrellas, old carved furniture, copper basins, checkered tablecloths, walnut shells, walnuts themselves, wicker chairs, yellowed postcards, gramophones, beads, the faces on triceratopses, yellow dandelions that are orange in the middle, melting snowmen whose carrot noses have fallen off, secret passages, fire-evacuation-route placards; I like fretting when in line at the doctor’s office, and screaming all of a sudden so that everyone around feels bad, and putting my arm or leg on someone when asleep, and scratching mosquito bites, and predicting the weather, keeping small objects behind my ears, receiving letters, playing solitaire, smoking someone else’s cigarettes, and rummaging in old papers and photographs. I like finding something lost so long ago that I’ve forgotten why I needed it in the first place. I like being really loved and being everyone’s last hope, I like my own hands—they are beautiful, I like driving somewhere in the dark using a flashlight, and turning something into something completely different, gluing and attaching things to each other and then being amazed that it actually worked. I like preparing things both edible and not, mixing drinks, tastes, and scents, curing friends of the hiccups by scaring them. There’s an awful lot of stuff I like.

Fastidious about personal hygiene, he couldn’t stand to be around anybody who was ill. If this was unavoidable, he insisted that they—and everybody else on the set or in the office—wear surgical masks to lessen the danger of germs spreading.

If you are a friend to everybody, you're an enemy to yourself.

women and mothers, there is so much pressure to be everything to everybody that we often become a slave to the expectations that we’ve placed on ourselves. For the sake of the story, I will call these self-imposed expectations and roles “masks.” We have all worn these masks at one time or another, and it’s important to recognize what masks you wear so that you can work on shedding them later in the book.

No life is specially interesting. Almost everybody does the same thing and shares the common career and money-related interests regardless if he is a scientist, an artist or an economist. Almost everybody spends the similar life style — relaxation and satisfaction of the needs of stomach and sex organ. Almost everybody does his best to pass down his genes through originating and nurturing the next generation. Patriotism, intellectuality, religiosity and so on, and so forth are only a pose but not the intrinsic parts of the mental state, of course, if one doesn’t suffer from serious psychological disorder. The commonest thing is delightful if one only hides it. For that reason most men, if not any, tend to wear a mask of patriotism, intellectuality or religiosity in order to give to his ordinary life some “richness of content.

They said a mask and gloves were enough to go to the grocery store, but they lied! Everybody else was wearing clothes!

In Los Angeles everybody wears a mask, telling stories that aren't quite the truth but aren't quite a lie. The warm weather makes it easy to stay. The strange thing is: you can feel your soul being bought and sold, little by little, piece by piece. You feel it dying, being taken away from you, dripping out of you. Especially at night, when it's a dark, starless sky. Night as you know it, and night as we know it...here...are two different things.