Facial Expressions Quotes

“Few realize how loud their expressions really are. Be kind with what you wordlessly say.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, Making Wishes: Quotes, Thoughts, & a Little Poetry for Every Day of the Year

“Cathy, don't look so defeated. She was only trying to put us down
again.
Maybe nothing did work out right for her, but that doesn't mean we are
doomed. Let's go forth tomorrow with no great expectations of finding
perfection. Then, expecting only a small share of happiness, we won't
be disappointed.”
― V.C. Andrews, Flowers in the Attic

“You may search my countenance, but you cannot read it.”
― Charlotte Brontë, Shirley

“When I saw you after my dream, it was impossible to go through with anything I'd resolved. You were chilly again, as though you'd intercepted my dream and were so horrified that you thought it best to put distance between us. I wonder if in the universe of sleep, dreams don't fly out and rat on one another's dreamers and hold cloak-and-dagger meetings in the side alleys of our nights where they slip coded messages, which is perhaps exactly what we want them to do for us when we lack the courage to speak for ourselves. Dreams inflect our face, our smile, and on our voice lingers the timbre of desire we weren't willing to hide while dreaming. I wished you'd taken a second look at me and said, You dreamt of me last night, didn't you?”
― André Aciman, Enigma Variations

“After such prolonged frowning, it took her some moments to recall what her normal face even looked like, but after several attempts she was able to settle on a reasonable facsimile.”
― Haruki Murakami, 1Q84

“You seem to be in a state of such absolute contradiction that I would not be surprised if your face tore in half.”
― Mary-Jean Harris, Aizai the Forgotten

“She keeps her fingers on Faye’s face. Faye closes her eyes against tears. When she opens them Julie is still looking at her. She’s smiling a wonderful smile. Way past twenty. She takes Faye’s hands.“‘Then tell them to look closely at men’s faces. Tell them to stand perfectly still, for time, and to look into the face of a man. A man’s face has nothing on it. Look closely. Tell them to look. And not at what the faces do–men’s faces never stop moving–they’re like antennae. But all the faces do is move through different configurations of blankness.’

Faye looks for Julie’s eyes in the mirror.

Julie says, ‘Tell them there are no holes for your fingers in the masks of men. Tell them how could you ever even hope to have what you can’t grab onto.’

Julie turns her makeup chair and looks up at Faye. ‘That’s when I love you, if I love you,’ she whispers, running a finger down her white powdered cheek, reaching to trace an angled line of white onto Faye’s own face. 'Is when your face moves into expression. Try to look out from yourself, different, all the time. Tell people that you know your face is at least pretty at rest.’

'You asked me once how poems informed me,’ she says. Almost a whisper–her microphone voice. 'And you asked whether we, us, depended on the game, to even be. Baby?’–lifting Faye’s face with one finger under the chin–'Remember? Remember the ocean? Our dawn ocean, that we loved? We loved it because it was like us, Faye. That whole ocean was obvious. We were looking at something obvious, the whole time.’ She pinches a nipple, too softly for Faye even to feel. 'Oceans are only oceans when they move,’ Julie whispers. 'Waves are what keep oceans from just being very big puddles. Oceans are just their waves. And every wave in the ocean is finally going to meet what it moves toward, and break. The whole thing we looked at, the whole time you asked, was obvious. It was obvious and a poem because it was us. See things like that, Faye. Your own face, moving into expression. A wave, breaking on a rock, giving up its shape in a gesture that expresses that shape. See?’

It wasn’t at the beach that Faye had asked about the future. It was in Los Angeles. And what about the anomalous wave that came out of nowhere and broke on itself?

Julie is looking at Faye. 'See?’

Faye’s eyes are open. They get wide. 'You don’t like my face at rest?”
― David Foster Wallace, Girl with Curious Hair

“Children with autism are constantly testing and pursuing truth. They are a bundle of contradictions. They love order and routine, yet often have the most amazingly inventive and creative minds. They may appear to follow rules, but are also the most likely people to come up with a revolutionary new idea. They feel emotion intensly, but often seem to struggle to read facial expressions.”
― Adele Devine, Colour Coding for Learners with Autism: A Resource Book for Creating Meaning through Colour at Home and School

“I knew your plan before you made it,” Eldora proclaimed, tossing her Wert from hand to hand… “You are somewhat of a mystery, one of Shakespeare’s cryptic sonnets, I reckon, but some lines are rather…obvious. You would be a terrible king.”
― Mary-Jean Harris, Aizai the Forgotten

“Nature meant his face to be expressive but he did not; for an expression is a give-away and he did not want to give anything away.”
― L.P. Hartley, The Hireling

“BEFORE THE BODY, there is the face, and before the face there is the thin black line between Hector’s nose and upper lip. A twitching filament of anxieties, a metaphysical jump rope, a dancing thread of discombobulation, the mustache is a seismograph of Hector’s inner states, and not only does it make you laugh, it tells you what Hector is thinking, actually allows you into the machinery of his thoughts.”
― Paul Auster, The Book of Illusions

“The long-deluded will at last see the truth, and thus their expressions will have seen a ghost.”
― Criss Jami, Healology

“He somehow managed to convey an eagerness to please yet was skeptical as to whether he should; it was a self-betrayal countenance.”
― J.S. Mason, Whisky Hernandez

“From Brandon's perspective, this kid possessed the unique ability (it was actually more of a gift) to get under his skin. Most of us know somebody like this. Through their words, actions, and even facial expressions, they evolve into a special breed of human able to push all the right buttons needed to get you upset, angry, or frustrated. It's an irritation really, like an inward pain you can't quite locate. These people needle you non-stop until they get the response they want. For reasons unknown, they somehow gain a sort of perverse pleasure out of making you upset. They decompose you. In the process your nerves resemble the ends of a frayed rope.
Come to think of it, those same people later grow up to be adults. And they don't go away, either. They work in your office, live in your neighborhood, and have children on your son's baseball team. Sometimes they even marry into your family! There is no escape from them.”
― Jeff Kinley