A Quote by Marie Dressler

I contend that every woman has the right to feel beautiful, no matter how scrambled her features, or how indifferent her features. — © Marie Dressler
I contend that every woman has the right to feel beautiful, no matter how scrambled her features, or how indifferent her features.
A woman's sex appeal is an inner matter. It stems from her mental make-up, basically. It's an attitude, not just a question of her physical features - that arrogant quality in a woman's femininity. Otherwise, all beautiful women would have sex appeal, which is not so.
I learned from her that every woman is worried about her looks, no matter how beautiful she is.
Let’s not ask Barbara Walters about how Muslim women feel. Let’s not ask Tom Brokaw how Muslim women feel. Let’s not ask CNN, ABC, FOX, The London Times, or the Australia Times. Let’s not ask non-Muslims how Muslim women feel, how they live, what are their principles, and what are their challenges. If you want to be fair, ask a Muslim woman. Ask my wife. Ask my mother. Ask a Muslim woman who knows her religion, who has a relationship with her Creator, who is stable in her society, understands her responsibilities. Ask her.
Brooke Shields has always been famous for her fabulously bold brows. They are perfect for her classic bone structure and beautiful features.
No matter how beautiful you are you, if you don't know how to handle yourself, it will just show... You don't have to have perfect features... It's really just your disposition.
In 'Fable 1,' the number of features was more important to me than what the features did. And as a games designer I've come to realize that it's not the number of features you have, it's the way that those features interact.
The 'feminine' woman is forever static and childlike. She is like the ballerina in an old-fashioned music box, her unchanging features tiny and girlish, her voice tinkly, her body stuck on a pin, rotating in a spiral that will never grow.
He took her in his arms right away. "I'm so sorry," he murmured in her ear. He rocked her, saying it over and over. But no matter how many times he said it, no matter how much she knew he meant it, the words stirred around in her ear but didn't get into her brain. Sometimes he could comfort her. Sometimes he said what she needed, but today he couldn't reach her. Nothing could.
Women's stories are as powerful, inspiring, and terrifying as the goddess herself. And in fact, these are the stories of the goddess. As women, we know her because we are her. Each woman, no matter how powerless she might feel, is a cell within her vast form, an embodiment of her essence, and each woman's story is a chapter in the biography of the sacred feminine.
A teenage girl lay asleep on the sofa, curled up under a red-and-black knitted afghan. She was on her side, with one slender arm cradling a throw cushion nestled under her head. Long wavy blond hair spread across her back and her shoulders like a cape. Even though she was sleeping, Alex could see how pretty she was, with her delicate, almost elfin features. He stood in the doorway, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest.
What I love about Sade other than her smooth and sultry voice is her willingness to be vulnerable. As a powerful, strong and beautiful woman of color, she showed her delicate, passionate side in a world where most of us are putting on a brave face. I love how effortless her style was and how consistent that red lip was!
God, she was beautiful - my first image of the Orient - a woman such as only the desert poet knew how to praise: her face was the sun, her hair the protecting shadow, her eyes fountains of cool water, her body the most slender of palm-trees and her smile a mirage.
She had perfect features, with her eye, nose, lips, and ears the right size and in right places. That is all it takes to make people beautiful, normal body parts – yet why does nature mess it up so many times?
I suffer from depression and anxiety, and having a show and having a character that portrays a young woman who is dealing with that and the consequences of it - how it affects her friendships and her relationships with her mom and her sister - it's beautiful to see that.
Abra DeMadrigal didn't look young enough to be my sister anymore. Her sorrow weighed her down and aged her. She was still beautiful, but she looked very far away. No wonder our people had raven eyes, so distant, so sad. No matter how wise she was, my mother looked like a woman who hadn't truely believed how much evil there was in our world. Not until this moment.
I always keep a woman's body in mind, accentuating her best features.
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