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Noses Quotes

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Noses Quotes

“Tomorrow at seven o'clock a strange phenomenon will occur: the earth is going to sit on the moon. This has also been written about by the noted English chemist Wellington. I confess, I felt troubled at heart when I pictured to myself the extraordinary delicacy and fragility of the moon. For the moon is usually made in Hamburg, and made quite poorly. I'm surprised England doesn't pay attention to this. It's made by a lame cooper, and one can see that the fool understands nothing about the moon. He used tarred rope and a quantity of cheap olive oil, and that's why there's a terrible stench all over the earth, so that you have to hold your nose. And that's why the moon itself is such a delicate sphere that people can't live on it, and now only noses live there. And for the same reason, we can't see our own noses, for they're all in the moon.”

“I mean it,' he said. 'I love your nose.' Love. He'd said it. Though only for her nose ... Her eyes grew larger, wider behind her eyeglasses. She looked afraid, yet full of hope. She was dying to believe him about something she couldn't see in herself. 'I don't like my nose,' she said. 'You're so hard on yourself. I think your nose is the best nose I've ever met.' She gave a little snort. 'You see? The best nose. Honestly. You aren't supposed to notice a woman's nose.' 'Why not?' 'It's supposed to blend in, be part of the overall beauty of her well-proportioned face.' 'Yours is part of your overall beauty.' She made a face at him, complete with tongue stuck out.”

“As the four young women proceeded to a hallway leading toward the morning room, they encountered Lord St. Vincent, who was strolling in the opposite direction. Elegant and dazzling in his formal clothes, he paused and regarded Evie with a caressing smile. “You appear to be escaping from something,” he remarked. “We are,” Evie told her husband. St. Vincent slid his arm around Evie’s waist and asked in a conspiratorial whisper, “Where are you going?” Evie thought for a moment. “Somewhere to powder Daisy’s nose.” The viscount gave Daisy a dubious glance. “It takes all four of you? But it’s such a little nose.” “We’ll only be a few minutes, my lord,” Evie said. “Will you make excuses for us?” St. Vincent laughed gently. “I have an endless supply, my love,” he assured her.”

“Clothes, when abstracted from the flow of present time and their transmogrifying function on the human body, and seen as forms in themselves, are strange tubes and excrescences worthy of being classed with such facial decorations as the ring through the nose or the lip-stretching disk. But how enchanting they become when seen togetherwith the qualities they bestow on their wearer! What happens then is no less than the infusion, into some tangled lines on a piece of paper, of the meaning of a great word.”

“But the thing that stands eternally in the way of really good writing is always one: the virtual impossibility of lifting to the imagination those things which lie under the direct scrutiny of the senses, close to the nose. It is this difficulty that sets a value upon all works of art and makes them a necessity. The senses witnessing what is immediately before them in detail see a finality which they cling to in despair, not knowing which way to turn. Thus this so-called natural or scientific array becomes fixed, the walking devil of modern life.”

“Before you go alter body, do some research and find out how many women have major life-threatening complications from nose jobs. Ask about how many nose jobs gone terribly wrong, and if you thought your face was wrong before, look what happens after. The more we start augmenting our bodies, the more and more we start to look alike, then nobody is special anymore.”