A Quote by Audrey Niffenegger

He looks sad. Or maybe that's just how he looks when he isn't doing something else with his face. — © Audrey Niffenegger
He looks sad. Or maybe that's just how he looks when he isn't doing something else with his face.
She looks sad. She looks angry. She looks different from everyone else I know—she cannot put on that happy face others wear when they know they are being watched. She doesn’t put on a face for me, which makes me trust her somehow.
Finnick?" I say, "Maybe some pants?" He looks down at his legs as if noticing his outfit for the first time. Then he whips off his hospital gown leaving him in just his underwear. "Why? Do you find this" -- he strikes a ridiculously provocative pose -- "distracting?" I laugh. Boggs looks embarrassed and Finnick looks more like the guy I met at the Quarter Quell
Just look at the back of Donald Trump's head, any angle. There's some angles that his chin is just, what do I mean? I mean he's sculpted out of some kind of pudding, I think. It looks like his face is sort of melting slowly. I should talk because my face is melting quickly. He's some kind of bizarre sculpture. There's no one really who looks like that.
He's not doing anything he shouldn't be doing, right?" "Like what?" "Like hitting on you." "Ew. No, of course not. He doesn't see me that way." Michael shook his head and went back to his coffee. "What? You think he does?" "Sometimes he looks at you a little... oddly, that's all. Maybe you're right. Maybe he just wants you for your blood." "Again, Ew! What's with you this morning?" "Not enough coffee.
Stand at the base and look up at 3,000 feet of blankness. It just looks like there's no way you can climb it. That's what you seek as a climber. You want to find something that looks absurd and figure out how to do it.
Have you noticed how nobody ever looks up? Nobody looks at chimneys, or trees against the sky, or the tops of buildings. Everybody just looks down at the pavement or their shoes. The whole world could pass them by and most people wouldn't notice.
There is a time in every man's life when he looks to his God, when he looks at his life, when he wonders how he will be remembered.
When you look at the... atmosphere on the limb of the Earth, I wouldn't say it looks unhealthy, but it definitely looks very, very fragile and just kind of like this thin film, so it looks like something that we definitely need to take care of.
Increasingly, the work I'm doing is in service to an idea rather than just to see what something looks like photographed. I'm trying to explore how I feel about something through photography.
Doing the long lines - it looks easy when actresses do it: they just say it straight up, looks like they do nothing wrong, they just keep going, but it's not like that.
We're 5-3, that's what we are. We're 5-3 with three games left. Maybe it doesn't feel like it, but we've got to face reality. We're 5-3, and 8-3 looks a lot better than 5-6 or 6-5. We can make something of our season.
Dysmorphia is when someone looks in the mirror, and sees something else. While I studied my own whatever I was, I decided that maybe everyone has at least a touch of dysmorphia; maybe it's impossible for anyone to ever truly know what they look like.
I think Eggs looks great, with his mucky face with dirt all over it and greasy hair. He's the ideal boy Boxtroll, really. It's quite difficult to capture a boy who's grown up as a Boxtroll. So, he looks good.
There are no bad pictures; that's just how your face looks sometimes.
Maybe it's just the morning light, but he looks pretty cool standing there with his sword.
When the father dies, he writes, the son becomes his own father and his own son. He looks at is son and sees himself in the face of the boy. He imagines what the boy sees when he looks at him and finds himself becoming his own father. Inexplicably, he is moved by this. It is not just the sight of the boy that moves him, not even the thought of standing inside his father, but what he sees in the boy of his own vanished past. It is a nostalgia for his own life that he feels, perhaps, a memory of his own boyhood as a son to his father.
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