A Quote by Luke Goss

I have a bony face - I feel like my skin's been stretched over my skull. — © Luke Goss
I have a bony face - I feel like my skin's been stretched over my skull.
In literature and in art, alike, this gloomy fashion of regarding Death has been characteristic of Christianity. Death has been painted as a skeleton grasping a scythe, a grinning skull, a threatening figure with terrible face and uplifted dart, a bony scarecrow shaking an hourglass - all that could alarm and repel has been gathered round this rightly-named King of Terrors.
I'm not good looking. I'm very strange - a very bony face on an enormous skull, and I don't like to be naked because I don't like how I look naked. And - no, no. I own a lot of my house, because I'm Irish and from people who never owned anything. So I could have a lot more trappings of wealth if every time I had 20 extra dollars I didn't pay off more of the mortgage.
I hadn't done a photo cover in a while, and I decided to do a take on the 'Pin Ups' cover, but do it in skull face and have the girl in skull face. People seem to dig it.
I am old, Gandalf. I don't look it, but I am beginning to feel it in my heart of hearts. Well-preserved indeed! Why, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread. That can't be right. I need a change, or something.
The skin of everyday appearances stretched over such shamelessness, such consuming explosions of lust.
He pressed a kiss to my ear. “Do you feel stretched? Can you tell I’ve been inside you?” I nodded, feeling my knees go a little weak from the tone in his voice. “Good. I like knowing you can feel where I’ve been.
Switzerland is simply a large, lumpy, solid rock with a thin skin of grass stretched over it.
and the smile I'd been waiting for stretched across his face like the sun breaking free of the clouds.
I don't know (and I guess I never will while I'm alive) just how thick my old skull is, but I do know that it is pretty thick, or it would have been cracked many years ago, for I have been struck some terrible blows on my head with iron dray-pins, pokers, clubs, stone-coal, and bowlders, which would have split any man's skull wide open unless it was pretty thick. Doctors have often told me that my skull was nearly an inch in thickness over my forehead.
I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.
I'm very proud of my skin and my face, and I have no problem not wearing makeup. I don't wear makeup because I feel like I need to cover myself up or because I don't feel confident. I wear makeup because it's fun; it's like painting on my face.
I'm picky about skin care because I hate perfumes or anything that says 'It will take away all the lines on your face.' I don't want to do that. But I do use Kiehl's and this skin cream called Restorsea because it makes my skin look nice and feel soft.
A face isn't an organ, like a liver or a heart. A face is muscles, nerves, bones, and skin. A face is more like a hand or a foot.
The first thing I do when I get up in the morning is wash my face with Olay Regenerist Thermal Mini-Peel Face Wash. My skin is super-dry, and this one is great for basically any skin type. As you cleanse your face, the face wash gets warmer, so it's soothing and also has some exfoliation to it.
I have superdry skin, and it's really temperamental, and I feel like oils are the best thing for my face.
The intruder hesitated, turned, and anchored itself in the corner, where the ceiling met the wall. It sat there, fastened to the paneling by enormous yellow talons, still and silent like a gargoyle in full sunlight. I took a swig from the bottle and set it so I could still see the creatures reflection. Nude and hairless, it didn't carry a single ounce of fat on its lean frame. Its skin stretched so tight over the cords of muscle, it threatened to snap. Like a thin layer of wax melted over an anatomy model. Your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman.
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