Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
I think that what we put on our skin and what we eat, you just cannot compromise. You cannot keep on putting things that are toxic and that are going to compromise your health on your skin. Your skin absorbs. It's the same as eating. Over 60 percent is absorbed directly into your blood stream. So to me paying that little bit extra is absolutely worth it. It's health insurance.
I went through a period when I was about 19 where I'd go tanning with my boyfriend in tanning beds. Yes, this was actually a thing we used to do together. They were not my friend. I had no idea what I was doing. We all went in the early 2000s. Needless to say, I don't go anymore. If I need a quick fix, I get a spray tan - though it's never a good idea for me with my fair skin.
I dodged behind Mac for cover and refused to take the bait. I glanced at my nonexistent watch. 'Oops, look at the time. Guess I have to be going now. Let's not do this again sometime, okay?' Before I could move, Pritkin was there, jamming the medallion into the skin of my upper arm.'Ow!'He looked at me expectantly. I glared at him. 'That hurt!' What do you see?' A big red mark.
I always use a really simple analogy: if you're putting organic food on your table because you care about eating well, shouldn't you be trying to do the same with what you're putting on your body? Our skin is our biggest organ. Everyday you are absorbing things through it. The way that a cream without the right ingredients can affect you, everything you put on your skin matters.
People can lose so much skin that it has a huge effect on the body and when they scar they are affected for life. I've worked in this area and have for years tried to improve spray on skin cells, but this is just one part of the jigsaw towards making it better. We needed to get it on quicker then we can reduce the scarring. That's my motivation, my drive towards making it better.
Whether you're acting or you're writing, your skin is just basically ripped off and you're putting yourself out there. At least the acting part comes with a bit more social interaction. And you're a bit less isolated because you are working with the director and the crew, and there's a general camaraderie. Writing, you're totally isolated. You're just trying to get the words on paper.
Adoption was something that was always under my skin, that I knew would be a part of my life, and, when I decided to start filing, it was very clear. It was like I knew that this was exactly what it needed to be. So then you go through the process, and it's tough. It's not the easiest process - and then again, I've never liked things too easy in life. But it emotionally knocks you out.
For me it is essential to understand that everyone is alone. Not in the sense of loneliness, but rather in the sense that no one can completely understand someone else. I know very well what Diane Arbus means when she says that one cannot crawl into someone else's skin, but there is always an urge to do so anyway. I want to awaken definite sympathies for the person I have photographed.
Aging gracefully is one thing, but trying to slow it down is another. Sometimes I use Botox. Compared to most, I use it very sparingly. One time I did too much, though. I feel weird if I can't move my face, and that one time I overdid it, I felt trapped in my own skin. I don't have a problem with any of that stuff; if it makes you feel better about yourself and it's done properly, then fine.
He had relieved whores beyond counting of frocks, stays, chemises, garters, and stockings. He had never before in his life unbuttoned a gently bred maiden's glove. He'd committed salacious acts beyond number. He'd never before felt so depraved as he did now, as the last pearl came free and he drew the soft kid down, baring her wrist, and his dark fingers grazed the delicate skin he'd exposed.
When someone writes something hateful and threatening I respond with something like, "I want to be so much like you; I want to wear your skin." By messing with them in that way you change what they're selling. They won't share it. And it halts the conversation. Or I'll change it to "Jenny, you're like a rose bush that grew a watermelon." They come back pissed off and write, "I didn't say that!"
There is a loneliness that can be rocked. Arms crossed, knees drawn up, holding, holding on, this motion, unlike a ship's, smooths and contains the rocker. It's an inside kind--wrapped tight like skin. Then there is the loneliness that roams. No rocking can hold it down. It is alive. On its own. A dry and spreading thing that makes the sound of one's own feet going seem to come from a far-off place.
I've been doing this new ritual where the first thing I do in the morning is put a tablespoon of coconut oil in my mouth and swish it around. Then I put Kora Organics Rosehip Oil all over my body, which is incredible for your skin, and have a freezing-cold shower, all while I'm swishing the coconut oil in my mouth. It's a way to get the circulation going and to make you feel reenergized and refreshed.
Françoise could not help taking a surreptitious glance at Xavière: she gave a start of amazement. Xavière was no longer watching, her head was lowered. Françoise barely suppressed a scream. The girl was pressing the lighted end against her skin, a bitter smile curling her lips. It was an intimate, solitary smile, like that of a half-wit; the voluptuous, tortured smile of a woman possessed of some secret pleasure.
Hooves clomping over the whitewashed planks, Doren sprinted along the boardwalk after Rondus, a portly satyr with butterscotch fur and horns that curved away from each other. Puffing hard, Rondus cut through a gazebo and started down the stairs to the field. Only a few steps behind, Doren went airborne and slammed into the heavyset satyr. Together they pitched violently forward into the grass, staining their skin green.
Dustfinger inspected his reddened fingers and felt the taut skin. ‘He might tell me how my story ends,’ he murmured. Meggie looked at him in astonishment. ‘You mean you don’t know?’ Dustfinger smiled. Meggie still didn’t particularly like his smile. It seemed to appear only to hide something else. ‘What’s so unusual about that, princess?’ he asked quietly. ‘Do you know how your story ends?’ Meggie had no answer for that.
He's brilliant. At first, I thought, 'Oh, is he going to be Hollywood stud-like?' But he's a really kind, wonderful person. He said to me one day early in the making of the movie, 'You know, I was kind of worried about you'. He thought I was going to be a perfect skin, which I am certainly not. It didn't take long for Leo to crack and see who I really am, and we became very close. but, I must say, he is absolutely gorgeous.
Toughness found fertile soil in the hearts of Palestinians, and the grains of resistance embedded themselves in their skin. Endurance evolved as a hallmark of refugee society. But the price they paid was the subduing of tender vulnerability. They learned to celebrate martyrdom. Only martyrdom offered freedom. Only in death were they at last invulnerable to Israel. Martyrdom became the ultimate defiance of Israeli occupation.
I was recently in Israel doing my work and casting for models in the streets of Haifa and Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, meeting young Israelis and Palestinians and Falasha, Ethiopian Jews who had migrated to Israel in the '70s. They're obsessed with Bob Marley. They're obsessed with Kanye West. They're obsessed with resistance culture, people who find that they're not necessarily comfortable in their own personal and national skin.
Let me tell you something, the end game, Paul, for Congress and this president - and I don't know how many members of Congress even realize the game that they are either being used in or a pawn in. But believe me, they'll take the universal health care coverage over what skin they do have in it. They're going to come out - this system is going to come out the other side dictorial [sic] - it is going to come out a fascist state.
Wonder is like grace, in that it's not a condition we grasp; it grasps us. Wonder is not an obligatory element in the search for truth. We can seek truth without wonder's assistance. But seek is all we'll do; there will be no finding. Unless wonder descends, unlocks us ... truth is unable to enter. Wonder may be the aura of truth, the halo of it. Or something even closer. Wonder may be the caress of truth, touching our very skin.
They began to tune up, and suddenly the auditorium was filled with a single sound - the most alive, three-dimensional thing I had ever heard. It made the hairs on my skin stand up, my breath catch in my throat....I felt the music like a physical thing; it didn't just sit in my ears, it flowed through me, around me, made my senses vibrate. It made my skin prickle and my palms dampen...It was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard.
T I was doing Predators, this new movie for FOX simultaneously, and this character that I play in the movie is "Walter Stands," and I had a plethora of ink all up and down my skin.Once you have ink on your body, how it informs you as an actor, and you kind of get in that space and occupy that space of that character, when you're without them, when I'm just Walton Goggins in the world and I'm without my tattoos, I feel a little naked.
You know, [skin] happens at the gravy boat stage - right? - or this happens when you're trying to keep it warm. So the way that I avoid this is I keep my gravy - the second it's done, I put it in a thermos, which will keep it hot and will prevent air from getting to the surface. And I keep it there till the last moment. The last thing that goes out to the table is the gravy, and I pour it out of the thermos and immediately move it in.
Once born into childlike faith, brimming with belief, typical people begin to lose their faith. Society mocks them. Their friends smirk. They come to change the world, but over time the world changes them. Soon they forget who they were; they forget the faith they once had. Then one day someone tells them the truth, but they don’t want to go back, because they’re comfortable in their new skin. Being a stranger in this world is never easy.
Do you know what happened the last time I loved someone?” Growled against my skin with such tempered violence that my shiver turned into a shudder. I nodded. “No you don’t.” Another lethal growl. “You only know how she died. Let me tell you how she lived— in fear. My actions horrified her, as they horrify you. My enemies exploited her, as they exploit you, so it was more than an advancing army that made her throw herself from our roof. It was me.
Everyone has his food, and his time of life is reckoned.Their tongues are separate in speech,And their natures as well;Their skins are distinguished,As thou distinguishest the foreign peoples.Thou makest a Nile in the underworld,Thou bringest forth as thou desirestTo maintain the peopleAccording as thou madest them for thyself,The lord of all of them, wearying with them,The lord of every land, rising for them,The Aton of the day, great of majesty.
I have a friend who swears by food combinations - have you heard of this nonsense? She's nuts. She's like, 'You know what? You should eat food combinations, and that way you can eat whatever you want. It's just the combinations of how you put the food together.' And then her examples are like, 'You wouldn't want to eat steak and potatoes together, but you could have, like, a lemon rind and raisin skins - not the whole raisin, take the skins and steam them.
Fiction, with its preference for what is small and might elsewhere seem irrelevant; its facility for smuggling us into another skin and allowing us to live a new life there; its painstaking devotion to what without it might go unnoticed and unseen; its respect for contingency, and the unlikely and odd; its willingness to expose itself to moments of low, almost animal being and make them nobly illuminating, can deliver truths we might not otherwise stumble on.
What social media has done - Facebook, Twitter - is show the audience. I don't have an audience. When I make my work, it just goes out into the ether. I have a thick skin and it just brings me down to earth, you know, to realize how out-there and far away and paltry the audience is that gets what I'm saying. It's depressing if I let it get to me. And it's the same with hanging a show, the way it's put up, like, three stories high and you can't read a single word.
She rested her head against his and felt, for the first time, what she would often feel with him: a self-affection. He made her like herself. With him, she was at ease; her skin felt as though it was her right size.. It seemed so natural, to talk to him about odd things. She had never done that before. The trust, so sudden and yet so complete, and the intimacy, frightened her.. But now she could think only of all the things she yet wanted to tell him, wanted to do with him.
I stopped in the full force of a patch of sunlight in the lobby window and let my skin soak up the energy. I hadn’t realized I needed it until it reached inside and stilled me in a way that only David’s touch had been able to achieve. “Why does that feel so good?” I asked. “And don’t tell me it’s because we’ve been shut in a room for days.” “Like calls to like,” he said. “You’re made of fire now.” “So I’m going to feel like this every time I pass an open flame? Great. Firegasm.
I tell young actresses today who are looking to get into films, "First of all, you are marginalized by the color of your skin." I tell actresses, "If you're too tall, if you're too fat, you're not going to work. I don't care how talented you are." It's a business, and sex sells. Sex, action, special effects, and violence sell. Yes, you can have art films about the triumph of the human spirit and all of that, but you'll have it done with a big-budget icon with a $20 million salary.
When you feel perpetually unmotivated, you start questioning your existence in an unhealthy way; everything becomes a pseudo intellectual question you have no interest in responding whatsoever. This whole process becomes your very skin and it does not merely affect you; it actually defines you. So, you see yourself as a shadowy figure unworthy of developing interest, unworthy of wondering about the world - profoundly unworthy in every sense and deeply absent in your very presence.
If there's a message to pass to people, I'd say that it's normal to be different from others, it's good to differ from one another, and we'd better look at ourselves first before we start criticising someone who looks, acts, speaks different or has a different skin colour. I'd like to continue, even at a minimal level, what John Lennon had started. If I could do as much as a bit of what he did, if I could contribute to the elimination of hatred among us, that would be a great deal.
Exposures, if they are mild, in the sense of barely just a small concentration, it's mostly an irritant, particularly the peroxides, that in that smoke would irritate the skin or even irritate the lungs. So, for the most time, it could be either just a little bit of a nuisance irritant, or if you get a really big whiff of it, particularly people who have, for example, reversible airways disease, like asthma or different types of hypersensitivity diseases, you could get a serious problem.
Alek was right behind her now, his body pressing close as he adjusted her sword arm. She hadn't realized this fencing business would be so touchy. He grasped her waist, sending a crackle across her skin. If Alek moved his hands any higher, he might notice what was hidden beneath her careful tailoring. “Always keep sideways to your opponent,” he said, gently turning her. “That way, your chest presents the smallest possible target.” “Aye, the smallest possible target,” Deryn sighed. Her secret was safe, it seemed.
Physically it's kind of lassitude, the apathy and tiredness that precedes the flu or some other illness, or death. My legs ache and feel heavy, my skin has become more sensitive to cold and to heat, to the hardness or rigidity of things. Nothing interests me, I feel uncomfortable being still but would feel even more uncomfortable if I moved. I don't know whether speaking is painful or just boring. I sit here, staring straight ahead, with no desires, no needs, hollow. I'm not even sad. I feel only passivity and indifference.
There's one uneasy borderline between what is external and what is internal, and this borderline is defined exactly by the sense organs and the skin and the introduction of external things within my own body. Consciousness is altered by physical events and physical objects, which impinge upon my sense organs, or which I introduce into my body. Now the name traditionally given to external objects or processes which change you internally is sacrament. Sacraments are the visible and tangible techniques for bringing you close to your own divinity.
I try to get my subconscious to puke out as much stuff as I can because I'm really not judging myself while making music. If I crave a frequency in the mid, I'll just drag in a sound and try to mold it into what feels right. It happens very quickly. And if I've been making a piece of music for five hours and it sucks, I'll just throw it away. There has to be an entry point to learn about myself, or an idea I've never tried, because then I can try on a new skin and see the world through a different perspective. If I have that spark, then I'll save the file.
Of course you can more easily recognise the outsiders because they have a different skin color. But let us take for instance the relationship between the White Anglo-Saxon Protestant majority in America and the negroes. What is important here is that the negroes were the descendants from slaves and were excluded from power, while the white majority kept them at bay, kept them down, kept them where they are. If the negroes in the future became assimilated and acquired equal power access, if there were a black president, then many of these things would change.
I wrote this [Most Kings] before MJ died, and his death only proves my point: When he was alive, the King of Pop, people were tireless in taking him down, accepting as truth every accusation people made against him, assuming the worst until they drove him away. When he died, suddenly he was beloved again - people realized that the charges against him might really have been bogus, and that the skin lightening was really caused by a disease, and that his weirdness was part of his artistry. But when he was alive and on top, they couldn't wait to bring him down.
What would've happened, do you think, had the government not intervened in October 2008? The catastrophe to the economy would've been absolutely unbelievable. And yet classical economists say, "Oh, well, no, it would've adjusted perfectly happily, a few weeks of pain and then everything would've gone on as before, without a banking system left." And that's what makes it so maddening, that these bankers are back saying it was all the government's fault. The government saved their skins. It didn't want to, but it needed to save their skins in order to save the rest of us.
