Quotes About Fake Nails
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Corsets were a challenge in 'Belle;' fake nails tripped me up in 'Blackbird.' Guess I'm not a mani type of girl! ~ Gugu Mbatha-Raw
Some of the most faked things are a signature, love, a smile, happiness, an orgasm, intelligence, and good skin. ~ Mokokoma Mokhonoana
I dust a whole shelf of books on pregnancy, breastfeeding, the first six months, the first year, the first two years - and I wonder what the child care-deprived Maddy makes of all this. Maybe there's been some secret division of the world's women into breeders and drones, and those at the maid level are no longer supposed to be reproducing at all. Maybe this is why our office manager, Tammy, who was once a maid herself, wears inch-long fake nails and tarty little outfits - to show she's advanced to the breeder caste and can't be sent out to clean anymore. ~ Barbara Ehrenreich
It will take time for you to get the recognition that you deserve.
This world will not recognize real people and their real struggle. Because the majority are fake here. They have sold their souls to live the life of luxury and comfort.
They deal in the currency of glitz and glamour. They are driven by the pettiness of greed and patheticity of selfishness. They don't recognize honesty, integrity, and real struggle!
But you do not become a cynic. You cannot give up on your idealism and integrity. Lend a hand to the poor and needy. Stand up for the Innocents. Be a voice for the voiceless in this world!
Let the fake heroes and heroines show off their fake happiness by gloating on social media. Don't let them take away the real hero or real heroine in you! Believe in yourself. Never doubt your capabilities. Stay real and stay humble.
Some of these fake people buy likes and followers to show a fake achievement on social media. Some even buy 'bought awards' to make themselves feel better! You will never do this I know!
Just don't give up on your struggle.
Stand alone. Stay strong.
Live a life of real achievement.
Fight On! ~ Avijeet Das
Looking at her nails, Aomame had a strong sense of what a fragile, fleeting thing her own existance was. Something as simple as the shape of her fingernails: it had been decided without her. ~ Haruki Murakami
When I was a teenager, black pride became newly popular again. Suddenly a lot of black people were wearing the fake kente cloth and red black and green and Bob Marley. That was sort of my window into finding my own identity as a black person. ~ W. Kamau Bell
For the first time ever, I was alone in a different country. I was nervous about how I was going to cope in this big bustling city and so I employed a technique which still serves me well today. I imagined myself as someone who relished new exciting opportunities, who was utterly unafraid and perpetually optimistic. It was a kind of reinvention. Everyone I met was new. These people didn't know me, there was no shared history, so I could be anything or anyone I wanted to be. My theory was that if I behaved like a confident, cheerful person, eventually I would buy it myself, and become that. I always had traces of strength somewhere inside me, it wasn't fake. It was just a way of summoning my courage to the fore and not letting any creeping self-doubt hinder my adventures. This method worked then, and it works now. ~ Dawn French
I was a big fan of Indiana Jones; then I realized he was kind of a fake hero. The real heroes are the people who work hard and do their stuff right, like firefighters and policemen. ~ Nathan Gamble
He has probably gnawed his nails down to the quick, or murdered poor Mr. Orde. ~ Georgette Heyer
One may be clogged with honey and unable to rise and fly. ~ Elizabeth Gaskell
The thief, as will become apparent, was a special type of thief. This thief was an artist of theft. Other thieves merely stole everything that was not nailed down, but this thief stole the nails as well. ~ Terry Pratchett
The pain is unrelenting, and what makes the condition intolerable is the foreknowledge that no remedy will come- not in a day, an hour, a month, or a minute. If there is mild relief, one knows that it is only temporary; more pain will follow. It is hopelessness even more than pain that crushes the soul. So the decision-making of daily life involves not, as in normal affairs, shifting from one annoying situation to another less annoying- or from discomfort to relative comfort, or from boredom to activity- but moving from pain to pain. One does not abandon, even briefly, one's bed of nails, but is attached to it wherever one goes. ~ William Styron
If artists often get famous posthumously, then there is only one thing for me to do - fake my own death. Or I could just wait for science to give me a clone, and kill him instead. He'll get my credit, and I'll get his money. ~ Jarod Kintz
May the economic discrimination you impose on your own people bloat your mind. That polluted rubbish occupying
your mind-set needs to be swept clean. May the disgusted look you impose on those you judge poor burn your eyes.
That evil look occupying your clear vision needs to land in the bin. May that shameful attitude you impose on those you wish to feel lesser bring your soul to restlessness. That fake character you display needs to be thrown out of the window. ~ Gloria D. Gonsalves
The nails from a suicide's coffin, and the skull of the parricide, were of course no trouble; for Vesquit never traveled without these household requisites. ~ Aleister Crowley
TV is a fickle business. I'm only good for the length of my contract. ~ Tom Brokaw
I agree with the secretary [Hillary Clinton] that I think what has to happen - and let me just mention what King Abdullah of Jordan said. I think he hit the nail on the head. ~ Hillary Clinton
Keepers and Seekers were not permitted to do more than trim their hair to elbow length. Ashyn said they ought to be grateful they weren't like the spirit talkers, who weren't ever allowed to cut their hair or their nails. Personally, Moria would be more concerned with the "eyes plucked out, tongue cut off, and nostrils seared" part of being a spirit talker, but she could see that the uncut nails might be inconvenient as well. ~ Kelley Armstrong
Generally, women can't do this, but men retain the ancient ability to leave a family and a past. They just unhook themselves, like removing a fake beard, and skulk discreetly back into society, changed men. Unrecognizable. ~ Zadie Smith
All violent feelings have the same effect. They produce in us a falseness in all our impressions of external things, which I would generally characterize as the pathetic fallacy. ~ John Ruskin
Stop tormenting Derian."
"Me?" Edgar gaped at her with a clearly fake look of innocence.
"Yes, you."
"And what about you? When will you stop tormenting him?" Edgar moved past the young queen to approach the unmoving captain. He circled the man as though he were checking out a statue on display
"I'm not tormenting him; why would you say that?"
"You have the poor guy believing you actually intend to marry him." Edgar stopped to fix the captain's collar, raising it up high and stiff around his neck.
"I do intend to marry him." Eena followed her immortal watchdog and folded down the captain's collar, repositioning it as it had been.
"Oh please," Edgar groaned. "You've had two opportunities to do so, and on both occasions you turned him down." Edgar elevated the captain's elbow - adjusting him like a mannequin - leaving it in an awkward position. "The council expressed a desire for you to marry, and you nearly hyperventilated over the mere suggestion. And just recently, due to his own paranoia, Derian all but begged you to marry him. Your refusal couldn't have been more swift or more adamant."
Eena returned the captain's elbow to his side as she retorted, "I'm only seventeen, Edgar! I have no desire to marry anyone right now. But when I am ready, Derian will be my husband."
Edgar took hold of the captain's outreaching arm and shoved it forcefully down. "He will not."
Richelle E. Goodrich
Books; what a jolly company they are,
Standing so quiet and patient on their shelves,
Dressed in dim brown, and black, and white, and green
And every kind of colour. Which will you read?
Come on; O do read something; they're so wise.
I tell you all the wisdom of the world
Is waiting for you on those shelves; and yet
You sit and gnaw your nails, and let your pipe out,
And listen to the silence. ~ Siegfried Sassoon
The world was ersatz and actual, forged and faked, by ourselves and unseen others. Daring to attempt to absolutely sort fake from real was a folly that would call down tigers or hiccups to cure us of our recklessness. The effort was doomed, for it too much pointed past the intimate boundaries of our necessary fictions. ~ Jonathan Lethem
Right after Matt died, I was afraid to do basically everything. I couldn't even bite my nails or sniff my shirt to see if I needed deodorant without feeling like he was watching me. I willed and prayed and begged him to give me a sign that he was watching, that he was with me, so I would know.
But he never did. Time moved on. And I stopped being afraid. Until right now, vulnerable and insecure and a little bit drunk. Lying in the sand and falling in crazy love with someone I just met. Matt is watching me. Observing. Possibly judging. And the worst part of it is, I don't want to wake up under his landslide of sad rocks anymore. I don't want to taste the marzipan frosting and the clove cigarettes. I don't want to think about the blue glass necklace or the books he read to me on his bed or the piles of college stuff or some random boy in the grocery store wearing his donated clothes.
I don't want to be the dead boy's best-friend-turned-something-else.
Or the really supportive neighbor friend.
Or the lifelong keeper of broken-hearted secrets. ~ Sarah Ockler
When I got to college, the fake ID thing wasn't that important, since pretty much everyone could get away with drinking in New Orleans. But the drugs, well, that was a different story altogether, because drugs are every bit as illegal in New Orleans as anywhere else
at least, if you're black and poor, and have the misfortune of doing your drugs somewhere other than the dorms at Tulane University. But if you are lucky enough to be living at Tulane, which is a pretty white place, especially contrasted with the city where it's located, which is 65 percent black, then you are absolutely set. ~ Tim Wise
Ragged clothes?" He grabbed my hand and examined it. "Chipped nails? Those aren't enough to disguise what's inside. You'll always be you, Lia. You can't run from that. ~ Mary E. Pearson
Wing your eyeliner. Paint your nails black. Chin up. You got this. You fucking own this. ~ Unknown
Falco's eyes widened in fake shock. "Well, then perhaps I should ask for a tour of the house." He grinned, clearly relishing Cass's embarrassment. "Can we start with your bedroom? ~ Fiona Paul
My theory was that if I behaved like a confident, cheerful person, eventually I would buy it myself, and become that. I always had traces of strength somewhere inside me, it wasn't fake, it was just a way of summoning my courage to the fore and not letting any creeping self-doubt hinder my adventures. This method worked then, and it works now. I tell myself that I am the sort of person who can open a one-woman play in the West End, so I do. I am the sort of person who has several companies, so I do. I am the sort of person WHO WRITES A BOOK! So I do. It's the process of having faith in the self you don't quite know you are yet, if you see what I mean. Believing that you will find the strength, the means somehow, and trusting in that, although your legs are like jelly. You can still walk on them and you will find the bones as you walk. Yes, that's it. The further I walk, the stronger I become. So unlike the real lived life, where the further you walk, the more your hips hurt. ~ Dawn French
I'm not interested in Bob Marley telling me to 'lively up' myself. The only music that satisfies me is Nine Inch Nails and Trent Reznor's voice crying through industrial rhytms. In the August evenings, I lie on my bed with earphones, letting his laments roll through me like unrepentant thunderstorms. I envy the courage that carries his voice into the world. He doesn't berate himself for pain and anger; he howls. And this delights me, even though I feel ashamed when my own rage comes to the surface. My anger doesn't signify courage; it's just more confirmation that I'm bad. ~ Kiera Van Gelder
Excuse me while I throw this down, I'm old and cranky and tired of hearing the idiocy repeated by people who ought to know better.
Real women do not have curves. Real women do not look like just one thing.
Real women have curves, and not. They are tall, and not. They are brown-skinned, and olive-skinned, and not. They have small breasts, and big ones, and no breasts whatsoever.
Real women start their lives as baby girls. And as baby boys. And as babies of indeterminate biological sex whose bodies terrify their doctors and families into making all kinds of very sudden decisions.
Real women have big hands and small hands and long elegant fingers and short stubby fingers and manicures and broken nails with dirt under them.
Real women have armpit hair and leg hair and pubic hair and facial hair and chest hair and sexy moustaches and full, luxuriant beards. Real women have none of these things, spontaneously or as the result of intentional change. Real women are bald as eggs, by chance and by choice and by chemo. Real women have hair so long they can sit on it. Real women wear wigs and weaves and extensions and kufi and do-rags and hairnets and hijab and headscarves and hats and yarmulkes and textured rubber swim caps with the plastic flowers on the sides.
Real women wear high heels and skirts. Or not.
Real women are feminine and smell good and they are masculine and smell good and they are androgynous and smel ~ Hanne Blank
That's why she keeps her nails long, she says, to be able to scratch and claw. ~ Jerzy Kosinski
This scrawny dirty smelly monkey with her fake breasts - a disaster! ~ Friedrich Nietzsche
A lot is gained through experience, but experience teaches some and not others. Effectiveness and excellence, whether or not they were attained by simply having the knack or through the school of hard knocks, is really what you want to reward. ~ Caterina Fake
I have never been scared of the darkness, not even a little bit. In the dark you hear nothing but the truth, you see nothing but real faces and naked souls.
On the contrary I've always been afraid of the light, where people talk about everything but never say a thing and wear a fake skin; because they do know that there is an eyes watching or judging them here or there … ~ Samiha Totanji
Dreams are just lies that we tell ourselves while we're asleep. ~ Rebecca McNutt
Well, I think in trying to make life seem real enough that one is moved to do something about the more atrocious things. By going really far afield into a completely fake world, maybe there's a chance to make things resonant somehow - or in this case, truly terrifying. To make it as bad as the real stuff that's happening. ~ Jenny Holzer
What is fear but that 'thing' that we believed to be as powerful as it pretended to be. ~ Craig D. Lounsbrough
Yes,' he said. 'That's it. They'd kick him and beat him with a switch. Then if the youngster was really bad, they'd put him in a sack and take him back to Spain.'
'Saint Nicholas would kick you?'
'Well, not anymore,' Oscar said. 'Now he just pretends to kick you.'
He considered this to be progressive, but in a way I think it's almost more preverse than the original punishment.'I'm going to hurt you but not really.' How many times have we fallen for that line? The fake slap invariably makes contact, adding the elements of shock and betrayal to what had previously been plain old-fashioned fear. What kind of a Santa spends his time pretending to kick people before stuffing them into a canvas sack? Then, of course, you've got the six to eight former slaves who could potentially go off at any moment. This, I think, is the greatest difference between us and the Dutch. While a certain segment of our population might be perfectly happy with the arrangement, if you told the average white American that six to eight nameless black men would be sneaking into his house in the middle of the night, he would barricade the doors and arm himself with whatever he could get his hands on.
'Six to eight, did you say? ~ David Sedaris
Miss Wigglesworth gave him an assessing look out of her remarkable blue eyes.
"You're a libertine? How very unique."
She gave a small fake yawn. She was, in that heartbeat, so perfect and so pure and so very dangerous indeed that all he could do was frighten her away.
"Have you been listening at keyholes, Lazuli? I assure you, they have always been willing, even when I ask that they pretend otherwise."
She blushed deep pink at that – an appealing thing, the blood high under her cheeks, warm and subtle and alive. He wanted to delve into her, with teeth and body until she was ravaged and supine and wrecked and bleeding and his. She did not, as he had expected, break away from him mid-step. The blush was there, to be sure, but she was made of sterner stuff. Any true innocent would be repulsed by the intent in his tone. A woman without experience would fear the implication of his preferences – the certain acknowledgment that there was wolf, nothing but wolf, underneath all his icy indifference. Faith was intrigued. She tilted her head and looked hard at him, her lovely eyes flinty.
"So, you're just a beast who enjoys the chase, nothing else?"
"Exactly so."
She threw it all at him. Like a piece of warm fresh meat, cut and dripping temptation, enough to make him salivate, to bait her trap.
"You can't catch me."
The waltz ended. ~ Gail Carriger
There's part of me that loves words. But sometimes it feels like you're trying to drive nails with your shoe. ~ George R R Martin
The main thing that I loved about living alone was the silence. Sometimes simply talking to people was like listening to white noise. Often I could tune the sound out and be all right, but other times it was like hearing nails on a chalkboard - almost painful. ~ Adrianne Brooks
