A Quote by Elizabeth Scott
Imagine a guy. He’s a little taller than you, with perfect skin, skin that just screams “touch me!” and dark hair and gorgeous blue eyes and he looks so sweet and he is sweet. And then have him blush a little.
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I have six brothers and sisters. We all look totally different: blonde hair, curly hair, green eyes, dark eyes, dark skin, light skin. It's just how it is.
Sweet baby Jesus, Blue Eyes was... He was gorgeous in all the ways that made girls do stupid things. He was tall, a good head or two taller than me and broad at the shoulders, but tapered at the waist. An athlete's body - like a swimmer's. Wavy black hair toppled over his forehead, brushing matching eyebrows. Broad cheekbones and wide, expressive lips completed the package created for girls to drool over. And with those sapphire-colored eyes, holy moley...
If I describe a person's physical appearance in my writing, which I often do, especially in fiction, I never say someone is "black" or "white." I may describe the color of their skin - black eyes, beige skin, blue eyes, dark skin, etc. But I'm not talking about race.
I always felt different and it was because I was Middle Eastern. Where most people were very fair, light-skinned, and had blue eyes, I was hairy with dark hair and dark skin.
You need to look hot now that you've got three guys giving you the eye."" Three?" "Sweet blue-eyed blond trapper... Muscled blond trapper number two, who buys you cards... And that gorgeous, 'Where have you been all my life' dude with the raven-black hair and dark eyes.
This morning, Tegus welcomed me again with an arm clasp and cheek touch. I wasn't startled this time, and I breathed in at his neck. How can I describe the scent of his skin? He smells something like cinnamon-- brown and dry and sweet and warm. Ancestors, is it wrong for me to imagine laying my head on his chest and closing my eyes and breathing in his smell?
When I was younger, I had terrible skin... my mother has terrible skin. Male-pattern hair loss is starting to come in... my dad is bald. It's so unfair; my brother's tall, has perfect skin, great hair, but I'm like the runt.
This skin, this hair, all this outside stuff. It isn't me. It's just my package. It's like the wrapper around the sweet; it isn't the sweet itself. What we really are is all inside the package. All our feelings. All our good moods and bad moods. All our ideas, our cleverness, our love, that's what a person really is. It's called a spirit.
When I was, like, 5 years old, I used to pray to have light skin because I would always hear how pretty that little light skin girl was, or I would hear I was pretty to be dark skin. It wasn't until I was 13 that I really learned to appreciate my skin color and know that I was beautiful.
My captivity with Dimitri. The way his mouth—so, so warm, despite his cold skin—had kissed mine. The feel of his fangs pressing into my neck and the sweet bliss that followed... He looked exactly the same too, with that chalky white pallor and red-ringed eyes that so conflicted with the soft, chin-length brown hair and otherwise gorgeous lines of his face. He even had a leather duster on.
They are gorgeous. They have beautiful blue eyes and lovely dark hair - that's the typical Irish.
For me I went to two different skin clinics, I went to the London Skin and Hair Clinic in Holborn first. They gave me quite a few peels over a few months and then put me on a prescribed antibiotic as my skin had got so bad.
If there are nine guys auditioning and they're all gorgeous, I have an advantage, because gorgeous guys are a dime a dozen. But if they need someone else - like a goofy guy with bad hair who is just okay - then that's me. And finally, the other 2 percent who audition are geniuses that I could never touch.
After applying foundation and a little blush, dust your face with translucent powder, then mist skin with a rosewater spray and lay a Kleenex over for a second. It makes your face seem flawless in a way that looks as if you aren't wearing any makeup.
A great fig should look like it's just about to burst its skin. When squeezed lightly it should give a little and not spring back. It must be almost unctuously sweet, soft and wet.
Have you seen these Japanese hospital droids, or humanoids, or whatever they call it? They've perfected the skin, and the skin looks so real. They have these motors between the eyes for when they smile. It's just mind-blowing.
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