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Skirt Quotes

Browse 7 quotes about Skirt.

Skirt Quotes

“Some women wear a miniskirt to reveal their thighs; some wear one to conceal their age.”

“Do you care?" I ask. "Do you care that I have no skirt?" "At the moment, Tori, no. It's in the airing cupboard. It's just a bit crinkled." "Yeah, I found it. It's supposed to be a pleated skirt, Mum. Currently, there are no pleats." "Tori. I'm really busy." "But I don't have a skirt to wear to school." "Wear your other skirt then, for Christ's sake!" "I literally just told you, it's too sma-" "Tori! I really don't care!" O stop talking. I look at her. I wonder if I'll end up like her. Not caring whether my daughter has a skirt to wear to school.”

“A girl stood before him in midstream, alone and still, gazing out to sea. She seemed like one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird. Her long slender bare legs were delicate as a crane's and pure save where an emerald trail of seaweed had fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh. Her thighs, fuller and soft-hued as ivory, were bared almost to the hips, where the white fringes of her drawers were like feathering of soft white down. Her slate-blue skirts were kilted boldly about her waist and dovetailed behind her. Her bosom was as a bird's, soft and slight, slight and soft as the breast of some dark-plumaged dove. But her long fair hair was girlish: and girlish, and touched with the wonder of mortal beauty, her face.”

“What a face this girl possessed!—could I not gaze at it every day I would need to recreate it through painting, sculpture, or fatherhood until a second such face is born. Her face, at once innocent and feral, soft and wild! Her mouth voluptuous. Eyes deep as oceans, her eyes as wide as planets. I likened her to the slender Psyché and judged that the perfection of her face ennobled everything unclean around her: the dusty hems of her bunched-up skirt, the worn straps of her nightshirt; the blackened soles of her tiny bare feet, the coal-stained balcony bricks upon which she sat, and that dusty wrought-ironwork that framed her perch. All this and the pungent air!—almost foul, with so many odors. Ô, that and the spicy night! …Pungency, spice, filth and night, dust and light; all things dark did blossom in sight; flower and bloom, the night has its pearl too—the moon! And once a month it will make the face of this tender girl bloom.”