Exterior Beauty Quotes

It is foolish to wish for beauty. Sensible people never either desire it for themselves or care about it in others. If the mind be but well cultivated, and the heart well disposed, no one ever cares for the exterior.

I hear Warner laugh. I see him smile. It's the kind of smile that transforms him into someone else entirely, the kind of smile that puts stars in his eyes and a dazzle on his lips and I realize I've never seen him like this before. I've never seen his teeth--so straight, so white, nothing less than perfect. A flawless, flawless exterior for a boy with a black, black heart. It's hard to believe there's blood on the hands of the person I'm staring at. He looks soft and vulnerable--so human. His eyes are squinting from all his grinning and his cheeks are pink form the cold. He has dimples. He's easily the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And I wish I'd never seen it.

Why did men always find it necessary to comment on whether or not a woman’s exterior pleased them? She knew she was beautiful. No need to constantly restate it, as if doing so would earn one points in a game.

My soul cried out for Ash, for his courage and determination; for the way his eyes thawed when he looked at me, as if I were the only person in the world; for that beautiful, wounded spirit I saw beneath the cold exterior he showed the world.

Beauty fades, but the heart remains the same...Physical desire is a lie, Emele continued. It is not a bad thing, but it blinds a person and makes them unable to see truth. Falling in love is a matter of the heart, not of the exterior.

He reached out and caressed her face. With a serious expression, he traced the edge of her jaw with his thumb. "You‘re beautiful, Ani. In all of eternity, there‘s never been another faery who could make me want to forget everything and everyone else." "Because you like the way I look?" She rolled her eyes. "Apparently, my dream mind is shallow." "No, not the exterior. You… the tempers and follies and passion… even the way you care for that infuriating steed."Devlin gazed at her like she was precious. "Even knowing you could be fatal, I would‘ve said yes." Her chest hurt like she had held her breath too long as she asked, "To?" "Whatever you wanted." He didn‘t reach out and pull her into his embrace. Instead, he took one step forward, leaned down, and kissed her.

Beautiful people tend to be ugly, ugly people tend to be beautiful, storms tend to brew below a person’s cool, calm exterior, and tremendously happy people tend to be overcompensating for their own grief. Nothing is ever really what it seems.

In the sort of screen dappled with different states of mind which my consciousness would simultaneously unfold while I read, and which ranged from the aspirations hidden deepest within me to the completely exterior vision of the horizon which I had, at the bottom of the garden, before my eyes, what was first in me, innermost, the constantly moving handle that controlled the rest, was my belief in the philosophical richness and beauty of the book I was reading, and my desire to appropriate them for myself, whatever that book might be.

Let us make our way through these low valleys of the humble and little virtues. We shall see in them the roses amid the thorns, charity that shows its beauty among interior and exterior afflictions, the lilies of purity.

Quite a number of people are able to feel the beauty of the world profoundly and vastly, and to carry high, noble images in their souls, but they are unable to exteriorize these images, to create them for the enjoyment of others, to communicate them.

Such physical matters were nice, yet to him, intelligence and passion born of living, the ability to move and be moved by the subtleties of the mind and spirit, were what really counted. That’s why he found most young woman unattractive, regardless of their exterior beauty. They had not lived long enough or hard enough to possess those qualities that interested him.

Physical desire is a lie, Emele continued. It is not a bad thing, but it blinds a person and makes them unable to see truth. Falling in love is a matter of the heart, not of the exterior.

Beautiful is he who recognizes what is truly beautiful, Even if the surface is ugly. Truthful is he who says what is true, Even if the truth is ugly. Ugly is he who measures beauty by its exterior, Without first weighing the interior. And ugly is the man who judges harshly what he sees looking out, Without first judging what he sees in the mirror. Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun (2010)

Mornings, out in the garden, she would, at times, read aloud from one of her many overdue library books. Dew as radiant as angel spit glittered on the petals of Jack's roses. Jack was quite the gardener. Miriam thought she knew why her particularly favored roses. The inside of a rose does not at all correspond with its exterior beauty. If one tears off all the petals of the corolla, all that remains is a sordid-looking tuft. Roses would be right up Jack's alley, all right. "Here's something for you, Jack," Miriam said. You'll appreciate this. Beckett describes tears as 'liquified brain.' "God, Miriam," Jack said. "Why are you sharing that with me? Look at this day, it's a beautiful day! Stop pumping out the cesspit! Leave the cesspit alone!

She, who prided herself on her tough exterior, could always be undone by the beauty of flight.

His perfect face. His perfect body. His eyes as hard and beautiful as frozen gemstones. He repulses me. I want his exterior to match his broken black interior. I want to cripple his cockiness with the palm of my hand.

It seems what people try to represent on the outside very rarely mirrors their inside. Beautiful people tend to be ugly, ugly people tend to be beautiful, storms tend to brew below a person’s cool, calm exterior, and tremendously happy people tend to be overcompensating for their own grief. Nothing is ever really what it seems.

Beauty was all around them. Unsuspected tintings glimmered in the dark demesnes of the woods and glowed in their alluring by-ways. The spring sunshine sifted through the young green leaves. Gay trills of song were everywhere. There were little hollows where you felt as if you were bathing in a pool of liquid gold. At every turn some fresh spring scent struck their faces: Spice ferns...fir balsam...the wholesome odour of newly ploughed fields. There was a lane curtained with wild-cherry blossoms; a grassy old field full of tiny spruce trees just starting in life and looking like elvish things that had sat down among the grasses; brooks not yet "too broad for leaping"; starflowers under the firs; sheets of curly young ferns; and a birch tree whence someone had torn away the white-skin wrapper in several places, exposing the tints of the bark below-tints ranging from purest creamy white, through exquisite golden tones, growing deeper and deeper until the inmost layer revealed the deepest, richest brown as if to tell tha all birches, so maiden-like and cool exteriorly, had yet warm-hued feelings; "the primeval fire of earth at their hearts.

No one cares for the exterior.

Beauty is a willing loss of mental control, surrendered to organic process that is momentarily under the direction of an exterior object. The object is not thought and felt about, exactly. It seems to use my capacities to think and feel itself.

REFLECTIONS OF A MIRROR Beautiful is he who recognizes what is truly beautiful, Even if the surface is ugly. Truthful is he who says what is true, Even if the truth is ugly. Ugly is he who measures beauty by its exterior, Without first weighing the interior. And ugly is the man who judges harshly what he sees looking out, Without first judging what he sees in the mirror.

But there’s more to attraction than the exterior packaging. The color of your eyes has been burned into my brain since that man ripped away your hood in Edgecomb. The feel of your body when I caught you on the wagon has tormented me in dreams ever since. I never know what is going on behind those eyes of yours.” He gave her a wicked smile and Shea’s breath caught at the sight. “You are a constantly evolving puzzle. It drives me mad, and for someone like me, who can guess an opponent’s move before they even make it, that is more attractive than a fragile thing like appearance could ever be. You ask why you. How could it be any but you?

Beautiful; why yes, but not because of the radiance of my exterior housing. Rather for the kindness of my spirit and the golden heart resting in my chest for from it pours forth my very best.

I stepped inside and stopped, blinking in astonishment. From the exterior I'd expected a charming little book and curio shop with the inner dimensions of a university Starbucks. What I got was a cavernous interior that housed a display of books that made the library Disney's Beast gave to Beauty on their wedding day look understocked.

I know what evil looks like under the surface. No matter how beautiful the exterior, how good the lies, I don’t fool myself, not any more. You carry a terrible burden that no one – not even me – can really understand. But that doesn’t change who you are, Frost. You’re a good person. And I love you.” “I wish…” My voice cracked. “I wish I could believe in that.” Luca brushed the dishevelled strands of hair away from my face again and looked into my eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll keep saying it until you do.

REFLECTIONS FROM A MIRROR Beautiful is he who recognizes what is truly beautiful, Even if the surface is ugly. Truthful is he who says what is true, Even if the truth is ugly. Ugly is he who measures beauty by its exterior, Without first weighing the interior. And ugly is the man who judges harshly what he sees looking out, Without first judging what he sees in the mirror.

Don’t let that beautiful innocent exterior fool you. Right now, she’s the devil incarnate,

Money can buy your exterior beauty, but not your interior beaty

la felicidad siempre tiene un objeto, somo felices por algo,es un sentimiento cuya existencia depende del exterior. La alegría, en cambio, no tiene objeto. Te posee sin ningún motivo aparente, en su esencia se parece al sol: arde gracias a la combustión de su propio corazón.

At Mount Holyoke, a band of female Wide-Awakes described as “running hither and thither…laughing and shouting, and drinking lemonade,” marched in a celebratory torchlight procession, unfurling a banner that read: “PRESIDENT—ABRAHAM LINCOLN. Behind a homely exterior, we recognize inward beauty.

I think of two landscapes- one outside the self, the other within. The external landscape is the one we see-not only the line and color of the land and its shading at different times of the day, but also its plants and animals in season, its weather, its geology… If you walk up, say, a dry arroyo in the Sonoran Desert you will feel a mounding and rolling of sand and silt beneath your foot that is distinctive. You will anticipate the crumbling of the sedimentary earth in the arroyo bank as your hand reaches out, and in that tangible evidence you will sense the history of water in the region. Perhaps a black-throated sparrow lands in a paloverde bush… the smell of the creosote bush….all elements of the land, and what I mean by “the landscape.” The second landscape I think of is an interior one, a kind of projection within a person of a part of the exterior landscape. Relationships in the exterior landscape include those that are named and discernible, such as the nitrogen cycle, or a vertical sequence of Ordovician limestone, and others that are uncodified or ineffable, such as winter light falling on a particular kind of granite, or the effect of humidity on the frequency of a blackpoll warbler’s burst of song….the shape and character of these relationships in a person’s thinking, I believe, are deeply influenced by where on this earth one goes, what one touches, the patterns one observes in nature- the intricate history of one’s life in the land, even a life in the city, where wind, the chirp of birds, the line of a falling leaf, are known. These thoughts are arranged, further, according to the thread of one’s moral, intellectual, and spiritual development. The interior landscape responds to the character and subtlety of an exterior landscape; the shape of the individual mind is affected by land as it is by genes. Among the Navajo, the land is thought to exhibit sacred order…each individual undertakes to order his interior landscape according to the exterior landscape. To succeed in this means to achieve a balanced state of mental health…Among the various sung ceremonies of this people-Enemyway, Coyoteway, Uglyway- there is one called Beautyway. It is, in part, a spiritual invocation of the order of the exterior universe, that irreducible, holy complexity that manifests itself as all things changing through time (a Navajo definition of beauty).

I could only nod as emotions rolled in like a destructive storm. This was it. It was over. My incredible time with this beautiful talented man was up. I had to clench my teeth and swallow hard to mask the loss that threatened to overcome my calm exterior. I was holding on for dear life then he said two words with pure tranquility.

I don’t know if you realize exactly how beautiful you are. Your heart, mind, and soul are every bit as beautiful as your gorgeous exterior, and I’ve spent years trying to resist temptation.

The accent was warm and soft and undeniably Northern. When I turned around, I was staring into a pair of beautiful crystal-blue eyes. “Wow,” I whispered. I scanned the paint swatches, wondering if such a shade of blue would look good on the exterior of my house. “Mr. Johnson said you might need help selecting paint.” “It’s impossible,” I muttered. “I just wanted to buy some blue paint. Why is this so complicated?” The handsome man stepped closer to my side. “It isn’t, really. Just pick what you like.” I like crystal-blue. Luckily, I didn’t say those words aloud.

It is foolish to wish for beauty. Sensible people never either desire it for themselves or care about it in others. If the mind be but well cultivated, and the heart well disposed, no one ever cares for the exterior. So said the teachers of our childhood; and so say we to the children of the present day. All very judicious and proper, no doubt; but are such assertions supported by actual experience?

It is foolish to wish for beauty.  Sensible people never either desire it for themselves or care about it in others.  If the mind be but well cultivated, and the heart well disposed, no one ever cares for the exterior.  So said the teachers of our childhood; and so say we to the children of the present day.  All very judicious and proper, no doubt; but are such assertions supported by actual experience? We are naturally disposed to love what gives us pleasure, and what more pleasing than a beautiful face—when we know no harm of the possessor at least?  A little girl loves her bird—Why?  Because it lives and feels; because it is helpless and harmless?  A toad, likewise, lives and feels, and is equally helpless and harmless; but though she would not hurt a toad, she cannot love it like the bird, with its graceful form, soft feathers, and bright, speaking eyes.  If a woman is fair and amiable, she is praised for both qualities, but especially the former, by the bulk of mankind: if, on the other hand, she is disagreeable in person and character, her plainness is commonly inveighed against as her greatest crime, because, to common observers, it gives the greatest offence; while, if she is plain and good, provided she is a person of retired manners and secluded life, no one ever knows of her goodness, except her immediate connections.  Others, on the contrary, are disposed to form unfavourable opinions of her mind, and disposition, if it be but to excuse themselves for their instinctive dislike of one so unfavoured by nature; and visa versâ with her whose angel form conceals a vicious heart, or sheds a false, deceitful charm over defects and foibles that would not be tolerated in another. 

It is foolish to wish for beauty. Sensible people never either desire it for themselves or care about it in others. If the mind be but well cultivated, and the heart well disposed, no one ever cares for the exterior.

When you look through a window you gasp at the beautiful tree in the backyard or the magical sunrise coming over the horizon, No one looks at a window and is taken away by the complexity of the transparency of millions of atoms joined together to form, from our perception of a crystal clear yet structural opening to the exterior, the same is with life, if you spend your whole life being a medium to enable others then you will be nothing but a sheet of glass, overused, underappreciated, and fragile to opportunity

Of all her siblings, Gabriel was the one to whom Phoebe had always felt closest. In his company, she could make petty or sarcastic remarks, or confess her foolish mistakes, knowing he would never judge her harshly. They knew each other's faults and kept each other's secrets. Many people, if not most, would have been flabbergasted to learn that Gabriel had any faults at all. All they saw was the remarkable male beauty and cool self-control of a man so elegantly mannered that it never would have occurred to anyone to call him a lunkhead. However, Gabriel could sometimes be arrogant and manipulative. Beneath his charming exterior, there was a steely core that made him ideally suited to oversee the array of Challon properties and businesses. Once he decided what was best for someone, he took every opportunity to push and goad until he had his way. Therefore, Phoebe occasionally found it necessary to push back. After all, it was an older sister's responsibility to keep her younger brother from behaving like a domineering ass.

different forms. “The verbal intercourse of these raven-beings of the planet Saturn is somewhat like our own. But their way of speaking is the most beautiful I have ever heard. “It can be compared to the music of our best singers when with all their being they sing in a minor key. “And as for the quality of their relations with each other—I don’t even know how to describe it. It can be known only by existing among them and having the experience oneself. “All that can be said is that these bird-beings have hearts exactly like those of the angels nearest our Endless Maker and Creator. “They exist strictly according to the ninth commandment of our Creator: ‘Consider everything belonging to another as if it were your own, and so treat it.’ “Later, I must certainly tell you in more detail about those three-brained beings who arise and exist on the planet Saturn, since one of my real friends during the whole period of my exile in that solar system was a being of that planet, who had the exterior coating of a raven and whose name was Harharkh.

Despite our battered exterior and in spite of the festering scars and rank filth that overlays it, there is underneath it all the pristine likeness of God Himself. And we would be wise to cast an eye not on the marred exterior, but to be fixed on the glorious interior.

Beautiful is he who recognizes what is truly beautiful, Even if the surface is ugly. Truthful is he who says what is true, Even if the truth is ugly. Ugly is he who measures beauty by its exterior, Without first weighing the interior. And ugly is the man who judges harshly what he sees looking out, without first judging what he sees in the mirror

It is foolish to wish for beauty. Sensible people never either desire it for themselves or care about it in others. If the mind be but well cultivated, and the heart well disposed, no one ever cares for the exterior. So said the teachers of our childhood; and so say we to the children of the present day. All very judicious and proper, no doubt; but are such assertions supported by actual experience? We are naturally disposed to love what gives us pleasure, and what more pleasing than a beautiful face--when we know no harm of the possessor at least? A little girl loves her bird--Why? Because it lives and feels; because it is helpless and harmless? A toad, likewise, lives and feels, and is equally helpless and harmless; but though she would not hurt a toad, she cannot love it like the bird, with its graceful form, soft feathers, and bright, speaking eyes. If a woman is fair and amiable, she is praised for both qualities, but especially the former, by the bulk of mankind: if, on the other hand, she is disagreeable in person and character, her plainness is commonly inveighed against as her greatest crime, because, to common observers, it gives the greatest offence; while, if she is plain and good, provided she is a person of retired manners and secluded life, no one ever knows of her goodness, except her immediate connections. Others, on the contrary, are disposed to form unfavourable opinions of her mind, and disposition, if it be but to excuse themselves for their instinctive dislike of one so unfavoured by nature; and visa versa with her whose angel form conceals a vicious heart, or sheds a false, deceitful charm over defects and foibles that would not be tolerated in another. They that have beauty, let them be thankful for it, and make a good use of it, like any other talent; they that have it not, let them console themselves, and do the best they can without it: certainly, though liable to be over-estimated, it is a gift of God, and not to be despised.

It is foolish to which for beauty. Sensible people never either desire it for themselves, or care about it in others. If the mind be but well cultivated, and the heart well disposed, no one ever cares for the exterior. So said the teachers of our childhood; and so say we to the children of the present day, all very judicious and proper, no doubt; but such assertions supported by actual experience?

It suddenly hit me—it was nearly impossible to take good care of something I hated. I’d spent so long hating my body that I didn’t know how to respect and nurture myself or my body. By focusing so much on my exterior, I also robbed myself of the opportunity to feel good about myself and my body, simply because I didn't meet a cultural standard of beauty that is obsessed with thinness. That created stress that interfered with my weight loss and with my own happiness.

Moody was not unaware of the advantage his inscrutable grace afforded him. Like most excessively beautiful persons, he had studied his own reflection minutely and, in a way, knew himself from the outside best; he was always in some chamber of his mind perceiving himself from the exterior. He had passed a great many hours in the alcove of his private dressing room, where the mirror tripled his image into profile, half-profile, and square: Van Dyck's Charles, though a good deal more striking. It was a private practice, and one he would likely have denied--for how roundly self-examination is condemned, by the moral prophets of our age! As if the self had no relation to the self, and one only looked in mirrors to have one's arrogance confirmed; as if the act of self-regarding was not as subtle, fraught, and ever-changing as any bond between twin souls. In his fascination Moody sought less to praise his own beauty than to master it. Certainly whenever he caught his own reflection, in a window box, or in a pane of glass after nightfall, he felt a thrill of satisfaction--but as an engineer might feel, chancing upon a mechanism of his own devising and finding it splendid, flashing, properly oiled and performing exactly as he had predicted it should.

Time for an exercise, which I shall call 'Say It Out Loud With Miranda'. Please take a moment to sit back, breathe and intone: 'I am taking myself seriously as a woman.' Note your response. If you're reading this on the bus, or surreptitiously in the cinema, or in any other public scenario, then please note other people's responses. (If you are male, and teenaged, and reading this in a room with other teenage boys, then for your own safety I advise you not to participate.) The rest of you – what comes to mind when you say those words? Is it a fine lady scientist, a ballsy young anarchist with tights on her head or a feminist intellectual from the 1970s nose-down in Simone de Beauvoir? Or is it what I think my friend meant when she said 'woman' which is really 'aesthetic object'. Clothes-horse. Show pony. General beautiful piece of well-groomed stuff that's lovely to look at? I reckon, to my great dismay, that she did indeed mean the latter. And in saying that I don't take myself seriously in this regard her assessment of me is absolutely bang-on. If taking oneself seriously as a woman means committing to a like of grooming, pumicing, pruning and polishing one's exterior for the benefit of onlookers, then I may as well heave my unwieldy rucksack to the top of a bleak Scottish hill and make my home there under a stone, where I'll fashion shoes out of mud and clothes out of leaves.

She had seen Southern men, soft voiced and dangerous in the days before the war, reckless and hard in the last despairing days of the fighting. But in the faces of the two men who stared at each other across the candle flame so short a while ago there had been something that was different, something that heartened her but frightened her — fury which could find no words, determination which would stop at nothing. For the first time, she felt a kinship with the people about her, felt one with them in their fears, their bitterness, their determination. No, it wasn’t to be borne! The South was too beautiful a place to be let go without a struggle, too loved to be trampled by Yankees who hated Southerners enough to enjoy grinding them into the dirt, too dear a homeland to be turned over to ignorant people drunk with whisky and freedom. As she thought of Tony’s sudden entrance and swift exit, she felt herself akin to him, for she remembered the old story how her father had left Ireland, left hastily and by night, after a murder which was no murder to him or to his family. Gerald’s blood was in her, violent blood. She remembered her hot joy in shooting the marauding Yankee. Violent blood was in them all, perilously close to the surface, lurking just beneath the kindly courteous exteriors. All of them, all the men she knew, even the drowsy-eyed Ashley and fidgety old Frank, were like that underneath — murderous, violent if the need arose. Even Rhett, conscienceless scamp that he was, had killed a man for being “uppity to a lady.

My hair floated out around me with the evening breeze, and Romeo caught a strand of it before he opened the door to the car. “You really do look beautiful,” he murmured, dipping his head low. “Thanks,” I said against his lips. His kiss ignited instant desire inside me. Even though I spent last night with him, and the night before, I missed him terribly. I felt like we hadn’t had enough alone time. I wanted more. I wanted so much more. He groaned and pulled back. “Let’s get this dinner over with,” he said grumpily. “I want to spend some time alone with you.” “You read my mind.” “Now that the season is over, we’ll have more time together.” “Want to just go to Taco Bell and hide at your place?” I asked when he slid into the driver’s seat. He laughed. The sound filled the interior of the car. “Why, Rimmel,”— he pressed a hand to his chest like he was scandalized—“ are you suggesting we stand up my mother?” I giggled. “I knew it,” he drawled. “Underneath that sweet exterior lies the heart of a baddie baddie.” I laughed out loud. “A baddie baddie?” “Like totally,” he said in a valley girl voice and pretended to flip the long hair he didn’t have. God, I loved him. “So what do you say?” I taunted as I smiled. “Want to play hookie?” He groaned. “I’d love to, baby, but we can’t.” I stuck out my tongue. “Watch what you do with that thing, baby girl.” “Yeah? Or what?” I challenged. “Or we might be late and I might mess up the perfect hair and makeup you got going on.” His eyes twinkled and he fake gasped as he put the car in gear. “Just what would mother say?

It was a heady, overwhelming veil of scent. At first it developed almost hypnotically into a floral, fruit bouquet; languid and sensual with a musky, almost dusty depth. But then a sharpness emerged, beautiful, icy, unexpected. There was something almost overwhelming about the lush complexity of the formulation, the sheer unbridled eroticism which came across in wave after wave of contrasting notes. ‘This is floral, earthy, and there’s the clean overlay of aldehydic waxiness and soft flowers,’ Madame explained. ‘And then, underneath, a whiff of more feral, impolite essences. Under the clean, innocent exterior there’s a carnal presence. It’s not without ulterior motive.’ Grace stared hopelessly. Here was a language she definitely didn’t understand. ‘I’m sorry?’ Madame Zed looked across at her. ‘This, Mrs Munroe, is the scent of intoxication and desire. The perfume of seduction.

On the first day, he’d completed the stucco walls for a small structure the size of his stallion’s box stall, and the other Sorias had been pleased. On the second day, he’d torn free a section of abandoned railroad and melted it into a beautifully intricate metal gate, and the other Sorias had been pleased. On the third day, he’d fired one thousand ceramic tiles with the heat of his own belief and installed a roof made of them, and the other Sorias had been pleased. On the fourth day, the Virgin had appeared again, this time surrounded by owls; he’d carved a statue of her in this state to place inside the Shrine, and the other Sorias had been pleased. On the fifth day, he’d made a rich pigment from some sky that had gotten too close to him and used it to paint the Shrine’s exterior turquoise, and the other Sorias had been pleased. On the sixth day, he’d held up a passenger train, robbed the passengers, killed the sheriff on board, and used the sheriff’s femurs to fashion a cross for the top of the shrine. The Sorias had not been pleased.

When I turned toward the hurt in the silence, I entered a kind of tenderness that was not sore, not wounded, but rather powerfully present.I sat up straight. The silence had tilled hard ground into soft soil. I sunk deep into the soft ground, where the source of life was revealed--wordless, nameless, without form, completely indescribable. And then--I dare to say it--I was 'completely tender.' To ease below the surface of my embodiment--my face, my flesh, my skin, my name--I needed to first see it reflected back at me. I had to look at it long enough to see the soft patches, the openings, the soft, tender ground. Would I survive the namelessness--without my body, without my heart--while engaging the beautiful, floral exterior of my life? Fear and caution were attempting to shut down the experience of uncoupling my heart from mistreatment and discrimination--from the disregard, hurt, and separation that I experienced and accepted as my one-sided life. I was going back to the moment before I was born, when I was connected to something other than my parents or my people.

Those who do not carry within them the soul of everything the world can show them, will do well to watch it: they will not recognize it, each thing being beautiful only according to the thought of him who gazes at it & reflects it in himself. Faith is essential in poetry as in religion, & faith has no need of seeing with corporeal eyes to contemplate that which it recognizes much better in itself. Such ideas were many times, under multiple forms, always new, expressed by Villiers de L'Isle-Adam in his works. Without going as far as Berkley's pure negations, which nevertheless are but the extreme logic of subjective idealism, he admitted in his conception of life, on the same plan, the Interior & the Exterior, Spirit & Matter, with a very visible tendency to give the first term domination over the second. For him the idea of progress was never anything but a subject for jest, together with the nonsense of the humanitarian positivists who teach, reversed mythology, that terrestrial paradise, a superstition if we assign it the past, becomes the sole legitimate hope if we place it in the future. On the contrary, he makes a protagonist (Edison doubtless) say in a short fragment of an old manuscript of l'Eve future: "We are in the ripe age of Humanity, that is all! Soon will come the senility & decrepitude of this strange polyp, & the evolution accomplished, his mortal return to the mysterious laboratory where all the Ghosts eternally work their experiments, by grace of some unquestionable necessity.

We shall see one another some day, brother. I believe in that as in the multiplication-table. To my soul, all is clear. I see my whole future, and all that I shall accomplish, plainly before me. I am content with my life. I fear only men and tyranny. How easily might I come across a superior officer who did not like me (there are such folk !), who would torment me incessantly and destroy me with the rigours of service—for I am very frail and of course in no state to bear the full burden of a soldier's life. People try to console me: " They're quite simple sort of fellows there." But I dread simple men more than complex ones. For that matter, men everywhere are just— men. Even among the robber-murderers in the prison, I came to know some men in those four years. Believe me, there were among them deep, strong, beautiful natures, and it often gave me great joy to find gold under a rough exterior. And not in a single case, or even two, but in several cases. Some inspired respect; others were downright fine. I taught the Russian language and reading to a young Circassian—he had been transported to Siberia for robbery with murder. How grateful he was to me ! Another convict wept when I said good-bye to him. Certainly I had often given him money, but it was so little, and his gratitude so boundless. My character, though, was deteriorating; in my relations with others I was ill-tempered and impatient. They accounted for it by my mental condition, and bore all without grumbling. Apropos: what a number of national types and characters I became familiar with in the prison ! I lived into their lives, and so I believe I know them really well. Many tramps' and thieves' careers were laid bare to me, and, above all, the whole wretched existence of the common people. Decidedly I have not spent my time there in vain. I have learnt to know the Russian people as only a few know them. I am a little vain of it. I hope that such vanity is pa r donable. Brother

She knew the effort it took to keep one’s exterior self together, upright, when everything inside was in pieces, broken beyond repair. One touch, one warm, compassionate hand, could shatter that hard-won perfect exterior. And then it would take years and years to restore it. This tiny, effeminate creature dressed in velvet suits, red socks, an absurdly long scarf usually wrapped around his throat, trailing after him like a coronation robe. He who pronounced, after dinner, “I’m going to go sit over here with the rest of the girls and gossip!” This pixie who might suddenly leap into the air, kicking one foot out behind him, exclaiming, “Oh, what fun, fun, fun it is to be me! I’m beside myself!” “Truman, you could charm the rattle off a snake,” Diana Vreeland pronounced. Hemingway - He was so muskily, powerfully masculine. More than any other man she’d met, and that was saying something when Clark Gable was a notch in your belt. So it was that, and his brain, his heart—poetic, sad, boyish, angry—that drew her. And he wanted her. Slim could see it in his hungry eyes, voraciously taking her in, no matter how many times a day he saw her; each time was like the first time after a wrenching separation. How to soothe and flatter and caress and purr and then ignore, just when the flattering and caressing got to be a bit too much. Modesty bores me. I hate people who act coy. Just come right out and say it, if you believe it—I’m the greatest. I’m the cat’s pajamas. I’m it! He couldn’t humiliate her vulnerability, her despair. Old habits die hard. Particularly among the wealthy. And the storytellers, gossips, and snakes. Is it truly a scandal? A divine, delicious literary scandal, just like in the good old days of Hemingway and Fitzgerald? The loss of trust, the loss of joy; the loss of herself. The loss of her true heart. An amusing, brief little time. A time before it was fashionable to tell the truth, and the world grew sordid from too much honesty. In the end as in the beginning, all they had were the stories. The stories they told about one another, and the stories they told to themselves. Beauty. Beauty in all its glory, in all its iterations; the exquisite moment of perfect understanding between two lonely, damaged souls, sitting silently by a pool, or in the twilight, or lying in bed, vulnerable and naked in every way that mattered. The haunting glance of a woman who knew she was beautiful because of how she saw herself reflected in her friend’s eyes. The splendor of belonging, being included, prized, coveted. What happened to Truman Capote. What happened to his swans. What happened to elegance. What truly was the price they paid, for the lives they lived. For there is always a price. Especially in fairy tales.

Maybe to save money, many people do not paint the outer walls of the private and public buildings. The city will appear clean and fine-looking if the exterior of all the houses are painted. So, regularly paint your houses and make your city and country beautiful!

What is your opinion of Lady Helen?" he asked as Quincy arranged the meal on the table in front of him. "She is the jewel of the Ravenels," Quincy said. "A more kind-hearted girl you'll ever meet. Sadly, she's always been overlooked. Her older brother received the lion's share of her parents' interest, and what little was left went to the twins." Rhys had met the twins a few days earlier, both of them bright-eyed and amusing, asking a score of questions about his department store. He had liked the girls well enough, but neither of them had captured his interest. They were nothing close to Helen, whose reserve was mysterious and alluring. She was like a mother-of-pearl shell that appeared to be one color, but from different angles revealed delicate shimmers of lavender, pink, blue, green. A beautiful exterior that revealed little of its true nature.

He stretched his face toward her lips. "I'm going to kiss you. We've kissed before, remember? " Pitching his tone to be low and seductive, he asked, "You liked it, didn't you?" Her voice wobbled. "Very much." She was so trusting. So damnably, beautifully honest. "I put my tongue in your mouth, explored and tasted. Like this." He brushed her lips, his mind anticipating the shy blossom of her mouth beneath his. He loved the little catch of breath she gave as he slid his tongue inside, loved the flavor of brandy, loved that she couldn't resist putting her arms around his shoulders and twining her fingers in his hair. The liquor had loosened her inhibitions; she touched his tongue with hers, then when his tongue fell back, she followed, delving into his mouth, touching his teeth, ringing his lips. Her diffident exterior hid a siren of uncommon power and boldness, and he would show her everything her instincts only suspected. Gently, he sucked at her tongue, rasping the end with his own. When she fell back, out of breath, he slid her one glove down her arm. "Can you imagine me doing that to you... down there?" Ever-so-gently, he kissed the soft, pale skin at her elbow. "Can you imagine that?" "Yes," she said faintly.

city – from the beach to the Olympic hillside. For tourists who don’t want to grapple with public transport, there is the Barcelona Bus Turistic made up of three bus lines – blue, red and green routes that explore different parts of the city. You can get on and off at any point. Normally, I stay away from these double‐decker tourist explorers, but for a city as large as Barcelona, the system makes getting from beach to cathedrals to hillside parks very easy. There are also walking tours for those with very comfortable shoes. Barcelona offers so much to visitors that I couldn’t possibly tell you what to visit. But items not to miss are, in my opinion, the architecture of Antoni Gaudi which includes his unique cathedral, La Sagrada Familia which remains unfinished, his apartment building, La Pedrera which has no straight lines on its exterior, and his idealistic Parc Guell, a colourful complex on a high hillside. Within the city of Barcelona you could spend a day or more walking Los Ramblas, a wide pedestrian tree‐lined promenade that is a wonderful place to watch people, taste great food, wine and enjoy life. Nearby is the Placa de Catalunya, the main square with fountains, street artists and restaurants. The Gothic Quarter is walking distance with its network of squares that stretch back to Medieval and Roman times. This city offers so much – a medieval city, art museums, flamenco dancing, cable car to the top of Montjuïc, need I go on? Tours to local vineyards are available as are boat trips that will show you the local coastline. And let’s not forget that Barcelona is a city with beautiful beaches – all relaxed, lined with cafes and restaurants. The

Hardie Boys- Exterior Millwork Exterior spaces on your property are largely exposed to the elements and that means they have to endure considerable wear and tear. This is why it becomes important to make sure that the structures, features and elements are manufactured by specialists that use high-quality, weather-resistant materials and products. We at Hardie Boys, Inc. are a leading manufacturer of various type of exterior architectural work. Since our inception in 1997, we have moved from strength to strength and created a niche for ourselves in this space. Today, when property owners across the region want any exterior millwork done, the first company they think of is us. Not only do we design, manufacture & install a variety of columns, soffit systems, brackets and louvers and a number of other similar products, but use very unique materials and techniques in making these features. Take a look at how our products differ from standard ones used in these applications: • Longevity- Traditionally, these features are made using materials such as foam, wood, concrete, plaster, brick, aluminum, iron etc. While most of these materials are quite hardy they aren’t always able to withstand the elements well. Wood can rot, while metal can rust and corrode over time; concrete tends to develop cracks when exposed to temperature fluctuations and plaster loses its resilience over time. All our products are made with a unique cellular PVC material which is extremely resilient and lasts for a number of years without any trouble. • Minimal maintenance- When you have exterior structures made of wood, they require specialized treatment and have to be polished or painted with regularity. Metal features have to be sanded and painted regularly as well and concrete needs to be resurfaced when it develops cracks. In comparison, the cellular PVC material we use is low-maintenance and only requires basic cleaning. • Aesthetics- As mentioned earlier, the material we use in exterior millwork is weather-resistant and doesn’t fade or deteriorate as much as traditionally-used materials do. This means the features and installations on your property continue to look attractive and add to the aesthetics and value of your property. • Fast and simple installation-The installation of the features made of cellular PVC is easy and quick. This means the project can be completed within a shorter timeframe and with the least amount of disruption to the daily activities on your property. • Versatility- This material is extremely versatile and can be used in the manufacture of various features and installation. We are also very creative and innovative in our approach and keep adding new products to our existing line of premium products. We are a customer-centric company that focuses on customization; and work very closely with our customers and provide beautifully-designed custom exterior millwork installations that are resilient and durable. While the British West Indies style is what we are more inclined towards, our products complement architectural styles including Dutch West Indies, Florida Vernacular, Coastal, Key West and more. For any more information about our custom designed cellular PVC, exterior millwork, contact Hardie Boys, Inc. on this number- 954-784-8216.

9. In conclusion, individuals must not fix the eyes of their souls on that rind of the figure and object supernaturally accorded to the exterior senses, such as locutions and words to the sense of hearing; visions of saints and beautifully resplendent lights to the sense of sight; fragrance to the sense of smell; delicious and sweet tastes to the palate; and other delights, usually derived from the spirit, to the sense of touch, as is more commonly the case with spiritual persons. Neither must they place their eyes on interior imaginative visions. They must instead renounce all these things. They

Fancy exterior is indicative of a rotten interior.

The fullest constructional beauty is the introspective beauty of mathematics, where [...] the basic intuition of mathematics is left to free unfolding. This unfolding is not bound to the exterior world, and thereby to finiteness and responsibility; consequently its introspective harmonies can attain any degree of richness and clearness.

Honeysuckle was like his wife: a quietly lovely exterior hid a more beguiling and intangible beauty than one suspected.

Name: Alya Fall Storm Age: 18 Gender: Female DOB: September 13 Sexuality: Straight Description: Black hair and dark blue eyes - the hidden beauty you have to discover Long Brown hair, navy blue eyes. Fair skin, 5'6. Has a small scar at the top of her left cheek from an incident in training. Style: Wears mostly black and combat boots because she is a knight and always needs to be ready. When she's off duty she wears leggings and fitted t-shirts and a flannel around her waist. Always wears tennis shoes or her fuzzy socks. Personality/ history: She's fierce and has the hard outside personality of a guard as she was trained to. But under the knight exterior she misses the family that she never had and the reason she became a knight was so that she could prevent others from getting hurt like she was when she was kicked out of the orphanage at the age of 12. She began her training at 14 and graduated at 16. She doesn't have many friends she keeps to herself spending her free time reading, drawing, or training. Likes: Reading, drawing, running, puppies, horses, riding, cheesecake, sugar cookies. Dislikes: Green beans, being underestimated. Fears: Snakes Occupation: Knight

A woman’s infallible armor is her beauty. One can and should use her exterior as a weapon whenever necessary. It can draw people in just as easily as it can send them cowering in corners.

Maybe, one day, I’ll meet a man who’ll like me for who I am on the inside, and won’t simply be enamored with my exterior. And who won’t hightail it when he meets my dad. Maybe, he’ll be a suit guy.

Elodie, child. Be extra careful of the handsome ones. They’ll trick you with their beauty, but it’s all a façade. Their eyes may peer into your soul, and their mouths may leave you breathless, but beneath their pleasing exterior lies a wickedness bestowed by Saint Nick himself. All good-looking men have been tapped on the shoulder by evil.

I was starting to believe the beautiful soul of a worthy man was tucked deep beneath his stoic, harsh exterior.

Ambrose is a piece of shit—there’s no denying that—but as mentally ill as he is, he isn’t ugly. He’s a solid sculpture of carved muscle. A slew of cracks run through the exterior, but despite the damage, I still see the beauty in him.

She lives each day with a broken heart, beneath that beautiful exterior, she lives in a derelict soul, In a beautiful world Her eyes smile and suddenly there is light, that shines so beautifully, from that ruined temple I see my angel of life, my love, my soul, my other self, my twin flame, the mirror of my life, with my broken heart, my derelict soul, with the light that shines so bright from the ruined temple I live in,

Andy’s Message Around the time I received Arius’ email, Andy’s message arrived. He wrote: Young, I do remember Rick Samuels. I was at the seminar in the Bahriji when he came to lecture. Like you I was at once mesmerized by his style and beauty, which of course was a false image manufactured by the advertising agencies and sales promoters. I was surprised to hear your backroom story of him being gangbanged in the dungeon. We are not ones to judge since both of us had been down that negative road of self-loathing. This seems to be a common thread with people whom others considered good-looking or beautiful. In my opinion, it’s a fake image that handsome people know they cannot live up to. Instead of exterior beauty being an asset, it often becomes a psychological burden. During the years when I was with Toby, I delved in some fashion modeling work in New Zealand. I ventured into this business because it was my subconscious way of reminding me of the days we posed for Mario and Aziz. It was also my twisted way of hoping to meet another person like me, with the hope of building a loving long-term relationship. It was also a desperate attempt to break loose from Toby’s psychosomatic grip on my person. Ian was his name and he was a very attractive 24 year old architecture student. He modeled to earn some extra spending money. We became fast friends, but he had this foreboding nature which often came on unexpectedly. A sentence or a word could trigger his depression, sending the otherwise cheerful man into bouts of non-verbal communication. It was like a brightly lit light bulb suddenly being switched off in mid-sentence. We did have an affair while I was trying to patch things up with Toby. As delightful as our sexual liaisons were there was a hidden missing element, YOU! Much like my liaisons with Oscar, without your presence, our sexual communications took on a different dynamic which only you as the missing link could resolve. There were times during or after sex when Ian would abuse himself with negative thoughts and self-denigration. I tried to console him, yet I was deeply sorrowed about my own unresolved issues with Toby. It was like the blind leading the blind. I was gravely saddened when Ian took his own life. Heavily drugged on prescriptive anti-depressant and a stomach full of extensive alcohol consumption, he fell off his ten story apartment building. He died instantly. This was the straw that threw me into a nervous breakdown. Thank God I climbed out of my despondencies with the help of Ari and Aria. My dearest Young, I have a confession to make; you are the only person I have truly loved and will continue to love. All these years I’ve tried to forget you but I cannot. That said I am not trying to pry you away from Walter and have you return to me. We are just getting to know each other yet I feel your spirit has never left. Please make sure that Walter understands that I’m not jeopardizing your wonderful relationship. I am happy for the both of you. You had asked jokingly if I was interested in a triplet relationship. Maybe when the time and opportunity arises it may happen, but now I’m enjoying my own company after Albert’s passing. In a way it is nice to have my freedom after 8 years of building a life with Albert. I love you my darling boy and always will. As always, I await your cheerful emails. Andy. Xoxoxo

Princess,” King Gaius said, standing as she took a seat. “You look beautiful today.” “Thank you, your grace.” Why did men always find it necessary to comment on whether or not a woman’s exterior pleased them? She knew she was beautiful. No need to constantly restate it, as if doing so would earn one points in a game. The

Moving to stand between his spread knees, she began washing his face with gentle strokes of the cloth over his smooth, tan brow. His eyes drifted closed, and she took the opportunity to drink in his stunning masculinity. Cinnamon-colored beard stubbled his strong jaw since he hadn’t shaved in more than a day. His nose was straight and broad and slightly reddened by the sun. Between his proud cheekbones and slashing eyebrows, a shade darker than his dark-blond hair, he looked every bit as intimidating as she’d first found him at Berringer’s field. Except now, she wasn’t afraid. Now, he was hers. Tentative wonder filled her chest. She set down the cloth and, starting at the tips, began combing her fingers through the wind-blown tangles falling around his face. The prolific number of split ends didn’t detract from the beauty of his majestic mane. In fact, they leant his soft locks a roughness that reminded her of the way his warrior exterior disguised the core of vulnerability he hid from the world. What she wouldn’t give to see his hair washed and combed properly, to have those strands skate over the bare skin of her stomach, her breasts. She sighed. She was a goner for Darcy.

Belle saw now that his gruff, sometimes-frightening exterior masked a kind and loyal heart.

Nieva sobre Edimburgo el 16 de abril de 1874. Un frío gélido azota la ciudad. Los viejos especulan que podría tratarse del día más frío de la historia. Diríase que el sol ha desaparecido para siempre. El viento es cortante; los copos de nieve son más ligeros que el aire. ¡Blanco! ¡Blanco! ¡Blanco! Explosión sorda. No se ve más que eso. Las casas parecen locomotoras de vapor, sus chimeneas desprenden un humo grisáceo que hace crepitar el cielo de acero. Las pequeñas callejuelas de Edimburgo se metamorfosean. Las fuentes se transforman en jarrones helados que sujetan ramilletes de hielo. El viejo río se ha disfrazado de lago de azúcar glaseado y se extiende hasta el mar. Las olas resuenan como cristales rotos. La escarcha cae cubriendo de lentejuelas a los gatos. Los árboles parecen grandes hadas que visten camisón blanco, estiran sus ramas, bostezan a la luna y observan cómo derrapan los coches de caballos sobre los adoquines. El frío es tan intenso que los pájaros se congelan en pleno vuelo antes de caer estrellados contra el suelo. El sonido que emiten al fallecer es dulce, a pesar de que se trata del ruido de la muerte. Es el día más frío de la historia. Y hoy es el día de mi nacimiento. […] Fuera nieva con auténtica ferocidad. La hiedra plateada trepa hasta esconderse bajo los tejados. Las rosas translúcidas se inclinan hacia las ventanas, sonrojando las avenidas, los gatos se transforman en gárgolas, con las garras afiladas. En el río, los peces se detienen con una mueca de sorpresa. Todo el mundo está encantado por la mano de un soplador de vidrio que congela la ciudad, expirando un frío que mordisquea las orejas. En escasos segundos, los pocos valientes que salen al exterior se encuentran paralizados, como si un dios cualquiera acabara de tomarles una foto. Los transeúntes, llevados por el impulso de su trote, se deslizan por el hielo a modo de baile. Son figuras hermosas, cada una en su estilo, ángeles retorcidos con bufandas suspendidas en el aire, bailarinas de caja de música en sus compases finales, perdiendo velocidad al ritmo de su ultimísimo suspiro. Por todas partes, paseantes congelados o en proceso de estarlo se quedan atrapados. Solo los relojes siguen haciendo batir el corazón de la ciudad como si nada ocurriera.

Virtue is a step toward cultivating authentic beauty, for the love and grace that is within a woman is what truly shines through to make her radiant. Grace illuminates the exterior.

Here’s the thing about gorgeous people. You can easily separate them into two categories. First, there are the nice ones, who will mingle with us mere mortals without condescension. They’re the types who are beautiful inside and out like a double-layer chocolate cake. Then, there are the attractive people who believe their looks set them apart from the rest of us. I call them the cow pies because the golden brown exterior doesn’t make up for the fact that they’re filled with their own…. 

••• Never judge a book by its cover. Following Phaedrus quote “Things are not always as they seem; the first appearance deceives many” we should be especially careful, vigilant and always listen to the voice of our intuition while acquainting new people. Living in a world of illusion, the excessive pursuit of money and fame, people often hide behind a shield of their hypocritical and artificial exterior, concealing the true face and character. Typically, guided by the spirit of competition and self-absorption, nonsensical rumors and constant criticism of others, no matter at what cost they strive to always be first and the best everywhere and in everything they do. They are heavily preoccupied with themselves to the exclusion of others and the outside world. They have perfected the game of their extraordinary kindness, fake eloquence and impressive art of speech in social and business relationships, deliberately deceiving the newly acquainted friends and associates. But behind the facade of a beautiful and charming smile their only goal is to overtake and disparage everyone and subsequently to wallow and become the center of attention. Beware of people like this. They are very dangerous. •••

I was born beautiful, with hair black as ebony, skin white as snow, eyes bewitching and dark, lips as luscious, red, and sweet as the ripest cherries, and a deceptively icy exterior with a secret sizzle hidden inside that it always delighted me to reveal to those I chose to share the secret with.

Eugenic rhetoric thus remained dependent on the body exterior as a powerful “material metaphor” for mysterious genetic processes. The desirable stock of the “fit” was imagined in terms of whiteness, beauty, and physical fitness; embodied in the winners of the AES’s “Better Babies” and “Fitter Families” competitions; invoked in books like Madison Grant’s The Passing of the Great Race (1916), which described the progenitors of good American stock as “splendid conquistadores” of Nordic heritage with “absolutely fair skin” and “great stature”; and visualized in eugenic displays.37

Her beauty radiated from her core and touched every morsel of her exterior … and it only seems to have gotten better with age.

The next day we sat in Geir’s bedroom and wrote a love letter to Anne Lisbet. His parents’ house was identical to ours, it had exactly the same rooms, facing in exactly the same directions, but it was still unendingly different, because for them functionality reigned supreme, chairs were above all else comfortable to sit in, not attractive to look at, and the vacuumed, almost mathematically scrupulous, cleanliness that characterized our rooms was utterly absent in their house, with tables and the floor strewn with whatever they happened to be using at that moment. In a way, their lifestyle was integrated into the house. I suppose ours was, too, it was just that ours was different. For Geir’s father, sole control of his tools was unthinkable, quite the contrary, part of the point of how he brought up Geir and Gro was to involve them as much as possible in whatever he was doing. They had a workbench downstairs, where they hammered and planed, glued and sanded, and if we felt like making a soap-box cart, for example, or a go-kart, as we called it, he was our first port of call. Their garden wasn’t beautiful or symmetrical as ours had become after all the hours Dad had spent in it, but more haphazard, created on the functionality principle whereby the compost heap occupied a large space, despite its unappealing exterior, and likewise the stark, rather weed-like potato plants growing in a big patch behind the house where we had a ruler-straight lawn and curved beds of rhododendrons.

Today, without its exotic carapace, the exterior is a reddish brick within which the arches and buttresses that made such a feat of engineering possible are clearly visible. They have their own beauty; through such structural expertise the Pantheon has been in constant use for 1,875 years.

You were mistaken, Grandmother,' I finally said softly. 'Sir Bennet is precisely the kind of man who cares a great deal about beauty. Not only is he the epitome of beauty himself, but he appreciates it in others.' 'I beg to differ.' Grandmother gripped the seat cushion as we hit another rut. 'You were correct in saying Sir Bennet appreciates beauty. But he is able to see the beauty in things that other do not. Why else does he have such a large collection of rare and unique artifacts and relics, most of which are chipped, broken, and decrepit?' I gasped at her depreciation of Bennet's valuable collection. 'They're priceless treasures. Each marking or chip makes them even more special.' 'Exactly.' This time her words silenced me for some time. Grandmother was right. Bennet saw the value in the ancient artwork and artifacts in a way most people didn't. He saw past the exterior to the heart of the masterpieces that their creators had crafted. Was it possible he saw me the same way?

But it seems to me that Hedy, her history, and her creation may have even greater symbolic importance. The manner in which her contribution to this world-changing device was largely lost—or ignored—for decades reflects the pervasive marginalization of women’s contributions, a problem that is both historical and modern. Whether Hedy’s work in spread-spectrum technology was purposefully disregarded or unconsciously forgotten, it appears that imbedded in that oversight were misconceptions about her abilities—about all women, really. Faulty assumptions about women’s capabilities, stemming in part from the conscripted roles into which they’d been slotted, has caused many to think more narrowly about the manner in which the past has been shaped. But unless we begin to view historical women through a broader, more inclusive lens—and rewrite them back into the narrative—we will continue to view the past more restrictively than it likely was, and we risk carrying those perspectives over into the present. Perhaps if Hedy’s society had viewed her not simply as a blindingly beautiful creature, but as a human being with a sharp mind capable of significant contributions, they might have learned that her interior life was more interesting and fruitful than her exterior. Her invention might have been accepted by the navy when she offered it, and who knows what impact that might have had on the war? If only people had been willing to look behind “the only woman in the room” to examine the person she was beneath, they might have seen a woman capable of greatness, and not only on the screen.

The world saw him as a rich, handsome CEO, which he was. But there was another layer of Christian Harper beneath his carefully cultivated exterior. I saw it in the way he looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. I heard it in the way he encouraged me and stood up for me. And I felt it in the way he held me like he never wanted to let go.

Human well-being is troubled by the gloss and the glamour of exterior worship Too many become caught in mesmerism and the intoxication of surface reality Search for true beauty It always seeks you itself

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Ibn ʿArabi describes the world as the exteriorization of a single hidden reality. All that we see as creation is a divine self-revelation which is constantly renewed in different forms at every moment. Of all creation, human beings have the capacity to receive the complete revelation since they encompass all levels of existence. Every human being has the potential to become a complete mirror to Reality, therefore integrating all aspects of life in a balanced and appropriate way. Above all, the movement of existence is the movement of love for the sake of the revelation of beauty.

She was beautiful, brilliant on stage, and refreshingly different from any woman I’d met. She had zero fucks to give about most things. Except for the stage. And her students. It made me want her even more. She was an artwork of contrasts. Her flaming red hair and hard exterior against silky, ivory skin and a sweep of freckles across her nose softened her. She rattled me. And attracted me. Unnervingly so.

I like the kind of architecture where a single stone colour runs throughout the entire exterior, or ideally where grey concrete and grey sky make it impossible to see whether a photo is in colour until you notice a pigeon's pink feet or the glaring red of a discarded crisp packet.

Name: Alya Fall Storm Age: 16 Gender: Female DOB: September 13 Sexuality: Straight Description: Black hair and blue eyes - the hidden beauty you have to discover Long Brown hair, navy blue eyes. Fair skin, 5'6. Has a small scar at the top of her left cheek from an incident in training. Style: Wears mostly black and combat boots because she is a knight and always needs to be ready. When she's off duty she wears leggings and fitted t-shirts and a flannel around her waist. Always wears tennis shoes or her fuzzy socks. Personality/ history: She's fierce and has the hard outside personality of a guard as she was trained to. But under the knight exterior she misses the family that she never had and the reason she became a knight was so that she could prevent others from getting hurt like she was when she was kicked out of the orphanage at the age of 12. She began her training at 14 and graduated at 16. She doesn't have many friends she keeps to herself spending her free time reading, drawing, or training. Likes: Reading, drawing, running, puppies, horses, riding, cheesecake, sugar cookies. Dislikes: Green beans, being underestimated. Fears: Snakes Occupation: Knight

Name: Alya Fall Storm Age: 16 Gender: Female DOB: September 13 Sexuality: Straight Description: Black hair and dark blue eyes - the hidden beauty you have to discover Long Brown hair, navy blue eyes. Fair skin, 5'6. Has a small scar at the top of her left cheek from an incident in training. Style: Wears mostly black and combat boots because she is a knight and always needs to be ready. When she's off duty she wears leggings and fitted t-shirts and a flannel around her waist. Always wears tennis shoes or her fuzzy socks. Personality/ history: She's fierce and has the hard outside personality of a guard as she was trained to. But under the knight exterior she misses the family that she never had and the reason she became a knight was so that she could prevent others from getting hurt like she was when she was kicked out of the orphanage at the age of 12. She began her training at 14 and graduated at 16. She doesn't have many friends she keeps to herself spending her free time reading, drawing, or training. Likes: Reading, drawing, running, puppies, horses, riding, cheesecake, sugar cookies. Dislikes: Green beans, being underestimated. Fears: Snakes Occupation: Knight

When Heenehan Telecom Company took over Principal Processing Company, it fired all the staff except Jim Dennis and Beth Madison. They were tax accountants like fish out of water in the new company. The environment was hostile, the bosses were unbearable, and the cliques hated their guts. However, trouble started when a colleague, Amber Wolfe, started acting suspiciously and sabotaging their work. Jim and Beth found out the airhead exterior was only a facade, and Amber had dangerous ties to notorious cyber-terrorists. They were sitting ducks. Jim and Beth collaborate with external friends to save the company, their lives, and their careers. Would they succeed with the odds stacked against them, from bosses to colleagues? The Telecom Takeover by Beverly Winter tells the complete story. The Telecom Takeover by Beverly Winter is an intriguing novel that focuses on the corporate world. This story was riveting, from the office shenanigans to unfavorable policies to workplace bureaucracy to insensitive and selfish bosses. Winter also exposed the employee dynamics, power play, and scheming happening in the corporate world. This book has a solid plot, and the character development was beautiful. The story was also thought-provoking as I asked myself how much a person could take before throwing in the towel. At what point does perseverance become hopelessness? I could never work in such a dysfunctional environment and under such conditions. The overworked minions got the least pay while the bosses, who knew nothing, cornered fat bonuses. I loved how the tables turned on Judy. It was the best part of the novel. Keep writing beautiful stories, Beverly Winter." Jennifer Ibiam for Readers’ Favorite, ★★★★★

Oh, Corvan. Is it possible that beneath his cold, beautiful exterior, this man is truly sweet?

He again let himself admire her perfect face. Beyond the disastrous consequences for Mor after their night together, the fallout with Rhys afterward had been awful, and Azriel had been so furious in his own quiet way that Cassian had quelled any further desire for Mor. Had let lust turn into affection, and all romantic feelings turn into familial bonds. But he could still admire her sheer beauty—as he’d admire any work of art. Even though he knew well that what lay inside Mor was far more lovely and perfect than her exterior. He wondered if she knew that.

True beauty radiates from within, like a warm light that shines brightly in the heart. Makeup may enhance the exterior, but it's the kindness, compassion, and love that reside within that truly make a person beautiful. Just as a rose's beauty comes from its innate beauty, not from external decorations, inner beauty is what truly makes a person radiant and captivating.

But he could still admire her sheer beauty—as he’d admire any work of art. Even though he knew well that what lay inside Mor was far more lovely and perfect than her exterior. He wondered if she knew that.

It was a new moon, but the stars of the northern hemisphere transformed her slim sinuous home, converting the oak strips on the convex walls into quicksilver that momentarily held the frenzied shadows of the forest, slickening their inextricable shapes, and then engulfed them.