My skin's not a normal sight. When a photographer says, 'I don't know what it is, but that's just not it...' I know. They like the different colours of my skin. They're not getting them with a particular outfit.
Just as bones, tissues, intestines, and blood vessels are enclosed in a skin that makes it possible to bear the sight of a human being, so the agitations and passions of the soul are wrapped up in vanity: it is the soul's skin.
My normal stuff is Dr. Perricone's hypoallergenic range. I have incredibly sensitive skin, so I struggled to find anything because my skin would react to so much stuff.
I call myself good crazy because I am a crazy normal. But who is normal really? Are you normal? Maybe you are, but I don't think a lot of us are normal. I think a lot of us are scared to say that we are a little crazy. I'm a little crazy that is just the way it is. I look in the mirror now and I like who is looking back at me. I am comfortable in my skin for the first time in my life. I have let a wall down.
Celebrities are often perceived as these perfect beings but I didn't feel like that and the more I shouted from the rooftops about my bad skin, the more people realised I'm just a normal girl with normal insecurities.
I see blindness more as an ability and sight more as a disability because there are some people with sight who tend to judge others by what they see on the outside but I don't see that. I don't see the skin color, the hair style or the clothing people wear; I only see that which is within a person.
If magic was present, it moved under the skin of the world, beneath the ability of human eyes to catch sight of it.
Normal! He thought. Normal! I don't want things to be normal. Normal is always being left out, never belonging.
Returning to South Carolina meant getting a normal job in a normal town with normal people and marrying a normal person. I wanted the glamour and opportunity of the world.
In between effect and cause and just beyond the range of normal sight, this glittering joker was dancing in the dragon's jaws.
I don't know how to have a normal relationship because I try to act normal and love from a normal place and live a normal life, but there is sort of an abnormal magnifying glass, like telescope lens, on everything that happens.
I was obsessed with my lips and used to think, 'They're not big enough!' Looking, back, I'm totally embarrassed. I'd lost sight of what a normal face looked like.
I get comments saying that I'm a leper, I control how my skin changes, I bleach my skin, my skin's burned. None of those are true.
I shouldn't say I'm looking forward to leading a normal life, because I don't know what normal is. This has been normal for me.
What we do for a living is not normal, and therefore, the process is not normal sometimes, and to expect it to be normal is to not understand what happens on set.
Would not the sight of a single enemy airplane be enough to induce a formidable panic? Normal life would be unable to continue under the constant threat of death and imminent destruction.