A Quote by Becca Fitzpatrick

I forced a smile. It was the one I'd been practicing all morning. It felt tight at the edges and brittle everywhere in between. — © Becca Fitzpatrick
I forced a smile. It was the one I'd been practicing all morning. It felt tight at the edges and brittle everywhere in between.
It's easy to smile just to make other people feel better. But when a person fakes happy, it has edges. Regular people may not see, but the people who count, they can see the edges and the lines where your smile ends and the real you, the sadness (me) or the anger (Grandma) begins.
He was sitting not far away, watching me, and I surprised a smile on his face, the first real smile I had ever seen him give, a smile that curved and softened the tight mouth, and warmed the ice-cool eyes; a smile that brought the blood to my face and made my heart turn over.
This false distance is present everywhere: in spy films, in Godard, in modern advertising, which uses it continually as a cultural allusion. It is not really clear in the end whether this 'cool' smile is the smile of humour or that of commercial complicity. This is also the case with pop, and its smile ultimately encapsulates all its ambiguity: it is not the smile of critical distance, but the smile of collusion
At the 2018 Hero World Challenge, I felt brittle. I felt like a gust of wind could push me over if I wasn't careful.
The band is tight enough. Quit practicing!
n the dark everyone felt the same: the edges blurred. When I think of myself then, what I was like two years ago, I feel like a wound in a bad place, prone to be bumped on corners or edges. Never able to heal.
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.
I am convinced that a good building must be capable of absorbing the traces of human life and taking on a specific richness... I think of the patina of age on materials, of innumerable small scratches on surfaces, of varnish that has grown dull and brittle, and of edges polished by use.
Gently, I ran my hand across his chest, exploring it. My breath felt tight in my throat. He was so beautiful. His muscles were toned, defined, his skin warm and smooth. Stroking my palm up over the line of his collarbone, I felt the firmness of his shoulder, the strength of his bicep. I traced my fingers over the black AK, following the lines of the letters. Alex hardly moved as I touched him, his eyes never leaving me. Finally I sighed and dropped my hand. I tried to smile. "I've sort of been wanting to do that ever since that first night in the motel room," I admitted.
You flirt with everything." She could tell that her eyes were popping-- her eyeballs actually felt cold around the edges. "You flirt with old people and babies and everybody in between.
I don't care if you're talking about gay, straight, black, white, how in the name of hell can you guarantee that nobody will ever feel unwelcome? I have felt it unwelcome everywhere I've been in life. Everybody else has, too. I mean, not everywhere, but it happens.
I actually no longer use 'art' as the framing device. I think I'm just kind of practicing things, practicing life, practicing creation.
There is a mortifying experience in particular, which does not fail to wreak itself also in the general history; I mean "the foolish face of praise," the forced smile which we put on in company where we do not feel at ease, in answer to conversation which does not interest us. The muscles, not spontaneously moved but moved, by a low usurping wilfulness, grow tight about the outline of the face, with the most disagreeable sensation.
Smiles are everywhere, and smiles can spread. You can smile to someone, and they'll smile to another person, and it goes on and on and on.
A lover makes you smile like children smile. That smile that was only meant for you. The half smile. The big shiny smile full of teeth and white enamel and pink gums. The smile that fades in the distance as I drive away in a taxi again.
I was talking to Marylanders... What we were hearing, everywhere, was an overwhelming sense of frustration. People felt a huge disconnect between Annapolis and the rest of Maryland.
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