whatever is profound loves masks; what is most profound even hates image and parable.
It did not seem possible that Wendy Wright had been born out of blood and internal organs like other people. In proximity to her he felt himself to be a squat, oily, sweating, uneducated nurt whose stomach rattled and whose breath wheezed. Near her he became aware of the physical mechanisms which kept him alive; within him machinery, pipes and valves and gas-compressors and fan belts had to chug away at a losing task, a labor ultimately doomed. Seeing her face, he discovered that his own consisted of a garish mask; noticing her body made him feel like a low-class wind-up toy.
The hardest thing of all is when pain is hidden behind a mask of calm.
And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry, Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream.
The Ego, however, is not who you really are. The ego is your self-image; it is your social mask; it is the role you are playing. Your social mask thrives on approval. It wants control, and it is sustained by power, because it lives in fear.
False gods must be repudiated, but that is not all: The reasons for their existence must be sought beneath their masks.
It's very different to live with a mask.
You must call up every strength you own And you can rip off the whole facial mask.
We can all pretend to be cynical and scheming, but when we’re faced with purity and innocence, the cynical mask drops off.
Unless a person decides that `Whatever the cost, I want just to be myself. Condemned, unaccepted, losing respectability - everything is okay but I cannot pretend anymore to be somebody else`... This decision and this declaration - this declaration of freedom, freedom from the weight of the crowd - gives birth to your natural being, to your individuality. Then you don`t need any mask. Then you can be simply yourself, just as you are. And the moment you can be just as you are, there is tremendous peace that passeth understanding.
Nothing is more real than the masks we make to show each other who we are.
Vice knows she is ugly, so puts on her mask.
You can't let the debate of the day mask the fact that Canadians care deeply in their country. Including Quebecers - from all origins and language. Quebecers care deeply about their country. The idea of Canada and its unity is not something that is set in stone forever, or that is solved. We need to always work towards building this country.
All of us have ways in which we mask and cover our pain.
When the mask of self-righteousness has been torn from us and we stand stripped of all our accustomed defenses, we are candidates for God's generous grace.
We have to find in Christ, not a mask that conceals our face, but an entire wardrobe of clothing, which is His righteousness.
I've always been curious about the psychology of the person behind the mask. When someone is anonymous, it opens the door to all kinds of antisocial behavior, as seen by the Ku Klux Klan.
We never really are the adults we pretend to be. We wear the mask and perhaps the clothes and posture of grown-ups, but inside ourskin we are never as wise or as sure or as strong as we want to convince ourselves and others we are. We may fool all the rest of the people all of the time, but we never fool our parents. They can see behind the mask of adulthood. To her mommy and daddy, the empress never has on any clothes--and knows it.
Within every man and woman a secret is hidden, and as a photographer it is my task to reveal it if I can. The revelation, if it comes at all, will come in a small fraction of a second with an unconscious gesture, a gleam of the eye, a brief lifting of the mask that all humans wear to conceal their innermost selves from the world. In that fleeting interval of opportunity the photographer must act or lose his prize.
Like the character I played in Jekyll, we all have different masks we put on for different occasions. As much as we all want to lead decent lives, we're also attracted by the idea that something dark may lurk within us.
Now what else is the whole life of mortals, but a sort of comedy in which the various actors, disguised by various costumes and masks, walk on and play each ones part until the manager walks them off the stage?
Man is a mimic animal, happiest acting a part, needing a mask to tell the truth.
The true comic muse is the one with tears running down under her laughing mask.
Masks are the order of the day - and the least I can do is cultivate the illusion that I am gay, serene, not hollow and afraid.
Style is the physiognomy of the mind. It is more infallible than that of the body. To imitate the style of another is said to be wearing a mask. However beautiful it may be, it is through its lifelessness insipid and intolerable, so that even the most ugly living face is more engaging.
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