Those faces you see every day on the streets were not created entirely without hope: be kind to them: like you they have not escaped.
There’s nothing as significant as a human face. Nor as eloquent. We can never really know another person, except by our first glance at him. Because, in that glance, we know everything. Even though we’re not always wise enough to unravel the knowledge.
There are a great many people, but there are a great many more faces, for every person has several.[Es giebt eine Menge Menschen, aber noch viel mehr Gesichter, denn jeder hat mehrere.]
The face of a man gives us a fuller and more interesting information than his tongue; for his face is the compendium of all he will ever say, as it is the one record of all his thoughts and endeavors.
Some of the greatest criminals I have known had the faces of angels. A malformation of the grey cells may coincide quite easily with the face of a Madonna.
Once you saw the face of a god in those jumbled blacks and whites, it was everybody out of the pool—you could never unsee it. Others might laugh and say it’s nothing, just a lot of splotches with no meaning, give me a good old Craftmaster paint-by-the-numbers any day, but you would always see the face of Christ-Our-Lord looking out at you. You had seen it in one gestalt leap, the conscious and unconscious melding in that one shocking moment of understanding. You would always see it. You were damned to always see it.