I don’t want no better book than what your face is.
God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another.
You use a glass mirror to see your face: you use works of art to see your soul.
You don’t forget the face of the person who was your last hope.
When a man has a black face, suspicion is proof.
What is a face, really? Its own photo? Its make-up? Or is it a face as painted by such or such painter? That which is in front? Inside? Behind? And the rest? Doesn’t everyone look at himself in his own particular way? Deformations simply do not exist.
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 no shame in fear, my father told me, what matters is how we face it.
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 human face is, after all, nothing more nor less than a mask.
The faces of most American women over thirty are relief maps of petulant and bewildered unhappiness.
The face of a man gives us 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 endeavours.[Das Gesicht eines Menschen in der Regel mehr und Interessanteres als sein Mund: denn es ist das Kompendium alles dessen, was dieser je sagen wird; indem es das Monogramm alles Denkens und Trachtens dieses Menschen ist.]
