A Quote by Hari Nef

I like to let my skin breathe, I don't like to stress it out. I don't like to put it through very much. — © Hari Nef
I like to let my skin breathe, I don't like to stress it out. I don't like to put it through very much.
What does it feel like to be infected?" "I-- I can't describe it." I force the words out. Can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe. His skin smells like smoke from a wood fire, like soap, like heaven. I imagine tasting his skin; I imagine biting his lips. "I want to know." His words are a whisper, barely audible. "I want to know with you.
I usually go make-up free when I'm not working. Because I work so much, during the free days that I have I like to let my skin breathe, but of course I'm girly so I like to put on some blush and some mascara.
I do not remember very many things from the inside out. I do not remember what it felt like to touch things, or how bathwater traveled over my skin. I did not like to be touched, but it was a strange dislike. I did not like to be touched because I craved it too much. I wanted to be held very tight so I would not break. Even now, when people lean down to touch me, or hug me, or put a hand on my shoulder, I hold my breath. I turn my face. I want to cry.
We did so much music together, before he got locked up, it's just, Gucci, he don't hold on to music. He like, Man, let's put this out, let's put that out, let's put this out. That's what he do. He like to put out a lot of music.
Your skin is your largest organ, and it wants to breathe. There are so many times, like Fashion Week, when you [need to] think about all the stuff your skin and body have absorbed through makeup and products and all this stuff.
Much like the removal of moles and skin lesions is done to prevent them from growing into more serious skin abnormalities, removing minor discord before it becomes a calamity is an important use of our time. Most people don’t like to make waves and they swallow frustration and bury true feelings, not wanting to compromise temporary tranquility, never realizing that massive turmoil doesn’t start out massive—it grows beneath the skin like a cancer that could have been avoided with early detection.
I try to convey what it feels like and sounds like and smells like and looks like inside of my particular skin, to move through the world as a black American woman in her mid-twenties.
It is important to me to take care of my skin. In general I don't like to wear foundation; I'm not a fan of the look. I like my skin fresh and natural enough so my freckles show through.
I really like Neutrogena for skin care and CoverGirl makeup. I can't stand heavy makeup. I feel like my skin can't breathe, and CoverGirl is really light.
I think, Trump ran a very nostalgic campaign. There's an idea of like, to put it bluntly: What if it was like before all our kids got strung out on drugs? You know, what if it was like that? Make America like that.
I want to work very hard on music, put out a lot of nice product - good quality product - and then just help people out, like a Gucci Mane, like a Future... like a Prince, like a Michael Jackson.
Once somebody's aware of a plot, it's like a bone sticking out. If it breaks through the skin, it's very ugly.
I was like, 'What is this?' Until I found out it was stress related. That's how I internalized it. I don't do that anymore. My favorite saying in the world is, 'The privilege of a lifetime is being who you are.' I am telling you, I have spent so much of my life not feeling comfortable in my skin. I am just so not there anymore.
To be honest, whenever I go to shoots, or I'm on set, it really makes makeup special and allows me to have so much more fun with it - I don't wear it on an everyday basis, because I like my skin to breathe.
I've worked on things before where you don't really have a say in what you wear. You go in and they're like, 'You're wearing this,' and you're like, 'I'm like not comfortable showing that much skin.'
The night breathed through the apartment like a dark animal. The ticking of a clock. The groan of a floorboard as he slipped out of his room. All was drowned by its silence. But Jacob loved the night. He felt it on his skin like a promise. Like a cloak woven from freedom and danger.
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