A Quote by Virginia Woolf
He smiled the most exquisite smile, veiled by memory, tinged by dreams.
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There was a species of middle pretty who smiled at everything: happy smile, disappointed smile, you're-in-trouble smile.
I looked at myself in that window, oblivious to all the people around me and I stared and smiled that particular smile. You know that smile that seems to knock you and tell you how pathetic you are? That's the smile I was smiling.
I smiled. She smiled. I believed the smile.
He saw the girl watching him and he smiled at her. It was an old smile that he had been using for fifty years, ever since he first smiled.
It was the first smile of my life. Of course, that is a ridiculous thing to say; I had been smiled at often, the big man had smiled at me not a minute since. And yet I say: it was the first smile, because it was the first that ever went straight into me like a needle too thin to be seen.
The mammalian brain evolved exquisite place memory because that was essential for survival. This is why squirrels have such a good memory for where they buried their nuts.
What we perceive as the present is the vivid fringe of memory tinged with anticipation.
...and he smiled a lot. The smile did not mean that he was happy. It meant he was stronger than most people, and that he intended to take advantage of it.
A man must have his dreams - memory dreams of the past and eager dreams of the future. I never want to stop reaching for new goals.
I envy you your peace of mind, your clean conscience, your unpolluted memory. Little girl, a memory without blot of contamination must be an exquisite treasure-an inexhaustible source of pure refreshment: is it not?
Are we going to Portland?" I asked. "Or Multnomah Falls?" He smiled at me. "Go to sleep." I waited three seconds. "Are we there yet?" His smile widened, and the last of the usual tension melted from his face. For a smile like that, I'd...do anything.
What a sight there is in that "smile!" it changes like a chameleon. There is a vacant smile, a cold smile, a smile of hate, a satiric smile, an affected smile; but, above all, a smile of love.
All through autumn we hear a double voice: one says everything is ripe; the other says everything is dying. The paradox is exquisite. We feel what the Japanese call "aware"--an almost untranslatable word meaning something like "beauty tinged with sadness.
Edward smiled, I smiled, even Bernardo smiled. Olaf just looked sinister.
You lie like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth, Edward." He smiled. "I don't lie to you." "Really," I said. The smile became a grin. "Okay, not most of the time, anymore." His face sobered. "I'm not lying now.
Palermo was lovely. The most beautifully situated town in the world - it dreams away its life in the Conca d'Oro, the exquisite valley that lies between two seas. The lemon groves and the orange gardens were entirely perfect.
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