Browsing Topic Best Foreheads Quotes

I don’t know (and I guess I never will while I’m alive) just how thick my old skull is, but I do know that it is pretty thick, or it would have been cracked many years ago, for I have been struck some terrible blows on my head with iron dray-pins, pokers, clubs, stone-coal, and bowlders, which would have split any man’s skull wide open unless it was pretty thick. Doctors have often told me that my skull was nearly an inch in thickness over my forehead.

Love Came…. and became like blood in my body. It rushed through my veins and encircled my Heart. Everywhere I looked, I saw One Thing…. Love’s Name written on my limbs, on my left palm, on my forehead, on the back of my neck, on my right big toe… Oh, my friend, all that you see of me is just a shell, and the rest belongs to Love.

I’ll repeat something you might consider tattooing on your forehead: What we fear doing most is usually what we most need to do.

Luxury, that alluring pest with fair forehead, which, yielding always to the will of the body, throws a deadening influence over the senses, and weakens the limbs more than the drugs of Circe’s cup.

But still, I’d be darned if I was going to be one of those Americans who stomp around Italy barking commands in ever-louder English. I was going to be one of those Americans who traversed Italy with my forehead knit in concentration, divining wordsw from their Latin roots and answering by wedging French cognates into Italian pronunciations spliced onto a standard Spanish verb conjugation.

With drooping shoulders The majority sit hunched, their foreheads furrowed like Stony ground that has been repeatedly ploughed-up to no purpose.

The strangest thing is at tea breaks, or coffee breaks or lunch, you forget you’re a zombie. And you’re talking about politics to somebody at the table and you forget that you have a bullet hole in your forehead.

You love your work. God help you, you love it! And thats the curse. That’s the brand on your forehead for all of them to see. You love it and they know it, and they know they have you. Do you ever look at the people in the street? Aren’t you afraid of them? I am. They move past you and they wear hats and they carry bundles. But that’s not the substance of them. The substance of them is hatred for any man who loves his work. That’s the only kind they fear. I don’t know why

The number of lines in your forehead tells how many lives you’ve lived.

We don’t point a pistol at our own forehead. That is not the way to conduct negotiations.

No female iniquity was more severely condemned than the habit of plucking eyebrows and the hairline to heighten the forehead.

About twenty pages into Luke B. Goebel’s Fourteen Stories, None of Them Are Yours, I realized I was reading with one hand holding my forehead and one balled at my waist, kind of clenched, and gazing down into the paper like a man soon to be converged upon. Goebel’s testimony comes on like that: engrossing, fanatical, full of private grief, and yet, at the same time, charismatic, tender, and intrepid, aglow with more spirit than most Americans have the right to wield.

My make-up artist, she uses bronzer on the eyelids too. And also a little bit on the forehead to make everything look even.

Acting is about giving something away, handing yourself over to whatever role you are asked to play. I’m not hiding or escaping or seeking anonymity. I reserve the right not to have a rubber stamp on my forehead saying this is who I am. Because who I am gets in the way of people looking innocently at the parts I play.

As President, I will institute a procedure in which all convicted criminals will have this brass ring will be surgically implanted into their foreheads-Americans have a right to know who they can trust. I don’t care if you’re 5, 6, or 7 years old, if you’re a first-time offender, you’re gonna go to Purgatory and it’s not gonna be fun!

So the crew fly on with no thought that they are in motion. Like night over the sea, they are very far from the earth, from towns, from trees. The clock ticks on. The dials, the radio lamps, the various hands and needles go though their invisible alchemy. . . . and when the hour is at hand the pilot may glue his forehead to the window with perfect assurance. Out of oblivion the gold has been smelted: there it gleams in the lights of the airport.

Sometimes I think that Jesus watches my neurotic struggles, and shakes his head and grips his forehead and starts tossing back mojitos.

I always loved twilight: it was the only time of day I had the feeling that something important could happen. All things were more beautiful bathed in twilight, all streets, all squares, and all the people walking through them; I even had the feeling that I was a handsome young man, and I liked looking at myself in the mirror, watching myself in the shop windows as I strode along, and even when I touched my face, I felt no wrinkles at my mouth or forehead.

She writes that one of the moments that she felt most useful was when her mother had a headache, and she would stroke her head and rub her forehead. And I think Eleanor Roosevelt’s entire life was dedicated to two things: (one) making it better for all people, people in trouble and in need, like her family.

Writing is to descend like a miner to the depths of the mine with a lamp on your forehead, a light whose dubious brightness falsifies everything, whose wick is in permanent danger of explosion, whose blinking illumination in the coal dust exhausts and corrodes your eyes.

She sat leaning back in her chair, looking ahead, knowing that he was as aware of her as she was of him. She found pleasure in the special self-consciousness it gave her. When she crossed her legs, when she leaned on her arm against the window sill, when she brushed her hair off her forehead – every movement of her body was underscored by a feeling the unadmitted words for which were: Is he seeing it?

Have you noticed that the imbecile always smiles? Man’s first frown is the first touch of God on his forehead. The touch of thought.

There is a growing strength in women, but it is in the forehead, not in the forearm.

I sat there beside him till morning – and as I watched his face in the starlight, then the first ray of the sun on his untroubled forehead and closed eyelids, what I experienced was not a prayer, I do not pray, but that state of spirit at which a prayer is a misguided attempt: a full, confident, affirming self-dedication to my love of the right, to the certainty that the right would win and that this boy would have the kind of future he deserved… I did not expect it to be as great as this – or as hard.

They would glue the wig to the front of my forehead, and after a while it would give me a headache.

Nearly unable to bear the thought of how much he needed her quiet strength, he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cold glass.

Don’t worry, Marya whispered, kissing his forehead. My old bones will follow yours soon enough.

By focusing on the interior of a speaker’s larynx and using infrared, he was able to convert the visible vibrations of the vocal cords into sound of fair quality, but that did not satisfy him. He worked for a while on vibrations picked up from panes of glass in windows and on framed pictures, and he experimented briefly with the diaphragms in speaker systems, intercoms and telephones. He kept on into October without stopping, and finally achieved a device that would give tinny but recognizable sound from any vibrating surface – a wall, a floor, even the speaker’s own cheek or forehead.

To remove all credibility from what you’re saying try wearing sunglasses on your forehead.

I know that I’ve got big ears and a big forehead and that my hair sticks up, but I’m happy with myself. I’m not necessarily trying to win a beauty pageant here.

Simon stepped between them. I’m not going to let you fight with each other. And what are you going to do about it if . . . Oh. Jace’s gaze trailed up to Simon’s forehead, and he grinned reluctantly. So basically you’re threatening to turn me into something you can sprinkle on popcorn if I don’t do what you say?

The spirit of arrogance most definitely makes you shine. It paints a bright red target on your own forehead.

Here is an example to help you understand the efficacy of the Rosary. You remember the story of David who vanquished Goliath. What steps did the young Israelite take to overthrow the giant? He struck him in the middle of the forehead with a pebble from his sling. If we regard the Philistine as representing evil and all its powers: heresy, impurity, pride, we can consider the little stones from the sling capable of overthrowing the enemy as symbolizing the Aves of the Rosary.

The man who now confronted Gashford, was a squat, thickset personage, with a low, retreating forehead, a coarse shock head of hair, and eyes so small and near together, that his broken nose alone seemed to prevent their meeting and fusing into one of the usual size.

Find a guy who calls you beautiful instead of hot, who calls you back when you hang up on him, who will lie under the stars and listen to your heartbeat, or will stay awake just to watch you sleep…wait for the boy who kisses your forehead, who wants to show you off to the world when you are in sweats, who holds your hand in front of his friends, who thinks you’re just as pretty without makeup on. One who is constantly reminding you of how much he cares and how lucky his is to have you….The one who turns to his friends and says, ‘that’s her.’