Kim Novak Quotes

Camouflage is a game we all like to play, but our secrets are as surely revealed by what we want to seem to be as by what we want to conceal.

The idea of a pseudonym had been flitting around my brain for a long time, along with its cognate, disappearance. In the 1980s, I published some poems under a pen name in a literary magazine to see what it would feel like. It was fun. It was even a little thrilling.

My friends call me Keith, but you can call me John.

I am George Cockcroft. But when I come to England or Europe, where the name Luke Rhinehart is better known, then I use that name.

Everyone calls me Bruno; they don't ever call me Peter - that was just my government name.

When you're undercover you try to stay as true to your identity as you are. You know who you are, and you know how you normally function. If you try to put on a pretense, such as assuming a fake voice, you have to put on that fake voice all of the time. And you can't afford to slip out of it. It's too dangerous.

I should have been called Kelvin. That would have been a top name: Kelvin-Prince. That was a mistake on the birth certificate - no one knows that.

If you're trying to hide, avoid using your own name. Have a couple spares that you can pull out of your pocket anytime, the more thoroughly documented the better.

"Another name? Oh, certainly. And when the Faceless Men come to kill me, I'll say, 'No, you have the wrong man, I'm a different dwarf with a hideous facial scar.'" Both Lannisters laughed at the absurdity of it all.

Your name?"The movements of the man's mouth didn't quite match what he was saying, so seeing him speak was a bit like watching a badly dubbed film. "Alex Gardiner," Alex said. "Your real name?" "I just told you." "You lied. Your real name is Alex Rider." "Why ask if you think you know?

The detective and his criminal wear versions of the same mask.

One can ever assume to be what he is not, and to conceal what he is.

I've spent so much time in that makeup that I'm now unrecognizable. The business doesn't know who I am.

When making a record, I could done a new face pretty easily and use all these different devices to hide who I am - or who I was - which really had very little to do with what I was trying to convey.

Sancho Panza by name is my own self, if I was not changed in my cradle.

When you put on a clown suit and a rubber nose, nobody has any idea what you look like inside.

My name, I have spent my whole life trying to make that name mean something. And now it's gone.

Haven't lost your sense of humor after all but your sense of identity is what seems to have been misplaced. No. Wrong. You don't lose what you never had.

...but now the worst crime was pretending to be something you were not.

Take the particular trick of false names. It seems to us particularly odious. We think when we show our contempt for those who use this subterfuge that we are giving them no more than they deserve. It is a meanness which we associate with criminals and vagabonds; a piece of crawling and sneaking...Men whose race is universally known, will unblushingly adopt a false name as a mask, and after a year or two pretend to treat it as an insult if their original and true name be used in its place.

You want me to be a man,older than you, who goes by the name of Roullard.

I just could just shave my beard, and nobody would recognize me. Although I look like Jodie Foster.

We understand how dangerous a mask can be. We all become what we pretend to be.

I can't see my reflection in the waters, I can't speak the sounds that show no pain. I can't hear the echo of my footsteps, or can't remember the sound of my own name.

As the surface of the seashore rocks were pitted by by the waves and gathered limpets that further disguised what lay beneath, so time made truth of what appeared to be. The days that passed, in becoming weeks, still did not disturb the surface an assumption had created. The weather of a beautiful summer continued with neither sign nor hint that credence had been misplaced. The single sandal found among the rocks became a sodden image of death; and as the keening on the pier at Kilauran traditionally marked distres brought by the sea, so did silence at Lahardane.