Oval Face Shape Quotes

Everyone has always said I look like Bailey, but I don't. I have grey eyes to her green, an oval face to her heart-shaped one, I'm shorter, scrawnier, paler, flatter, plainer, tamer. All we shared is a madhouse of curls that I imprison in a ponytail while she let hers rave like madness around her head. I don't sing in my sleep or eat the petals off flowers or run into the rain instead of out of it. I'm the unplugged-in one, the side-kick sister, tucked into a corner of her shadow. Boys followed her everywhere; they filled the booths at the restaurant where she waitressed, herded around her at the river. One day, I saw a boy come up behind her and pull a strand of her long hair I understood this- I felt the same way. In photographs of us together, she is always looking at the camera, and I am always looking at her.

Her eyes were dark. Dark as chocolate, dark as coffee, dark as the polished wood of my father’s lute. They were set in a fair face, oval. Like a teardrop. Her easy smile could stop a man’s heart. Her lips were red. Not the garish painted red so many women believe makes them desirable. Her lips were always red, morning and night. As if minutes before you saw her, she had been eating sweet berries, or drinking heart’s blood. No matter where she stood, she was in the center of the room. Do not misunderstand. She was not loud, or vain. We stare at a fire because it flickers, because it glows. The light is what catches our eyes, but what makes a man lean close to a fire has nothing to do with its bright shape. What draws you to a fire is the warmth you feel when you come near. The same was true of Denna.

She had his dark hair, his lashes, and from the glimpse he had, she bore his eyes, as well. But the shape of her face, a perfect oval, was her mother’s. She had Anais’s cheeks. Anais’s lovely mouth and proud chin. He kissed her chin, feeling the softest of fluttering against his cheek—baby’s breath. There was nothing sweeter than the feel of an innocent child’s breath against one’s cheek—nothing more wondrous than knowing that the baby was your own flesh and blood. Mina stretched against him, yawning widely and throwing her arms up wide alongside her head. He laughed through his tears and reached for her little fist and brought it to his mouth, kissing her with such love he thought he would die of it. “You will consume me, little Mina, just as your mother has.” -Linsay to his infant daughter.

The Chinese food arrives. Delicious saliva fills his mouth. He really hasn’t had any since Texas. He loves this food that contains no disgusting proofs of slain animals, a bloody slab of cow haunch, a hen’s sinewy skeleton; these ghosts have been minced and destroyed and painlessly merged with the shapes of insensate vegetables, plump green bodies that invite his appetite’s innocent gusto. Candy. Heaped on a smoking breast of rice. Each is given such a tidy hot breast, and Margaret is in a special hurry to muddle hers with glazed chunks; all eat well. Their faces take color and strength from the oval plates of dark pork, sugar peas, chicken, stiff sweet sauce, shrimp, water chestnuts, who knows what else. Their talk grows hearty.

Women of the baby boomer generation faced these same constraints in all professions. There was no other blueprint to work from other than to show that a woman could do the job as it had always been done, by a man. Follow our model, be tough, prove yourself by the standards we set. You weren’t even supposed to look like a woman. Dress like a man’s version of a woman. Our eyes can handle that. Think of how Patti Smith, Joan Jett, and Pat Benatar, women pioneers in rock music, presented themselves to the world: leather, black blazers, denim. Our eyes accepted them as women tough enough to take on a role meant for a man. Woman with a guitar. Woman with a gavel. Woman with a podium. Woman with an oval-shaped office. Women with objects of power. It has taken time for our eyes to adjust to them.

For a handsome and not an unamiable-looking man, he repelled me exceedingly: there was no power in that smooth-skinned face of a full oval shape: no firmness in that aquiline nose and small cherry mouth; there was no thought on the low, even forehead; no command in that blank, brown eye.

Jessica stared at her son, seeing the oval shape of face so like her own. But the hair was the Duke’s—coal-colored and tousled. Long lashes concealed the lime-toned eyes. Jessica smiled, feeling her fears retreat. She was suddenly caught by the idea of genetic traces in her son’s features—her lines in eyes and facial outline, but sharp touches of the father peering through that outline like maturity emerging from childhood. She thought of the boy’s features as an exquisite distillation out of random patterns—endless queues of happenstance meeting at this nexus.

Lady Merritt Sterling was a vibrantly attractive woman with large, dark eyes, a wealth of lustrous sable hair, and a flawless porcelain complexion. Unlike her two sisters, she had inherited the shorter, stockier frame of the Marsden side instead of the slender build of her mother. Similarly, she had her father's square-shaped face and determined jaw instead of her mother's delicate oval one. However, Merritt possessed a charm so compelling that she eclipsed every other woman in the vicinity, no matter how beautiful. Merritt focused on whomever she was talking to with a wealth of sincere interest, as if she or he were the only person in the world. She asked questions and listened without ever seeming to wait for her turn to talk. She was the guest everyone invited when they needed to blend a group of disparate personalities, just as a roux would bind soap or sauce into velvety smoothness. It was no exaggeration to say that every man who met Merritt fell at least a little in love with her. When she had entered society, countless suitors had pursued her before she'd finally consented to marry Joshua Sterling, an American-born shipping magnate who had taken up residence in London.

Then I noticed it. Red and oval-shaped with a white oval in the center, like the giant eye of a jinni. It sizzled and hissed, the white part expanding, moving closer. It horrified me to my very core. Must get out of here! I thought. Now! It sees me! But I didn’t know how to move. Move with what? I had no body. The red was bitter venom. The white was like the sun’s worst heat. I started screaming and crying again. Then I was opening my eyes to a cup of water. Everyone’s face broke into a smile. “Oh, praise Ani,” the Ada said. I felt the pain and jumped, about to get up and run. I had to run. From that eye. I was so mixed up that for a moment, I was sure that what I’d just seen was causing the pain. “Don’t

Stockholm, May 1943 I am on a stake, thought eighteen-year-old Tatiana, waking up one cold summer morning. I cannot live like this anymore. She got up from the bed, washed, brushed her hair, collected her books and her few clothes, and then left the hotel room as clean as if she had not been in it for over two months. The white curtains blowing a breeze into the room were unrelenting. Inside herself was unrelenting. Over the desk there was an oval mirror. Before Tatiana tied up her hair she stared at her face. What stared back at her was a face she no longer recognized. Gone was the round baby shape; a gaunt oval remained over her drawn cheekbones and her high forehead and her squared jaw and her clenched lips. If she had dimples still, they did not show; it had been a long time since her mouth bared teeth or dimples. The scar on her cheek from the piece of the broken windshield had healed and was fading into a thin pink line. The freckles were fading too, but it was the eyes Tatiana recognized least of all. Her once twinkling green eyes set deep into the pale features looked as if they were the only ghastly crystal barriers between strangers and her soul. She couldn’t lift them to anyone. She could not lift them to herself. One look into the green sea, and it was clear what raged on behind the frail façade. Tatiana brushed her shoulder blade-length platinum hair. She didn’t hate her hair anymore. How could she, for Alexander had loved it so much. She would not think of it. She wanted to cut it all off, shear herself like a lamb before the slaughter, she wanted to cut her hair and take the whites out of her eyes and the teeth out of her mouth and tear the arteries out of her throat.

At last Angela turned in to the space between the pews. She picked her way around Solembum--who crouched next to the novitiate he had killed, every hair on his body standing on end--and then carefully made her way over the corpses of the three novitiates Eragon had slain. As she approached, the High Priest began to thrash like a hooked fish in an attempt to push itself farther up the pew. At the same time, the pressure on Eragon’s mind lessened, although not enough for him to risk moving. The herbalist stopped when she reached the High Priest, and the High Priest surprised Eragon by giving up its struggle and lying panting on the seat of the bench. For a minute, the hollow-eyed creature and the short, stern-faced woman glared at each other, an invisible battle of wills taking place between them. Then the High Priest flinched, and a smile appeared on Angela’s lips. She dropped her poniard and, from within her dress, drew forth a tiny dagger with a blade the color of a ruddy sunset. Leaning over the High Priest, she whispered, ever so faintly, “You ought to know my name, tongueless one. If you had, you never would have dared oppose us. Here, let me tell it to you… Her voice dropped even lower then, too low for Eragon to hear, but as she spoke, the High Priest blanched, and its puckered mouth opened, forming a round black oval, and an unearthly howl emanated from its throat, and the whole of the cathedral rang with the creature’s baying. “Oh, be quiet!” exclaimed the herbalist, and she buried her sunset-colored dagger in the center of the High Priest’s chest. The blade flashed white-hot and vanished with a sound like a far-off thunderclap. The area around the wound glowed like burning wood; then skin and flesh began to disintegrate into a fine, dark soot that poured into the High Priest’s chest. With a choked gargle, the creature’s howl ceased as abruptly as it had begun. The spell quickly devoured the rest of the High Priest, reducing its body to a pile of black powder, the shape of which matched the outline of the priest’s head and torso. “And good riddance,” said Angela with a firm nod.

She stood before him in a pale green dress, her hair unbound and tumbling down her back, her smile –the one he should have seen days ago –was enough to light up the darkest night. His mouth had suddenly become dry and paralyzed, as if he’d been born without the ability to speak. Or swallow. Or think any coherent thought. Graeme felt all at once foolish, immature and unworthy. He was about to turn and run away like a boy, when Josephine all but flung herself into his embrace, twining her slender arms around his waist and resting her head against his chest. “Graeme,”she said, a note of glee in her voice. “I’ve waited a very long time for you.” The sensation of feeling foolish, immature and unworthy fell away as he wrapped his own arms around her. Why did I resist this for all these years? She pushed away slightly to look up at him. He studied every inch of her lovely face. Josephine was quite beautiful, with her creamy skin and oval shaped face. Her green eyes reminded him at once of the summer grass that lined a French countryside. Dark lashes surrounded those eyes –eyes that were sparkling with joy and excitement as they looked into his. A pert, little nose and deliciously looking full, pink lips, which he was quite certain would feel as soft as a whisper against his own. He wondered then if anyone would object if he married her now. This very day. This very moment. “Ye’re beautiful,”he said. Those cream colored cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink when he gave her the compliment. “Jose—”he stopped himself. “Joie, I ken I am wholly unworthy of ye, but would ye do me the distinct honor of marryin’me?” Josephine had already agreed to such, more than four years ago. She had learned, however, through his letters, that it had been quite important to Graeme that he be able to marry a woman of his own choosing. Her heart felt close to bursting from her chest. He was choosing her of his own free will. A joy-filled smile curved on her face and she flung her arms around his neck. “Aye, Graeme MacAulay, I will marry you.

That morning, inside the cabin below, they’d found the body of Roger Tokely, fifty-eight, slouched forward in a straight-back chair, head bent, as if examining something on the floor between his feet. His beer belly prevented the body from falling forward to the floor. He faced a big-screen television mounted on the eastern wall in front of him. His arms hung on either side of his body, palms out. He wore baggy gray sweatpants and a yellow T-shirt. His feet were bare and swelled grotesquely, the thick toes looking like stubby purple Vienna sausages. There was a large pool of blood on the floor beneath Tokely’s chair. Cody guessed it was thirty inches across. The outside four inches of the pool was clear and the inside was dark and oval-shaped. Next to the pool on the right side of the body was a stainless-steel revolver.

Christopher walked back home with Albert padding calmly beside him. For some reason the dog seemed improved after meeting Beatrix Hathaway. As Christopher gave him a damning glance, Albert looked up at him with a toothy grin, his tongue lolling. “Idiot,” Christopher muttered, although he wasn’t certain if the word was directed at his dog or himself. He felt troubled and guilty. He knew he’d behaved like an ass to Beatrix Hathaway. She had tried to be friendly, and he had been cold and condescending. He hadn’t meant to be offensive. It was just that he was nearly mad with longing for Prudence, for the sweet, artless voice that had saved his sanity. Every word of every letter she’d sent him still resonated through his soul. “I’ve done a great deal of walking lately. I seem to think better outdoors…” And when Christopher had set out to find Albert, and found himself walking through the forest, a mad idea had taken hold of him…that she was nearby, and fate would bring them together that quickly, that simply. But instead of finding the woman he had dreamed of, craved, needed for so long, he had found Beatrix Hathaway. It wasn’t that he disliked her. Beatrix was an odd creature, but fairly engaging, and far more attractive than he had remembered. In fact, she had become a beauty in his absence, her gangly coltish shape now curved and graceful… Christopher shook his head impatiently, trying to redirect his thoughts. But the image of Beatrix Hathaway remained. A lovely oval face, a gently erotic mouth, and haunting blue eyes, a blue so rich and deep it seemed to contain hints of purple. And that silky dark hair, pinned up haphazardly, with teasing locks slipping free. Christ, it had been too long since he’d had a woman. He was randy as the devil, and lonely, and filled with equal measures of grief and anger. He had so many unfulfilled needs, and he didn’t begin to know how to address any of them. But finding Prudence seemed like a good start.

The Most Popular Diamond Cuts - Learn Before You Shop For A Diamond Earring You have finally made up your mind and decided to buy a diamond earring. You have a purpose and occasion in mind. What now? Do you randomly go diamond shopping and invest your hard-earned money in whatever you find there? No. Absolutely not. Mining about the details for the diamond you are seeking for your earring is the wisest of decisions. Whether it is about the best place to buy diamonds from or the cut of your earring, some research is a must! But, research? It takes the fun out of the shopping experience, doesn't it? No worries. Keep the fun with diamonds shopping and look at this list of most popular diamond cuts. Popular Diamond Cuts That You Must Know About A timeless accessory becomes even more precious if you find it exactly how you imagined it to be. The dreamy earrings are not just about having diamonds in them. The cut quality and the cut shape are essential features too! If you already know the best place to buy diamonds, your quality concern goes out of the window. You still have to choose the cut shape for your personal, exotic experience. Before choosing the cut, you need to keep your face in mind too. If the diamond cut doesn't flatter your face, take the next option. Essentially, you can choose from the four variants of the diamond cuts. Round Cut: Widely in demand and spectacularly sparkly, the round cut allows the maximum light to enter and dazzle the diamond. Primarily used in studs, these cuts are good for you if you have a thin face. Oval Cuts: The cut includes the oval-shaped and modified version of oval cuts as well. If you want the appearance of an elongated diamond with the shine as the round cut, consider this one. This cut comes with a variety of options for you. If you like it pointy at both ends, the marquise cut is the one for you. But, if you have your heart set on a sharp end and the other in the oval shape, you'd love the pear cut more. Besides, if you are a romantic, you have to choose the heart-shaped diamond cut for your earrings. Rectangular Cuts: You want a cut that is equally classic and elegant; the rectangular cuts are your options. It includes the Princess cut, the Emerald cut, the Asscher cut, the Cushion cut, and the Radiant cut. You can choose the best fit based on the rectangular appearance and brilliance of your outlook. Triangular Cuts: Are you a fan of pointed edges and equal sides in your jewelry? You will be thrilled to have a triangular cut diamond in your accessory bag. All you have to look out for is the protection the edges have in the earring. Remember: Be on the lookout for the 4Cs you need in your earrings. The carat or the weight and the cut define the shape and size of your precious. The color and the clarity will take care of the hue and brilliance you will get. The pleasing appearance of the earrings is a reflection of the diamond cutting and polishing process. The more precisely and skillfully a diamond-cut polish is taken care of, the more beauty it will exude. If you want a breezy diamond shopping experience, what's better than having it from the best place to shop diamonds from? The quality and the cut are going to make you the talk of the town after this! Your choice for the most suitable diamond cut will make your earring the most prized possession. It will not only bring beauty to your appearance but also complement it.

I once read that the important factor in discerning the human face was not the combination of features, but the oval shape. Life itself, while it continues, can be that same oval, or after death, the thread of life running through the tale of what has been. The meek contents of her apartment, feeling themselves to be redundant, immediately began to lose their human qualities and, in doing so, ceased to remember or to mean anything.

1 an oval or round object laid by a female bird, reptile, fish, or invertebrate, usually containing a developing embryo. The eggs of birds are enclosed in a chalky shell, while those of reptiles are in a leathery membrane. an infertile bird's egg, especially one from a chicken, used for food. a thing resembling a bird's egg in shape: chocolate eggs. 2 [BIOLOGY] the female reproductive cell in animals and plants; an ovum. 3 [ARCHITECTURE] a decorative oval moulding, used alternately with triangular shapes: [as modifier] egg and dart moulding. 4 [with adj.] INFORMAL, DATED a person of a specified kind: the biography portrays him as a thoroughly bad egg. don't put all your eggs in one basket PROVERB don't risk everything on the success of one venture. go suck an egg [as imperative] NORTH AMERICAN INFORMAL used as an expression of anger or scorn. kill the goose that lays the golden eggs destroy a reliable and valuable source of income. [ with allusion to one of Aesop's fables.] lay an egg NORTH AMERICAN INFORMAL be completely unsuccessful. with egg on one's face INFORMAL appearing foolish or ridiculous: don't underestimate this team, or you'll be left with egg on your face. eggless adj. Middle English (superseding earlier ey, from Old English g): from Old Norse. egg2

It wasn't that he disliked her. Beatrix was an odd creature, but fairly engaging, and far more attractive than he had remembered. In fact, she had become a beauty in his absence, her gangly coltish shape now curved and graceful... Christopher shook his head impatiently, trying to redirect his thoughts. But the image of Beatrix Hathaway remained. A lovely oval face, a gently erotic mouth, and haunting blue eyes, a blue so rich and deep it seemed to contain hints of purple. And that silky dark hair, pinned up haphazardly, with teasing locks slipping free.

Dendera's so-called Light Bulbs rather portray two buds sprouting against each other while enclosing the geometry of the Great Pyramid. In this vivid relief, the snakes (from the passed night) of the 4th and 5th hours in the Duat exit the shafts at sunrise and sunset towards the pyramid's virtual apex. The settings of sunrise and sunset can be seen on the left and right buds respectively; on the left is a priest of Afu-Ra supporting the bud in the same direction of Afu-Ra's path while being on top of the seed whence it germinates, and on the right is the djed pillar (without Afu-Ra's priest) representing the support of the pyramid's structure itself. Both supports, however, do unequivocally depict the sacred location of the whole scenery being in the House of Ka which is (or part of) the House of Osiris (with his throne on top of the pyramid). The oval shape of the so-called bulbs is yet another indication of the relevancy of the process of regeneration (which takes place in the womb of the pyramid) to the Duat itself; birth takes place at sunrise and gets cycled back at sunset. Another evidence is found in a papyrus where the rising Osiris-Res is in the same pyramidal posture. And according to Budge (who quotes Bergmann), the djed pillar was also called 'The House of Sekher', which I cannot help but interpret as Seker. The elements on the left side are carried on top of a barque signaling Afu-Ra's slanted journey in the southern shaft, whereas the right bud is sprouting on top of a horizontal floor showing probably the King's Chamber horizontal displacement from the center of the pyramid. Another relief shows one single bud combining both of the other buds together in one single scene; the scene of the sunrise. This relief is found right across the hall on the opposite wall. It depicts Afu-Ra's travel from the northern shaft by placing the djed pillar on the boat and in front of the priest. Another subtle difference is seen on the djed pillar's ka in which it touches the snake instead of the oval womb. It hence emphasizes the events surmounting the 5th hour (instead of the 4th). The ka is plucking the snake-like scepter to enact the scene of the 6th hour when the souls rise on their scepters and get provided with knives. And surely enough, an odd creature stands right in front of the bud with two knives in his hands. The presence of giants on these reliefs -who carry these buds- prove my assertion that the whole scene is taking place on a huge structure (i.e. pyramid), and the presence of two priests at the center facing each other (instead of giving their backs to one another) is a vivid representation of the Equinoxes; the time when the snakes creep into and out from the shafts.