Kohl Quotes

I donned my armor, lining my eyes with kohl until they were dark as death and patting crushed rose petals on my lips until they were scarlet as blood.

We were fools.” “You were children. Was there no one to protect you?” “Was there anyone to protect you?” “My father. My mother. They would have done anything to keep me from being stolen.” “And they would have been mowed down by slavers.” “Then I guess I was lucky I didn’t have to see that.” How could she still look at the world that way? “Sold into a brothel at age fourteen and you count yourself lucky.” “They loved me. They love me. I believe that.” He saw her draw closer in the mirror. Her black hair was an ink splash against the white tile walls. She paused behind him. “You protected me, Kaz.” “The fact that you’re bleeding through your bandages tells me otherwise.” She glanced down. A red blossom of blood had spread on the bandage tied around her shoulder. She tugged awkwardly at the strip of towel. “I need Nina to fix this one.” He didn’t mean to say it. He meant to let her go. “I can help you.” Her gaze snapped to his in the mirror, wary as if gauging an opponent. I can help you. They were the first words she’d spoken to him, standing in the parlor of the Menagerie, draped in purple silk, eyes lined in kohl. She had helped him. And she’d nearly destroyed him. Maybe he should let her finish the job.

Hands quivering, she reached toward him. "Don't." He turned his back to her, facing the door. That word had stopped her once before. But not now. Not now that she had glimpsed through the funeral front of Varen's own eternal Grim Facade. Despite all the dark armor, the kohl eye liner, the black boots and chains, she saw him clearly now. She peered through the curtain of that cruel calmness, through the death stare and the vampire sentiments and angst and, behind it all, had found true beauty.

Art is a process, not a product.

He turned his head and caught her with his eyes. She froze, locked by the intensity of his stare. His eyes were stark and cold, the concentrated green of pale jade. Outlined in smudged black kohl, those eyes focused on her, unblinking through the feathery strands of his jet black hair, and it was like being watched through a cage by a complacent and calculating cat. Discomfort welled in her, thick and black as an oil spring. Who was this guy and what was his royal problem? Her gaze flicked briefly to the small metal loop that hugged one corner of his bottom lip. He blinked once, then slowly lifted one hand and crooked a beckoning finger at her. Isobel hesitated but then as though spellbound to obey, she found herself leaning in. “What are you staring at?” he whispered.

In tiefen, kalten, hohlen Räumen, Wo Schatten sich mit Schatten paaren, Wo alte Bücher Träume träumen, Von Zeiten, als sie Bäume waren, Wo Kohle Diamant gebiert, Man weder Licht noch Gnade kennt, Dort ist's, wo jener Geist regiert, Den man den Schattenkönig nennt.

Farsi Couplet: Ba khak darat rau ast maara, Gar surmah bechashm dar neaayad. English Translation: The dust of your doorstep is just the right thing to apply, If Surmah (kohl powder) does not show its beauty in the eye!

Thankfully,two old friends stood next to the throne. Horus wore full battle armor and a khopesh sword at his side.is kohl-lined eyes-one gold, one silver-were as piercing as ever. At his side stood Isis in a shimmering white gown, with wings of light. "Welcome," Horus said. "Um, hi," I said. "He has a way with words," Isis muttered, which made Sadie snort.

Confidence did more to enhance a woman’s beauty than any kohl or rouge could manage.

Did you pray?" she asks. "For the last time," I say, narrowing my kohl-lined black eyes at her, "I refuse to pray to my own parents. It's ridiculous.

Despite all the dark armor, the kohl liner, the black boots and chains, she saw him clearly now. She’d peered through the curtain of that cruel calmness, through the death stare and the vampire sentiments and angst and, behind it all, had found true beauty.

What haunts me most about her eyes is the pain I put in them... In the corner of my dark soul, her passion is dark like a kohl. She is giving new meaning to these feelings... She is complete, she is whole.

A monster of a man sits on his blood-red steed, a massive sword strapped to his back. There are gold rings in his dark hair and kohl thickly lines his eyes. His cheekbones are high and the scowl he wears makes him look absolutely petrifying.

He wants rough, hard, violent, dangerous sex. He craves it. We could psychoanalyze this all night, but I doubt it would do any good. Logan can no more justify his attraction to a smack across the face than I can explain how empty life feels without waterproof kohl liner.

Masks! I see them everywhere. That dreadful vision of the other night - the deserted town with its masked corpses in every doorway; that nightmare product of morphine and ether - has taken up residence within me. I see masks in the street, I see them on stage in the theatre, I find yet more of them in the boxes. They are on the balcony and in the orchestra-pit. Everywhere I go I am surrounded by masks. The attendants to whom I give my overcoat are masked; masks crowd around me in the foyer as everyone leaves, and the coachman who drives me home has the same cardboard grimace fixed upon his face! It is truly too much to bear: to feel that one is alone and at the mercy of all those enigmatic and deceptive faces, alone amid all the mocking laughs and the threats embodied in those masks. I have tried to persuade myself that I am dreaming, and that I am the victim of a hallucination, but all the powdered and painted faces of women, all the rouged lips and kohl-blackened eyelids... all of that has created around me an atmosphere of trance and mortal agony. Cosmetics: there is the root cause of my illness! But I am happy, now, when there are only masks! Sometimes, I detect the cadavers beneath, and remember that beneath the masks there is a host of spectres.

Bright flashes of memory sparked through Kaz’s mind. A cup of hot chocolate in his mittened hands, Jordie warning him to let it cool before he took a sip. Ink drying on the page as he’d signed the deed to the Crow Club. The first time he’d seen Inej at the Menagerie, in purple silk, her eyes lined with kohl. The bone-handled knife he’d given her. The sobs that had come from behind the door of her room at the Slat the night she’d made her first kill. The sobs he’d ignored. Kaz remembered her perched on the sill of his attic window, sometime during that first year after he’d brought her into the Dregs. She’d been feeding the crows that congregated on the roof. “You shouldn’t make friends with crows,” he’d told her. “Why not?” she asked. He’d looked up from his desk to answer, but whatever he’d been about to say had vanished on his tongue. The sun was out for once, and Inej had turned her face to it. Her eyes were shut, her oil-black lashes fanned over her cheeks. The harbor wind had lifted her dark hair, and for a moment Kaz was a boy again, sure that there was magic in this world. “Why not?” she’d repeated, eyes still closed. He said the first thing that popped into his head. “They don’t have any manners.” “Neither do you, Kaz.” She’d laughed, and if he could have bottled the sound and gotten drunk on it every night, he would have. It terrified him.

Father Divine said to always establish a ‘we/they’: an ‘us,’ and an enemy on the outside,” explained Laura Johnston Kohl, our Jonestown vet. The goal is to make your people feel like they have all the answers, while the rest of the world is not just foolish, but inferior. When you convince someone that they’re above everyone else, it helps you both distance them from outsiders and also abuse them, because you can paint

I can help you. They were the first words she’d spoken to him, standing in the parlor of the Menagerie, draped in purple silk, eyes lined in kohl. She had helped him. And she’d nearly destroyed him. Maybe he should let her finish the job.

What is awful is at once appealing and repulsive, it fascinates and generates disgust, and those who succumb to the awful can only escape it at the price of ennui, of boredom.

The washroom door swung open, and all thoughts of pirates vanished. A tall boy walked inside, dressed in black clothes at least two sizes too tight. His cherry-red hair stood in haphazard spikes, and his eyes were heavily lined in kohl. If a rock star had an affair with a circus clown, this guy would be the result. It took a few moments to recognize him as Doran.

Look, I know the guy, all right? Kohl’s friends with one of my roommates, so he’s been over at my place a few times.” “Goodie for you. You can date him then because I’m not interested.

David Kohl, professor emeritus at Virginia Tech University, has found that individuals who write down their goals will have nine times the success of those who don’t put their goals on paper.

Alice's eyes sparkled, but not with mirth; there was a sinister candescence to them, lined in more black kohl than usual. 'A knife,' she replied calmly. 'A what?' I practically yelped. 'A knife,' she repeated, unwrapping the brown paper to reveal a smooth, olive wood penknife with the intials A.K.W. engraved in a crusive font. 'I had it customised, because I am nothing if not pretentious.

Why, then, were there no photographs of Margaret Thatcher and Helmut Kohl holding hands at the Brandenburg Gate to match the pictures of Kohl and François Mitterrand at Verdun in 1984? Because Thatcher literally carried in her handbag maps showing German expansion under the Nazis. This was a mental cartography that English conservatism could not transcend – the map of a Europe that may no longer exist in reality but within which its imagination remains imprisoned. ‘Europe,’ Barnett writes, ‘moved on from the Second World War and Britain didn’t.’ One might go so far as to say that England never got over winning the war.

The black can be sooty, soily, glazed, cindery, blackboard black, kohl black, coal black, noir, schwarz, nero. I don’t know how many words and phrases there are to describe black—slate black, cast-iron black, jet black, flat-screen-TV black, ink black, burnt black, liturgical black, hell black—but the raven’s black is as various and as a dense as there are meanings and values attached to the very idea of black, black representing death, mourning, negation, sin, solemnity, the vacancy of space, and all the horrors of human terror and the exercise of power.

You said that she works, though.” “Yeah, at Arby’s and Kohl’s.” “Two jobs. That’s a decent living, isn’t it?” They passed a sign for the golf course, getting closer to Frank’s street. “I can see how it would comfort you to believe that.

Death stood on the other side of the chamber doors. Today I would not meet it in my usual armor of leather and chain-mail, but in the armor of silk and cosmetics. One might think one armor was stronger than the other, but a red lip was its own scimitar and a kohl darkened eye could aim true as a steel-tipped arrow. Death might be waiting, but I was going to be a queen. I would have my throne if I would have to carve a path of blood and bone to get it back. Death could wait.

The most opportune battle is one not fought at all.

If anyone had bothered to notice me, they would only see a scared fifteen-year-old girl with eyes of sable ringed by kohl liner and black hair that fell to her waist. They wouldn't see someone struggling to remain sane. Only an empty space where a real girl used to live.

Es ist noch keine zwei Jahre her, da konnte Sylvie auch mit ihrem Armen aufwarten, dem Mann ihrer Putzfrau, der seit Jahren zu Hause saß und keinen Finger rührte, aber alle Tricks kannte, um Kohle vom Staat abzuzocken. Inzwischen hat sie keine Putzfrau mehr, und seit sie selbst alle Schritte unternehmen musste, um Sozialhilfe und andere Zuschüsse zu erhalten, auf die sie ein Anrecht hat, ist sie nie auf die legendären Beträge gekommen, von denen die Reichen beim Abendessen erzählen. Sie ist nicht mehr verschwenderisch, seit jede Rechnung ein Schlag ins Kontor ist. Sie traut sich nicht, auf den Tisch zu schlagen und zu sagen, Herrgott, hört endlich auf, solchen Schwachsinn zu erzählen, versucht ihr mal, Geld vom Staat zu bekommen, geht mal zu euren Armen, euren Faulpelzen... probiert selbst aus, wie einfach es ist, mit weniger als tausend Euro im Monat zurande zu kommen. Aber sie schweigt. Sie, die immer so ein großes Maul hatte, entdeckt die Scham.

She’d fallen for Kohl, wrapping her life around his to the point where it nearly killed her, all because he’d shown her some kindness. He’d promised her the world, he’d promised she’d never fall again—and then he’d removed the world from under feet so all she could do was fall.

Bekka treated her role has Frankenstein's bride more like an audition to be Brett's bride. Every part of her body had been colored bright kelly green - even parts that her mother had stressed were 'not to be seen by anyone except God and the inside of a toilet bowl.' Instead of wearing a wig, Bekka had teased and then shellacked her own hair into a windblown cone and she'd used female-mustache bleach to create white streaks. Her seams, made of real suture thread, had been attached to her neck and wrists with clear double-sided costume tape because drawing them on with kohl would not have been 'honoring the character.' Her Costume Castle dress had been exchanged for something 'more authentic' from the Bridal Barn. If Brett didn't see his future in her heavily black-shadowed eyes tonight, he never would. Or so she believed.

The fact that someone else loves you doesn't rescue you from the project of loving yourself.

Once teachers can forget how a class should be they can discover each year what it must be like with that specific class at that particular moment in their lives.

ALCOHOL, n. (Arabic al kohl, a paint for the eyes.) The essential principle of all.

All I’m saying is, Kohl has a type.” “All right, I’ll humor you. What’s his type then? And not because I’m interested in him or anything,

Alice's eyes sparkled, but not with mirth; there was a sinister candescence to them, lined in more black kohl than usual. 'A knife,' she replied calmly. 'A what?' I practically yelped. 'A knife,' she repeated, unwrapping the brown paper to reveal a smooth, olive wood penknife with the intials A.K.W. engraved in a cursive font. 'I had it customised, because I am nothing if not pretentious.

Only then did the scythe’s warning come back to him: that he would receive no kindness for what he had done for Kohl. The man had been right—and he hated the scythe for it, just as the others hated Rowan.

and a sleeveless top studded with sapphires. The top was cropped short to show off her midriff, brown skin gleaming with sandalwood oil. Her black hair was pinned elaborately on top of her head and woven through with strands of gold. Her lashes were lined with kohl, her eyelids dusted with shimmering gold powder. Her beauty was unmistakable, untouchable—like a goddess of old. “Eda,” said Talia at last, forcing herself

Feir said, “All we have to do is find Ezra’s secret entrance to Black Barrow, find Ezra’s workshop and his gold tools, find seven broken mistarille swords, rediscover a forging technique every present-day Maker's day Mays is a myth, find one giant ruby, and avoid detection by a couple of hundred Vürdmeisters plotting gods know what.” “Oh,” Antoninus said, waggling his great, single kohled eyebrow, “here I thought it was going to take all winter.

her eyelids were colored purple, lined Cleopatra-style with kohl and fringed with the same heavy black lashes as yesterday. In the clear daylight I saw what I had not seen the night before: along the ruler-straight parting in Miss Winter’s copper curls was a narrow margin of pure white.

Chancellor Juergen Richter sits with his one aide, a fair-haired young man named Dieter Kohl, the head of Germany’s BND, its international intelligence service. Prime Minister Noya Baram brought her chief of staff, a stout, formal, older man who once served as a general in the Israeli army.

In the Old Testament, a person in grief tore his robe and didn’t run out to Kohl’s to get a new one to go to church. Women cut their hair. Men shaved their beards. There was weeping and wailing. For a whole year, nobody expected you to look or be the way you were. How wonderful! But in our nutty society, the person who “keeps it together,” who’s “so brave,” and who “looks so great — you’d never know,” that’s who is applauded. Grief is not the opposite of faith. Mourning is not the opposite of hope. I believe that well-meaning Christians can try to hurry us out of our mourning because we make them uncomfortable. The Bible does not say to cheer up the bereaved, but rather to “mourn with those who mourn.” Christ does not say we grieve because we are deficient in faith, but rather, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted [not rushed]” (Matthew 5:4).

The women showed off new tunic sets and caftans, fringed scarves at their waists or wrapped around their heads like fanciful turbans. Faded traces of their recent henna night lingered on their hands. Silver earrings jangled, kohled eyes flashed, and bangles jostled and clinked with merriment.

On the land adjoining La Grenouillère strollers were sauntering under the gigantic trees which help to make this part of the island one of the most delightful parks imaginable. Busty women with peroxided hair and nipped-in waists could be seen, made up to the nines with blood red lips and black-kohled eyes. Tightly laced into their garish dresses they trailed in all their vulgar glory over the fresh green grass. They were accompanied by men whose fashion-plate accessories, light gloves, patent-leather boots, canes as slender as threads and absurd monocles made them look like complete idiots.

He wore a white girdle that pulled in his waist just above the hips. He was, of necessity, slender. She believed men should take up as little space as possible. He wore his black hair long over his shoulders, tied once with a white ribbon. The men allowed to live were, of course, beautiful, far more beautiful than any of the women Zezili knew. Anavha was clean-shaven, as she wanted him, lightly powdered in gold, his eyes lined in kohl, eyes a stormy grey, set a bit too wide in a broad face whose jaw she has initially found almost vulgar in its squareness. He stood a hand shorter than she; she easily outweighed him by fifty pounds. She liked him just this way.

Not-learning is the conscious decision not to learn something that you could learn.

Ansel let out a breathy chuckle, the air warm on Celaena’s hands as they hovered near her face. She kept quiet while Celaena finished with the powder, then held still as she lined her eyes with kohl and darkened her lashes. “All right,” Celaena said, sitting back so she could see Ansel’s face. “Open.” Ansel opened her eyes, and Celaena frowned. “What?” Ansel said. Celaena shook her head. “You’re going to have to wash it all off.” “Why?” “Because you look better than I do.

One might think of the discovery and conquest of the farthest ends of the earth, the expanses of space, the labyrinthine recesses of the soul, and the depths of the self. And it is part of the dialectic of modernity that these depths are characterized, not only by positive values such as love, constructive desires, and gaiety, but also by the yawning abysses of horror, fear, and destruction. Conquest is always accompanied by destruction, the optimistic mood of discovery by the anxiety of existence.

They showed me myself, as I must look to Attic eyes: a bull-dancer of Crete, smooth-shaven, fined down to a whiplash by the training; my waist in a gilded cinch-belt, my silk kilt stitched with peacock eyes, my lids still smudged with kohl; nothing Hellene about me, but my flaxen hair. My necklace and arm-rings were not grave jewels of a kingly house, but the costly gauds of the Bull Court, the gift of sport-loving lords and man-loving ladies to a bull-boy who will go in with the music and fly up with the horns.

was a woman, naked and not long dead. Her staring eyes still showed traces of kohl; her teeth gleamed faintly through half-parted lips. He tried to judge her as he had judged the women whose compliance he had secured for coins, to weigh her breasts with his eyes and applaud or condemn the roundness of her belly; he discovered that he could not do so, that in the way he sought to see her she was beyond his sight, unreachable as the unborn, unreachable as his mother had been when he had once, as a boy, happened upon her

The girl standing before me wore a dress of pure white that made her seem about six feet tall. The dress was heavy enough it pulled her back straight, and she stood proudly, the train of the dress spread neatly behind her. Her lips were as red as roses, her eyes outlined in black kohl. Her dark hair had been bundled at the nape of her neck, braided and folded as required, a few curls springing loose to caress her pale shoulders, which were bare. That girl was one of the most powerful mages to ever live. And that girl was me.

It was a woman, naked and not long dead. Her staring eyes still showed traces of kohl; her teeth gleamed faintly through half-parted lips. He tried to judge her as he had judged the women whose compliance he had secured for coins, to weigh her breasts with his eyes and applaud or condemn the roundness of her belly; he discovered that he could not do so, that in the way he sought to see her she was beyond his sight, unreachable as the unborn, unreachable as his mother had been when he had once, as a boy, happened upon her bathing. Eata’s

I find it difficult to say whether the leadership's 'second echelon' could have preserved the German Democratic Republic. Helmut Kohl later told me he had never believed that Egon Krenz was capable of getting the situation under control. I do not know — we are all wiser after the event, as the saying goes. For my part, I must admit I briefly had a faint hope that the new leaders would be able to change the course of events by establishing a new type of relations between the two German states — based on radical domestic reforms in East Germany.

The July sun blazed in the middle of the sky and the atmosphere was gay and carefree, while in the windless air not a leaf stirred in the poplars and willows lining the banks of the river. In the distance ahead, the conspicuous bulk of Mont-Valérien loomed, rearing the ramparts of its fortifications in the glare of the sun. On the right, the gentle slopes of Louveciennes, following the curve of the river, formed a semi-circle within which could be glimpsed, through the dense and shady greenery of their spacious lawns, the white-painted walls of weekend retreats. On the land adjoining La Grenouillère strollers were sauntering under the gigantic trees which help to make this part of the island one of the most delightful parks imaginable. Busty women with peroxided hair and nipped-in waists could be seen, made up to the nines with blood red lips and black-kohled eyes. Tightly laced into their garish dresses they trailed in all their vulgar glory over the fresh green grass. They were accompanied by men whose fashion-plate accessories, light gloves, patent-leather boots, canes as slender as threads and absurd monocles made them look like complete idiots.

Majnun had said to his Layla. Light the dimness with your glow once the full moon dips and shine in the sun’s stead whilst lazy dawn tarries Your radiance outdoes the brightest sun there be: it can never thieve your smile, steal your pearly mouth The resplendent night, your countenance! tho’ the full moon rise a moon bereft of your breast, of this graceful throat I see Whence would the morning sun ever find a ready kohl-stick to etch for its pale face these languid eyes of yours? What starry siren can mime coy Layla when her form spirals away or her eyes, the winsome startled pools of the sands’ wild mare?

Feen”, erklärte er bereitwillig. “Das versteckte Volk. Die Wesen, die sich gemeinhin am Rande Ihres Gesichtsfelds verbergen und Schabernack mit dieser Welt treiben. Ihre bloße Anwesenheit reicht meistens aus, unsere liebgewonnene Ordnung auf den Kopf zu stellen, denn sehen Sie, unsere Welt ist so voller Beschränkungen! Sie können von einer Fee genauso wenig erwarten, dass sie sich in dieser Welt ausdrückt, wie Sie Monet bitten könnten, mit Kohle und Schmierpapier einen Lilienteich zu malen. Sie prägen sich unserer Wirklichkeit auf wie die Füße eines Wasserläufers, und Kreise wachsen auf ihrem Weg über den Teich, aber Sie erhaschen nie einen Blick auf das Wesen, das sie hinterlässt. Das heißt, bis heute, lieber Freund.

Victoria Pappas stood half in and half out of the light, the shading across her body exactly that of the photograph on page 8 of Lingerie Parisienne. Desdemona (costume lady, stage manager, and director all in one) had pinned up Victoria’s hair, letting ringlets fall over her forehead and warning her to keep her biggish nose in shadow. Perfumed, depilated, moist with emollients, wearing kohl around her eyes, Victoria let Lefty look upon her. She felt the heat of his gaze, heard his heavy breathing, heard him try to speak twice—small squeaks from a dry throat—and then she heard his feet coming toward her, and she turned, making the face Desdemona had taught her; but she was so distracted by the effort to pout her lips like the French lingerie model that she didn’t realize the footsteps weren’t approaching but retreating; and she turned to see that Lefty Stephanides, the only eligible bachelor in town, had taken off . . .

Nun riskierten wir, etwas aufs Maul zu bekommen von den zahlreichen Faschos in ihren Begrüßungsgeld-Bomberjacken und von besoffenen Helmut-Kohl-Fans mit den "Allianz für Deutschland"-Plastebeuteln. Viele von ihnen riefen im Sprechchor "Wie sind stolz, Deutsche zu sein". Wir fragten uns, worauf sie denn eigentlich stolz wären. Auf die Alpen oder den Thüringer Wald? Die hatten die Natur geschaffen. Auf Goethe oder Schiller? Ja haben die Schreihälse an deren Werken etwa mitgeschrieben? Daß sie in einem deutschen Land geboren wurden, war doch purer Zufall, dafür hatten sie doch überhaupt nichts getan. Eigentlich kann man doch nur auf etwas stolz sein, das man selber geschaffen hat. Ich zum Beispiel war auf meine Depeche-Mode-Postersammlung stolz, denn dafür hatte ich echt geschuftet. Auf unsere erste Parole-Emil-Kassette war ich auch mächtig stolz, denn die hatten wir ganz alleine gebastelt. Auf Deutschland wollte ich nicht stolz sein. Das war mir viel zu abstrakt.

She sent Amelie to inform Maydrop that she donned an evening dress made of a heavy, supple olive green silk that gleamed under candlelight. It fell from the bodice, but rather than belling out, the silk was cut on the bias and hugged every curve of her body. The bodice was gathered under her breasts and trimmed with dark copper lace that glimmered with shiny black beads. and widened into short sleeves. Her hair was pulled straight back from her forehead without even a wisp floating at her ears, and she waved away the ruby necklace Amelie offered. She wanted no distraction from her face. She did, however, slide a sparkling ruby onto her right hand, a present she had given to herself when Ryburn Weavers made its first thousand guineas in profit. How better to remember that milestone than to wear a sizable percentage it on one's finger? Finally, Amelie drew out a small brush and skillfully applied a few strategic dabs of face paint. The last thing Theo wanted was to try to look conventionally feminine, but she'd discovered that a thin line of kohl made her eyes look deep and mysterious.

A major source of conflict is that men sometimes infer sexual interest on the part of a woman when it does not exist. A series of experiments has documented this phenomenon (Abbey, 1982; Lindgren, George, & Shoda, 2007). In one study, 98 male and 102 female college students viewed a 10-minute videotape of a conversation in which a female student visits a male professor’s office to ask for more time to complete a term paper. The actors in the film were a female drama student and a professor in the theater department. Neither the student nor the professor acted flirtatious or overtly sexual, although both were instructed to behave in a friendly manner. People who witnessed the tape then rated the likely intentions of the woman using a seven-point scale. Women watching the interaction were more likely to say that she was trying to be friendly, with an average rating of 6.45, and not sexy (2.00) or seductive (1.89). Men, also perceiving friendliness (6.09), were significantly more likely than women to infer seductive (3.38) and sexual intentions (3.84). A speed-dating laboratory procedure had men rate women’s sexual interest in them a er a brief interaction and compared those ratings to women’s self-reported sexual interest in each of the men (Perilloux et al., 2012). Again, men exhibited a sexual misperception bias, perceiving women as significantly more interested in them than women actually were. Men high in self-perceived attractiveness and female-evaluated mate value are especially vulnerable to the sexual over-perception bias (Kohl & Robertson, 2014; Perilloux et al., 2012). And men who pursue a short-term mating strategy are also more prone to the sexual over-perception bias (Perilloux et al., 2012), likely because this bias facilitates more frequent attempts to initiate sexual overtures.

But the woman who attended him looked like Ariel of Firi—it was the look he thought he preferred—with dusky skin and full lips, round hips and heavy breasts. Her thick, black hair was arranged in fat ropes down her back, and he found himself wishing it was unbound, the curls untamed. When she looked up at him, her eyes carefully lined in kohl and heavy-lidded with pretended ardor, he felt nothing but self-loathing. He immediately sent her away.

Five major brands in the United States are supplied by Classic Fashion – Hanes, Kohl’s, Macy’s, Target and Walmart.

If you want to find a child's weakness, failures, personal problems, or inadequacies, you'll discover them. If you look at a child through the filter of her or his environment or economic status, and make judgments through the filters of your own cultural, gender, and racial biases, you'll find the characteristics you expect.

The woman raked her gaze up his body as if checking out livestock. As she reached his face, her kohl-rimmed brown eyes lit with a challenge. “I am the one you know as Hamid Nabil Hassan. The most wanted man in the world.

Tyche's beauty is interestingly kinetic; it comes and goes and comes back again. Or maybe it's more that you observe it in the first second of seeing her and then she makes you shelve that exquisite first expression for a while so she can get on with things. Then in some moment when she's not talking or when she suddenly turns her head it hits you all over again. There's a four-star constellation on her wrist that isn't always there either. When it is, its appearance goes through various degrees of permanence, from drawn on the kohl to full tattoo.

The woman raked her gaze up his body as if checking out livestock. As she reached his face, her kohl-rimmed brown eyes lit with a challenge. “I am the one you know as Hamid Nabil Hassan. The most wanted man in the world.

night has enveloped, to give me some relief now invisible are walls of separation, and thy grief where blood quenches the thirst disloyalty is faith last and first is the religion my beloved belongs to I beckoned, red and black robed lady with a wand let me take her by the hand heard of her about sorcery her powers useless, and witch now about to succumb from just a gaze of eyes filled with Kohl of Leila my nights worthless, body breathless every moment, feeling restless be silent and hear, hear me, my cries don't forget the promise you swore I have lost my childhood over you don't know, how these years left me alone sufferings, separation, theft me alone I never knew how pain excrutiates sometimes, i enlivened you my dear Love is a blessing, and not a fear in a melancholy cloudy day, I mourn glistening eyes, weeping sky, and heart torn I gaze from a window in Kashmir For a moment, condoling the tragedy, sighing In sombre time, lifeless, as if dying

Ja! Ich weiß, woher ich stamme! Ungesättigt gleich der Flamme Glühe und verzehr' ich mich. Licht wird alles, was ich fasse, Kohle alles, was ich lasse: Flamme bin ich sicherlich.

It interests me that there is no end of fictions, and facts made over in the forms of fictions. Because we class them under so many different rubrics, and media, and means of delivery, we don't recognize the sheer proliferation and seamlessness of them. I think at some level of scale or perspective, the police drama in which a criminal is shot, the hospital in which the doctors massage a heart back to life, the news video in which jihadists behead a hostage, and the human-interest story of a child who gets his fondest wish (a tourist trip somewhere) become the same sorts of drama. They are representations of strong experience, which, as they multiply, began to dedifferentiate in our uptake of them, despite our names and categories and distinctions... I say I watch the news to "know". But I don't really know anything. Certainly I can't do anything. I know that there is a war in Iraq, but I knew that already. I know that there are fires and car accidents in my state and in my country, but that, too, I knew already. With each particular piece of footage, I know nothing more than I did before. I feel something, or I don't feel something. One way I am likely to feel is virtuous and "responsible" for knowing more of these things that I can do nothing about. Surely this feeling is wrong, even contemptible. I am not sure anymore what I feel. What is it like to watch a human being's beheading? The first showing of the video is bad. The second, fifth, tenth, hundredth are—like one's own experiences—retained, recountable, real, and yet dreamlike. Some describe the repetition as "numbing". "Numbing" is very imprecise. I think the feeling, finally, is of something like envelopment and even satisfaction at having endured the worst without quite caring or being tormented. It is the paradoxically calm satisfaction of having been enveloped in a weak or placid "real" that another person endured as the worst experience imaginable, in his personal frenzy, fear, and desperation, which we view from the outside as the simple occurrence of a death... I see: Severed heads. The Extra Value Meal. Kohl-gray eyelids. A holiday sale at Kohl's. Red seeping between the fingers of the gloved hand that presses the wound. "Doctor, can you save him?" "We'll do our best." The dining room of the newly renovated house, done in red. Often a bold color is best. The kids are grateful for their playroom. The bad guy falls down, shot. The detectives get shot. The new Lexus is now available for lease. On CNN, with a downed helicopter in the background, a peaceful field of reeds waves in the foreground. One after another the reeds are bent, broken, by boot treads advancing with the camera. The cameraman, as savior, locates the surviving American airman. He shoots him dead. It was a terrorist video. They run it again. Scenes from ads: sales, roads, ordinary calm shopping, daily life. Tarpaulined bodies in the street. The blue of the sky advertises the new car's color. Whatever you could suffer will have been recorded in the suffering of someone else. Red Lobster holds a shrimp festival. Clorox gets out blood. Advil stops pain fast. Some of us are going to need something stronger.

Kohl.

The protect-against-evil-eye mark was similar to the dots that Parsis drew on their children’s head and feet, and the thick kohl eyeliner that adorned young Hindu children.

Helmut Kohl has paid for an eyeliner, coal and black.

WC is defect met huurtoeslag van honderd Euro.

Kohl took the plane, after Hamburg left my suitcase.

Her face was unguarded. Grief transformed her and for a moment, the Mother Dhina I knew sank away. I saw a woman with ruined beauty, kohl-dark eyes ringed with dryness. I saw a woman who had placed her faith in an era that had not treated her any differently, that had taken her children and left her with the double-edged sword of a long life.

For the millionth time in forty-five minutes, I sneak a peek in Justin Kohl’s direction, and he’s so beautiful

Dylan Caruso, the one in all black with silvery-white hair and black roots, rings and tattoos all over his hands, seductive hooded eyes covered in kohl, and a killer smile, flicks a lighter on and off. Alistair King sits next to him in his black netted outfit covered in thick jewelry, his curly, light-brown hair softly swishing in the wind, and a devilish smirk on his pale face as he looks down at the girls. But worst of all is Felix Rivera … a brown-haired guy with a face so sharply cut and intense sanpaku hazel eyes so deeply sunken in that it does honor to his society’s name.

From the neck up, I was regal: my face was adorned with cosmetics- rouge on my lips, a smearing of gold dust on my eyelids, kohl lining my eyes- and my hair was coiled around a small golden diadem imbedded with lapis lazuli. But from the neck down, I was a heathen god's play-thing. They had continued the pattern of the tattoo on my arm, and once the blue-black paint had dried, they placed on me a gauzy white dress. If you could call it a dress. It was little more than two long shafts of gossamer, just wide enough to cover my breasts, pinned at each shoulder with gold brooches. The sections flowed down to a jewelled belt slung low across my hips, where they joined into a single piece of fabric that hung between my legs and to the floor. It barely covered me, and from the cold air on my skin, I knew that most of my backside was left exposed.

Stories of a woman in a red-and-gold bridal lehenga, hitching rides. When Arnav had first heard the tale, he’d felt sorry for that bride, picturing her—kohl and lipstick smudged, her eyes wild.

In the domestic political arena, West Germany saw ongoing change at the highest level during this period, with government coalitions swinging from the center-right to the center-left and back. The 1970s were the “social democratic” decade of West German history. A coalition of Willy Brandt’s Social Democratic Party of Germany (Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands, or SPD) and the Liberal Democrats of the Free Democratic Party (Freie Demokratische Partei, or FDP) had taken over the government in 1969 after two decades of rule by the Christian Democratic Union (Christlich-Demokratische Union, or CDU), the last three years of which had been in a grand coalition. They stayed in power until the CDU’s successful vote of no confidence against Brandt’s successor, Helmut Schmidt, in 1982. What followed was a 16-year period of conservative-liberal government under Helmut Kohl, who promised nothing less than a “spiritual and moral turnaround” (geistig-moralische Wende), thus signaling a clean break with the reign of the most left-wing government of West German history to that date.

Cardan is wearing his usual scowl, accessorized with kohl under his eyes and a circlet of gold in his midnight hair. He has on a long black coat with a high, jagged collar, the whole thing stitched with a pattern of constellations

i want to sit with the teenage version of my mother. ask about her dreams. become her pleated braid. the black kohl caressing her eyelids. the flour neatly packed into her fingertips. a page in her schoolbooks. even to be a single thread of her cotton dress would be the greatest gift. - to witness a miracle

Dylan Caruso, the one in all black with silvery-white hair and black roots, rings and tattoos all over his hands, seductive hooded eyes covered in kohl, and a killer smile, flicks a lighter on and off. Alistair King sits next to him in his black netted outfit covered in thick jewelry, his curly, light-brown hair softly swishing in the wind, and a devilish smirk on his pale face as he looks down at the girls.

I spotted dark kohl around her eyes and there was a splash of red on her wide mouth. She looked rakish, glamorous, and completely and utterly dashing.

Keera approached the jury railing but did not touch it, giving the jurors deference and respect. She wanted the jurors to know she considered them the most important people in the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you for your patience. The State put on its witnesses and hopes the testimony, and the documents admitted, will convince you my client, Jenna Bernstein, killed Sirus Kohl beyond any reasonable doubt. Beyond any reasonable doubt is the highest standard of proof the State must meet in a criminal trial. It means no other logical explanation can be derived from the facts, thereby overcoming a defendant’s very strong presumption of innocence. It does not mean no doubt exists, but it does require the State’s evidence be so conclusive that you do not have a reasonable doubt.

If I tell you that my days are numbered Would you caress me still? Would you delve into my kohl lined eyes? And beyond that, into my soul And find me beautiful?...Still?

Au XVIe siècle, la Russie moscovite fait connaissance avec la vodka. Inventée par les Arabes au IXe siècle (al- kohl), l’eau-de-vie pénètre en Europe occidentale au XIIIe siècle et, jusqu’au XVIe, n’est utilisée que comme médicament ; elle se vend d’ailleurs dans les pharmacies. À la fin du XIVe siècle, les Génois l’apportent enussie méridionale puis, à compter de la première moitié du XVIe siècle, elle se répand dans tout le nord-est.

Deutsch ist die Sprache der Macher und des Machens. Das fängt bei der Geburt an (den ersten Schrei machen) und endet mit dem Tod (den Abgang machen). Dazwischen kann man das Frühstück machen und die Wäsche, einen Schritt nach vorn und zwei zurück; man kann Pause machen, Urlaub oder blau, eine Reise ins Ungewisse und plötzlich Halt; man kann eine gute Figur machen und trotzdem einen schlechten Eindruck; man kann den Anfang machen, seinen Abschluss machen, Karriere machen; man kann drei Kreuze machen, Handstand oder Männchen; man kann die Nacht durchmachen, ein Opfer kalt machen, Mäuse, Kies und Kohle und sich ins Hemd machen; man kann andere zur Schnecke machen und sich selbst zum Affen; man kann sogar Unsinn machen - aber Sinn?

Kennst Du das Land, wo die Kanonen blühn? Du kennst es nicht? Du wirst es kennenlernen! Dort stehn die Prokuristen stolz und kühn in den Büros, als wären es Kasernen. Dort wachsen unterm Schlips Gefreitenknöpfe. Und unsichtbare Helme trägt man dort. Gesichter hat man dort, doch keine Köpfe. Und wer zu Bett geht, pflanzt sich auch schon fort! Wenn dort ein Vorgesetzter etwas will - und es ist sein Beruf etwas zu wollen - steht der Verstand erst stramm und zweitens still. Die Augen rechts! Und mit dem Rückgrat rollen! Die Kinder kommen dort mit kleinen Sporen und mit gezognem Scheitel auf die Welt. Dort wird man nicht als Zivilist geboren. Dort wird befördert, wer die Schnauze hält. Kennst Du das Land? Es könnte glücklich sein. Es könnte glücklich sein und glücklich machen? Dort gibt es Äcker, Kohle, Stahl und Stein und Fleiß und Kraft und andre schöne Sachen. Selbst Geist und Güte gibt´s dort dann und wann! Und wahres Heldentum. Doch nicht bei vielen. Dort steckt ein Kind in jedem zweiten Mann. Das will mit Bleisoldaten spielen. Dort reift die Freiheit nicht. Dort bleibt sie grün. Was man auch baut - es werden stets Kasernen. Kennst Du das Land, wo die Kanonen blühn? Du kennst es nicht? Du wirst es kennenlernen!

in the pages of this book. You are God.  Everything that happens from cover to cover is of your creation.

How do you know that the Gods or lore and from every religion are not just writers in their own worlds that wrote about Earth as a means of escape?

I'll take the contract. He can have the team.

Hair so black it shone blue streamed to her knees, each strand straighter than a soldier’s back. Her age was impossible to gauge beneath the white powder which smoothed her face into a mask. Rouge slashed her cheeks, blood-red ink outlined her lips, and kohl shadowed her almond-shaped eyes. Sapphire powder glittered across her eyelids up to her eyebrows but her eyes were black pits that offered no reassurance.

#Ola Musings Her brow's penciled bow Eyes tinged with kohl wow A mere passing shadow of hers Causes dust dry bloom wow! By nCr

Kohl, which was used as eyeliner, was made from frankincense.

What haunts me most about her eyes is the pain I put in them... In the corner of my dark soul Her passion is dark like a kohl She is giving new meaning to these feelings She is complete she is whole.

Aedion, facing her in a fine tunic of deep green, was the first to notice. He let out a low whistle. “Well, if you didn’t already scare the living shit out of me, you’ve certainly done it now.” Rowan turned to her. He went completely and utterly still as he took in the dress. The black velvet hugged every curve and hollow before pooling at her feet, revealing each too-shallow breath as Rowan’s eyes grazed over her body. Down, then up—to the hair she’d swept back with golden bat-wing-shaped combs that rose above either side of her head like a primal headdress; to the face she’d kept mostly clean, save for a sweep of kohl along her upper eyelid and the deep red lips she’d painstakingly colored. With the burning weight of Rowan’s attention upon her, she turned to show them the back—the roaring golden dragon clawing up her body. She looked over her shoulder in time to see Rowan’s eyes again slide south, and linger. Slowly, his gaze lifted to hers. And she could have sworn that hunger—ravenous hunger—flickered there.

His eyes were lined in kohl, his mouth turned up in a lazy, closed-lipped smile.

Le sacaba a Felipe doce años y apenas tenían nada en común. Helmut Kohl había vivido la guerra de niño, había sido reclutado por la Wehrmacht a los quince años, en plena derrota, y se había casado con una mujer traumatizada a la que unos soldados soviéticos violaron cuando tenía doce. De aquel crimen, a Hannelore le quedaron las pesadillas y una vértebra rota que nunca se curó y que fue causa de dolores crónicos y varias enfermedades. Cuando conoció a Helmut, ella tenía quince años, y él, dieciocho. Desde entonces no se habían separado. Hannelore acompañó a Helmut en todos los pasos de una carrera política plácida y conservadora, que consistía en escalar cargos, no en discutir con exiliados ni fundar democracias. No podían ser más distintos, Felipe y él, y la amistad de aquel con Brandt los distanciaba aún más, pero las amistades aparecen, no se planean. Hasta entonces, la influencia internacional de Felipe, pese a ser intensa, no había salido de su campo ideológico. Era una voz importante en la Internacional Socialista, y durante un viaje por Colombia en 1977 un periodista bromeó, a cuenta de su popularidad allí: les recordamos que el señor González no se presenta a las elecciones colombianas. Desde 1982, sus pares extranjeros ya no eran sólo compañeros de partidos hermanos ni dictadores que no se aflojaban ni se afligían, sino los primeros ministros y cancilleres de los países de Europa, con quienes debía entenderse sin considerar las concordancias políticas.