..we wear the mask that grins and lies, it hides our cheeks and shades our eyes- this debt we pay to human guile; with torn and bleeding hearts we smile.
She seems so cool, so focused, so quiet, yet her eyes remain fixed upon the horizon. You think you know all there is to know about her immediately upon meeting her, but everything you think you know is wrong. Passion flows through her like a river of blood. She only looked away for a moment, and the mask slipped, and you fell. All your tomorrows start here.
Some people wear their smile like a disguise. Those people who smile a lot, watch their eyes. I know 'cause I'm like that a lot. You think everything's ok, and it is . . . 'till it's not.
We hide the truer part of ourselves when we love.
But here's the worst part: the trick to life lies in hiding from those we hold most dear how much they mean to is; if not, we'd lose them.
I carry my unwritten poems in cipher on my face!
A person who has no secrets is a liar. We always fold ourselves away from others just enough to preserve a secret or two, something that we cannot share without destroying our inner landscape.
Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes see pathways to his will!
I HIDE myself within my flower That wearing on your breast, You, unsuspecting, wear me too - And angels know the rest. I hide myself within my flower, That, fading from your vase, You, unsuspecting, feel for me Almost a loneliness.
Cassandra's grandmother smiled then, only it wasn't a happy smile. Cassandra thought she knew how it felt to smile like that. She often did so herself when her mother promised her something she really wanted but knew might not happen.
No matter how much care we put into hiding our passions under the appearances of devotion and honor, they can always be seen to peer out through these covers.
Love, smoke and a cough cannot long be hid!
Men dissimulate their dearest, most constant, and most virtuous inclination from weakness and a fear of being condemned.
Beneath a mask of selfish tranquility nothing exists except bitterness and boredom.
I drew the curtains to conceal the sight of my father's farewell; my spite was sharp as broken glass.
I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel For words, like nature, half reveal And half conceal the soul within. But, for the unquiet heart and brain A use measured language lie's The sad mechanic exercise Like dull narcotic's, numbing pain In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er Like coarsest clothes against the cold But large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more.
He was looking at her from behind the smiling that wasn't smiling but was something you were not supposed to see beyond.
People carry their secrets in hidden places, not on their faces. They carry suffering on their faces. Also bitterness if there’s room.
