Quote of the Day
The first man to compare the cheeks of a young woman to a rose was obviously a poet; the first to repeat it was possibly an idiot.
I remember one day sitting at the pool and suddenly the tears were streaming down my cheeks. Why was I so unhappy? I had success. I had security. But it wasn't enough. I was exploding inside.
The moment eternal - just that and no more - When ecstasy's utmost we clutch at the core While cheeks burn, arms open, eyes shut, and lips meet!
I'm cute - and God I hate that. Because that's not cool. I'm like your niece, and nobody wants to date their niece. It's the chubby cheeks. The whole reason people voted for me on American Idol is because I'm an everyday, normal girl.
Let age, not envy, draw wrinkles on thy cheeks.
One bites into the brass mouthpiece of his wooden cudgel, and the other blows his cheeks out on a French horn. Do you call that Art?
L. A. is crazy. The women all look the same now. That thing with the cheeks. Like Madonna. Who do they think they're fooling? It doesn't make them look young. You end up looking like a freak.
Some words having to do with the death of the people in the World Trade Center attack had been added, and when I got to it, I had this overwhelmingly emotional experience. I struggled to get through the words; tears were streaming down my cheeks.
One of my favorite beauty products is Vincent Longo Water Canvas creamy blush. I have it in every color and I've been using it for 5 years and that's all I put on when I leave the house. It looks so natural I just put a little bit on my cheeks to give them some color.
I'm very, very Spanish. I have fat cheeks on both ends. I'm sitting on my Spanish part. And it's my heart, the way I am, the way I speak. It has nothing to do with the way I look.
I do remember that I was sitting in the make-up chair before the shoots for a commercial or film or other, and I thought: Sometime soon they are going to make a close-up of me and millions of people can see how many pimples I've got on my cheeks.
I have to tell you, I'm not like Demi Moore, where the tears trickle prettily down my cheeks. My whole face screws up and it's like, 'Oh please, get a room.'
Often, city fathers blamed prostitutes for the disease, and some threatened to brand their cheeks with hot iron if they did not desist from their vices.
Peter Lewis Allen
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