Puffy Eyes From Crying Quotes

Lena's hair was sticking out in about fifteen directions, and her eyes were all small and puffy from crying. So this was what girls looked like in the morning. I had never seen one, not up close.

Do you think I'm a whore?” Harry pulled over to the side of the road and turned to me. “I think you're brilliant. I think you're tough. And I think the word whore is something ignorant people throw around when they have nothing else. … “Isn't it awfully convenient,” Harry added, “that when men make the rules, the one thing that's looked down on the most is the one thing that would bear them the greatest threat? Imagine if every single woman on the planet wanted something in exchange when she gave up her body. You'd all be ruling the place. An armed populace. Only men like me would stand a chance against you. And that's the last thing those assholes want, a world run by people like you and me.” I laughed, my eyes still puffy and tired from crying. “So am I a whore or not?” “Who knows?” he said. “We're all whores, really, in some way or another. At least in Hollywood.” … “But I like you this way. I like you impure and scrappy and formidable. I like the Evelyn Hugo who sees the world for what it is and then goes out there and wrestles what she wants out of it. So, you know, put whatever label you want on it, just don't change. That would be the real tragedy.

Her eyes were puffy from crying , but she managed to say "he was the bravest friend I've ever had. He..." Then she saw me. Her face went blood red. "He's right there!

He smiled down at the baby, and kissed him on the head. "I give you my blessing, Leo. First male great-grandchild! I have a feeling you are special, like Hazel was. You are more than a regular baby, eh? You will carry on for me. You will see her someday. Tell her hello for me." "Bisabuelo," Ezperanza said, a little more insistently. "yes, yes." Sammy chuckled. "El viejo loco rambles on. I am tired, Ezperanza. You are right. But I'll rest soon. It's been a good life. Raise him well, nieta." The scene faded. Leo was standing on the deck of the Argo II, holding Hazel's hand. The sun had gone down, and the ship was lit only by bronze lanterns. Hazel's eyes were puffy from crying. What they'd seen was too much. The whole ocean heaved under them, and now for the first time Leo felt as if they were totally adrift. "Hello, Hazel Levesque," he said, his voice gravelly.

What is depression? Its like a tornado, theres nothing you can do but sit and wait, and finally when the storm is over ... you are left with the destruction. The scars on your body, the puffy eyes from crying, the exhaustion from fighting a losing battle. It's consuming.

Her hands moved to his chest, stroking over his shoulders. “So I’ve made my big, dramatic scene. Isn’t this the part where you kiss me, Lieutenant?” “I can’t kiss you right now.” “Why not?” His chest rose and fell with a shudder underneath her hands. “I’m looking at you sitting there all puffy-eyed from crying over me. If I kiss you right now, I’ll never stop.” Her heart pounded a wild beat. “Just one little kiss?” Derek groaned. “God, this is how it’s going to be with you, isn’t it? When I can’t make love to you properly, you’ll beg me for it? I think you’re trying to kill me.

Imagine if every single woman on the planet wanted something in exchange when she gave up her body. You’d all be ruling the place. An armed populace. Only men like me would stand a chance against you. And that’s the last thing those assholes want, a world run by people like you and me.” I laughed, my eyes still puffy and tired from crying.

In the mirror, my eyes looked red and puffy from crying. That was as expected. But I was surprised to notice that I looked older than I should be. I didn't expect to be dressed up for work. I looked down at my shoes and feet, and they didn't look like mine. Alarmed, I splashed my face with cold water and looked again. The reflection didn't show who I thought I was. As I washed my hands, they didn't look like mine either. They looked too big. I was wearing rings. It was all very startling and confusing. I felt a little panicky and didn't want to think about it too hard. Disoriented, I banged into the doorway on my way out of the restroom and thought, Why is this door so small? Why am I taking up so much space in this hall? Whose hands are those? Whose eyes and face was I seeing? My thoughts began to race and I started having trouble catching my breath. Then I felt the fuzziness in my head, followed by calmness, and finally numbness.

I just look at her. I can't believe I'm allowed to do this. I can just stare at her face without it being creepy. I want to memorize every single inch of this Abby - the shine of her cheekbones and the brightness of her eyes. There are tears in her lashes, and her lips are sort of puffy. I don't know how this girl can go from laughing to crying to kissing and back, and still come out of it looking like an actual moonbeam.

Roebuck and Chapman stand behind a seated woman wearing a hospital gown and the bulky steel apparatus on her head. She is pale and crying. The front of her gown is dark with a brownish vomit stain. The skin around her eyes is similarly dark as well as puffy. The eyes themselves appear haunted. Behind her, the men grin. Roebuck pops a champagne bottle and pours Chapman a splash in a Dixie cup. He leans to pour a little for the woman, which stays untouched on the table in front of her. He takes his own swig directly from the bottle. Gloria Flick walks on-screen holding up a sign on which she scrawled WE DID IT! The seated woman stops crying. Eyes glassy and deranged, she looks directly into the camera lens while the researchers go on celebrating. Her face shines with madness as it stretches into a broad, lunatic grin.

I’m still in the big Jacuzzi tub when the power flickers--once, twice--and then goes out, leaving me in total darkness, chin deep in lukewarm water. I don’t know why, but it all hits me then--Nan’s surgery tomorrow, shooting that moccasin, this stupid, never-ending storm. I start to cry, deep, gulping sobs. I know it seems childish, but I want my daddy. What if things get worse? What if the house starts to flood? Or the roof blows off? As much as I hate to admit it, I’m scared. Really scared. A knock on the bathroom door startles me. “Jemma? You okay in there?” “I’m fine,” I call out, my voice thick. My cheeks burn with shame at being caught crying in the dark like a two-year-old. “Do you want a candle or something? Maybe a hurricane lamp?” “No, I’m…” I start to say “fine” again, but a ragged sob tears from my throat instead. “It’s going to be okay, Jem. We’ll get through this.” I sink lower into the water, wanting to disappear completely. Why can’t he just go away and let me have my little meltdown in private? Why, after all these years of being a jerk, does he have to suddenly be so nice? “I got both dogs dried off,” he continues conversationally, as if I’m not in here crying my eyes out. “They’re in the kitchen eating their supper. I think Beau’s pretty worked up.” I continue to bawl like a baby. I know he can hear me, that he’s right outside the door, listening. Still, it takes me a good five minutes to get it all out of my system. Once the tears have slowed, I reach for my washcloth and lay it across my eyes, hoping it’ll reduce the puffiness. A minute or two later, I drag it away and wring it out before laying it over the edge of the tub. It’s still dark inside the bathroom, though I can see a flicker of light coming from beneath the door. Ryder must have a flashlight, or maybe one of the battery-operated lanterns I scattered around the house, just in case. I wonder how long he’s going to stand three, waiting for me. The lights flick off, and I think maybe he’s finally left me in peace. But then I hear a muffled thump, and I know he’s still out there, probably sitting with his back against the door. “Hey, Jem?” he says. “You saved my life, you know--out there by the barn. Most people couldn’t have made that shot.” I squeeze my eyes shut, but tears leak through anyway. I hadn’t wanted to kill that stupid snake, but if it had bitten Ryder and we hadn’t been able to make it to the hospital in time… I let the thought trail off, not wanting to examine it further. “Thank you,” he says softly. “I owe you one.

The Enchanted Broccoli Forest. Oh, what a pleasure that was! Mollie Katzen's handwritten and illustrated recipes that recalled some glorious time in upstate New York when a girl with an appetite could work at a funky vegetarian restaurant and jot down some tasty favorites between shifts. That one had the Pumpkin Tureen soup that Margo had made so many times when she first got the book. She loved the cheesy onion soup served from a pumpkin with a hot dash of horseradish and rye croutons. And the Cardamom Coffee Cake, full of butter, real vanilla, and rich brown sugar, said to be a favorite at the restaurant, where Margo loved to imagine the patrons picking up extras to take back to their green, grassy, shady farmhouses dotted along winding country roads. Linda's Kitchen by Linda McCartney, Paul's first wife, the vegetarian cookbook that had initially spurred her yearlong attempt at vegetarianism (with cheese and eggs, thank you very much) right after college. Margo used to have to drag Calvin into such phases and had finally lured him in by saying that surely anything Paul would eat was good enough for them. Because of Linda's Kitchen, Margo had dived into the world of textured vegetable protein instead of meat, and tons of soups, including a very good watercress, which she never would have tried without Linda's inspiration. It had also inspired her to get a gorgeous, long marble-topped island for prep work. Sometimes she only cooked for the aesthetic pleasure of the gleaming marble topped with rustic pottery containing bright fresh veggies, chopped to perfection. Then Bistro Cooking by Patricia Wells caught her eye, and she took it down. Some pages were stuck together from previous cooking nights, but the one she turned to, the most splattered of all, was the one for Onion Soup au Gratin, the recipe that had taught her the importance of cheese quality. No mozzarella or broken string cheeses with- maybe- a little lacy Swiss thrown on. And definitely none of the "fat-free" cheese that she'd tried in order to give Calvin a rich dish without the cholesterol. No, for this to be great, you needed a good, aged, nutty Gruyère from what you couldn't help but imagine as the green grassy Alps of Switzerland, where the cows grazed lazily under a cheerful children's-book blue sky with puffy white clouds. Good Gruyère was blocked into rind-covered rounds and aged in caves before being shipped fresh to the USA with a whisper of fairy-tale clouds still lingering over it. There was a cheese shop downtown that sold the best she'd ever had. She'd tried it one afternoon when she was avoiding returning home. A spunky girl in a visor and an apron had perked up as she walked by the counter, saying, "Cheese can change your life!" The charm of her youthful innocence would have been enough to be cheered by, but the sample she handed out really did it. The taste was beyond delicious. It was good alone, but it cried out for ham or turkey or a rich beefy broth with deep caramelized onions for soup.

I’ve got to get home. Where’s my cell?” I ask, patting my back pocket. “Alex has it, I think.” So sneaking out without talking to him isn’t an option. I struggle to keep the Oompa Loompas at bay as I stagger out of the bedroom, searching for Alex. It’s not hard to find him, the house is smaller than Sierra’s pool house. Alex is lying on an old sofa, wearing jeans. Nothing else. His eyes are open, but they’re bloodshot and glazed with sleep. “Hey,” he says warmly while stretching. Oh, God. I’m in big trouble. Because I’m staring. I can’t keep my eyes from ogling his chiseled triceps and biceps and every other “eps” he has. The butterflies in my stomach have just multiplied tenfold as my wandering gaze meets his. “Hey.” I swallow, hard. “I, um, guess I should thank you for taking me here instead of leaving me passed out on the beach.” His gaze doesn’t falter. “Last night I realized somethin’. You and I, we’re not so different. You play the game just like I do. You use your looks, your bod, and your brains to make sure you’re always in control.” “I’m hungover, Alex. I can’t even think straight and you’re getting all philosophical on me.” “See, you’re playin’ a game right now. Be real with me, mamacita. I dare you.” Is he kidding? Be real? I can’t. Because then I’ll start crying, and maybe freak out enough to blurt the truth--that I create a perfect image so I can hide behind it. “I better get home.” “Before you do that, you should probably go to the bathroom,” he says. Before I ask why, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall. “Oh, shit!” I shriek. Black mascara is caked under my eyes and streaky lines of it are running down my cheeks. I resemble a corpse. Hurrying past him, I find the hall bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. My hair is a stringy bird’s nest. If the mascara marrying my cheeks wasn’t bad enough, the rest of me is as pale as my aunt Dolores without her makeup. I have puffy bags under my eyes as if I’m storing water for the winter months. All in all, not a pretty sight. By anyone’s standards.

Joshua…” I spun around and had her in my arms in a heartbeat. “Kristen, oh God, thank you,” I breathed, kissing the side of her neck. It was like a reprieve from a prison sentence, seeing her. I was stuck here for two days, two days that I wouldn’t be able to get to her, and she’d come to me. But she didn’t hug me back. She put her hands to my chest and tried to make space between us. “Josh, I just came to talk to you, okay?” I didn’t take my hands from her waist. Her face was puffy, like she’d been up all night crying. Deep circles under her eyes. I leaned in to kiss her and she turned from me. “I need you to stand over there.” She nodded to the kitchen counter. “Please.” If she left, I wouldn’t be able to go after her. I was on shift and couldn’t leave the station. I didn’t want to let her go, but I didn’t want her to run off again, so I stepped back. She wore leggings and one of her off-the-shoulder shirts that I loved, and even though she looked tired, she was the most beautiful woman I’d even seen. And she loves me. I didn’t even know what I did to deserve her, but I knew I’d do anything to make up for the way I’d made her feel. She took a deep breath. “I’m having a partial hysterectomy the week after the wedding,” she said flatly. “I have uterine fibroids. They’re tumors that grow on the walls of my uterus. Mine are imbedded. They can’t be surgically removed, and they didn’t respond to treatment. They cause heavy bleeding and cramping. And…and infertility.” She said the last word like she had to force it out. She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked away from me, tears welling in her beautiful eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It was embarrassing for me. And I don’t need you to say anything. I just needed you to know why. Because it was never my intention to make you feel unwanted.” Her chin quivered and my heart broke. “I did want you, Josh.” She looked back at me. “I always have. You didn’t imagine anything.” The admission that she’d wanted me made my heart reach for her. I took a step toward her, and she took a step back. I put my hands up. “Kristen, nothing has changed. My feelings for you haven’t changed. I want you, no matter what. I’m so sorry—I didn’t know. When I said—” She shook her head. “Josh, this isn’t open for discussion. I didn’t come here to tell you so you could decide whether you want to date me. That’s not even on the table. I just realized that for the last few weeks, I made you feel unloved. And I’m really sorry. I thought you…well, I didn’t know you had feelings for me. I thought only I…Anyway, that’s my fault. I should have never let that happen.” I scoffed. “There was nothing you could have done to keep me from falling in love with you. Even if I’d known this from the very beginning, it wouldn’t have kept me away. You should have told me.” “No, I should have stayed away from you,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t.

Isn’t it awfully convenient,” Harry added, “that when men make the rules, the one thing that’s looked down on the most is the one thing that would bear them the greatest threat? Imagine if every single woman on the planet wanted something in exchange when she gave up her body. You’d all be ruling the place. An armed populace. Only men like me would stand a chance against you. And that’s the last thing those assholes want, a world run by people like you and me.” I laughed, my eyes still puffy and tired from crying. “So am I a whore or not?