Freckles Quotes

I've got more freckles than just about anybody. My children didn't get them, thankfully. They have tiny little freckles. ~ Julianne Moore

You don't know me at all.
You don't know the first thing about me. You don't know where I'm writing this from. You don't know what I look like. You have no power over me.
What do you think I look like? Skinny? Freckles? Wire-rimmed glasses over brown eyes? No, I don't think so. Better look again. Deeper. It's like a kaleidoscope, isn't it? One minute I'm short, the next minute tall, one minute I'm geeky, one minute studly, my shape constantly changes, and the only thing that stays constant is my brown eyes. Watching you. ~ David Klass

I guess I'm just not the film femme fatale type. I giggle too much. I have freckles and a turned-up nose, and I walk like an athlete. ~ Joan Caulfield

Slowly the big gates opened. Red-gold fire glow from inside silhouetted a number of figures who moved out toward the bridge, where the strengthening light picked out the drawn swords, the spears, the dark cloaks, and the helmed heads of the Renselaeus warriors. They were wearing their own colors, and battle gear. No liveries, no pretense of being mere servants. In the center of their formation were Khesot and the four others--unarmed.
There were no shouts, no trumpets, nothing but the ringing of iron-shod boots on the stones of the bridge, and the clank of ready weaponry.
Could we rescue them? I could not see Khesot's face, but in the utter stillness with which they stood, I read hopelessness.
I readied myself once again--
Then from the center of their forces stepped a single equerry, with a white scarf tied to a pole. He started up the path that we meant to descend. As he walked the light strengthened, now illuminating details. Still with that weird detachment I looked at his curly hair, the freckles on his face, his small nose. We could cut him down in moments, I thought, and then winced the thought away. We were not Galdran. I waited.
He stopped not twenty-five paces from me and said loudly, "Countess, we request a parley."
Which made it obvious they knew we were there.
Questions skittered through my mind. Had Khesot talked? How otherwise could the enemy have seen us? The only noise now was the rain, pattering softly with the magnificent ~ Sherwood Smith

Your hand fits in mine
Like it's made just for me
But bear this in mind
It was meant to be
And I'm joining up the dots with the freckles on your cheeks
And it all makes sense to me ~ Zayn Malik

We film 'Resurrection' in Atlanta, where humidity is a force to be reckoned with, especially for those of us who have naturally curly hair. I would love for the au naturel look of the '60s to come back. No make up, no hair products - just sun-kissed skin, freckles, and crazy curls. ~ Devin Kelley

And even though I had freckles and red hair and almost killed Grandma Bramhall, I danced like I didn't. ~ Jennifer Gooch Hummer

What is wrong with you?" He glared at me.


"I'm somewhat sure I'm suddenly gay," I shrugged, "My father and mother are hypocritical abandoning homophobic assholes. The former defending my chief suspect in the biggest case of my life - something I'm sure you had a hand in. I'm obsessed with your freckles, your bunny slippers and your lips - which I should be getting points for not kissing while you're incapacitated, by the way. I'm dating a whore while working on the vice squad - points to me again for not arresting your ass for that - and I'm ridiculously horny. Oh, and my fiancée won't talk to me. ~ Dani Alexander

Dorcas's skin was flecked with little golden freckles, and she was so slender that I was always aware of her bones; yet she was more desirable in her imperfections than Jolenta had ever been in the lushness of her flesh. ~ Gene Wolfe

Couldn't I come along with you? I've been trapped inside for days now and I need some sunshine and exercise. If you're really busy today, maybe I could hhelp. It's not as if I'm a greenhorn who'd get in your way."
"This isn't a good idea, Freckles, and you know it."
The feisty redhead grinned. "I admit I'm somewhat ignorant on the subject, but I've never heard of doing "it" on the back of a horse."
A roguish grin dangled from the corner of his mouth. "Sweetheart, you'd be surprised where...Never mind."
Though he'd tried to sound gruff, Willow detected a slight wavering in his determination. "I'll promise not to attack your body, if that's what you're worried about." She started laughing.
Moving closer, she backed him against the door. Then tilting her head, she hit him full force with her big blue-green sparklers. Her lips parted in a very seductive, very naughty smile.
"Please, just a short ride?" She toyed with the edge of his black leather vest, the backs of her fingers sliding up and down his chest.
Rider sucked in a gulp of air. "Dammit, woman,what's Mrs. Brigham been teaching you? Stop that!" He batted her hand away, laughing despite himself. He was beaten and he knew it.
"Well?" She smiled slyly.
He grasped her arms and set her away to a safer distance. "All right, all right. I give up. I'll take you for a ride." When her face lit up,he raised a cautioning finger and hastened to add, "On one condition. You have to keep your ~ Charlotte McPherren

Some of the freckles I once loved are now closer to liver spots. But it's still the eyes we look at, isn't it? That's where we found the other person, and find them still. ~ Julian Barnes

My ravenous gaze devouring every inch of her visage, from the gentle branching of lines that wing from her sunken eyes to a paltry splattering of freckles that mottle her bottom lip.

She smiles. ~ Ilse V. Rensburg

He loved me. He'd loved me as long as he he'd known me! I hadn't loved him as long perhaps, but now I loved him equally well, or better. I loved his laugh, his handwriting, his steady gaze, his honorableness, his freckles, his appreciation of my jokes, his hands, his determination that I should know the worst of him. And, most of all, shameful though it might be, I loved his love for me. ~ Gail Carson Levine

Most boys her age spent half their free time playing video games, but Tellius spent all of his in adult pursuits like fighting, managing, ruling, and delegating, and it showed. If she'd begun to think he was attractive last year, she now wondered how she ever could have found him anything but attractive. As she took in his square jaw, straight aristocratic nose, intense green-flecked eyes, and that ever-present smattering of freckles, Darcy felt her ears grow warm. She looked down at the flagstones.
Darcey Pennington ~ K.B. Hoyle

There were orchids for sale, for one and two and three and five hundred dollars, a madhouse of orchids in every color, in every shape, with wide leaves and skinny leaves and no leaves at all, with fat jutting lips and lips cupped like thimbles, and with blackish-red hoods and freckles, with ruffles, with pleats, with corkscrew curls, big as fists, small as fingernails, smelling of honey, grass, citrus, cinnamon, or of nothing, not a smell at all but just the heavy warm quality that air has after it has been sitting in a flower. ~ Susan Orlean

Vas dragged me over to Akos, so we knelt across from each other, barely an arm's length of space between us.
"I'm sorry" was all I could think to say to him. That he was here was my fault, after all. If I hadn't fallen in with the renegades…but it was too late for thoughts like that.
Everything inside me slowed as his eyes met mine, like I had stopped him. I looked him over carefully, like a caress, his tousled brown hair, the dusting of freckles on his nose, and his gray eyes, unguarded for the first time I could remember. I didn't see the bruises or the blood that marked him. I listened to his breaths. I had heard them in my ear just after I kissed him, every exhale bursting a little, like he didn't want to let it go.
"I always thought my fate meant I would die a traitor to my country." Akos's voice was rough, like he had worn away at it by screaming. "But you made it so I won't. ~ Veronica Roth

I was inspired by Colin Farrell in the fact that he's Irish and has freckles but with black hair. I'm a bunch of different things, Irish, Polish, Native American, and French, but I wanted to tap into that Irish side and be freckle-y with black hair, so that's what I did. ~ Jojo

When I was seven, these kids in the alley behind our house in Omaha called me Freckleface Strawberry. I hated my freckles, and I hated that name. I thought it was humiliating in the way that only a seven-year-old could hate it. ~ Julianne Moore

You step out of the shower and the entire nation calms -
a drop of lemon-egg shampoo,
you smell like bees,
a brief kiss,
I don't know anything about you - except the spray of freckles on your shoulders!
which makes me feel so thrillingly
alone.
I stand on earth in my pajamas,
penis sticking out -
for years
in your direction. ~ Ilya Kaminsky

Your dream is the mole
behind your ear,
that chip in your
front tooth,
your freckles.
It's the thing that makes
you special,
but not the thing that makes
you great.
The courage in trying,
the passion in living,
and the acknowledgement
and appreciation of
the beauty happening around
you does that. ~ Jason Reynolds

The tinkle of a wind chime stirred from over a window. Purple and white phlox cascaded cheerfully over the top of a nearby stone wall. Sunlight sifted through the weave of her straw hat, casting freckles of light on her nose and cheeks that shifted, out of focus, as she walked. ~ Caragh M. O'Brien

Her freckles were orange, as if somebody had spray-painted her face with liquid Cheetos. ~ Rick Riordan

Her granny always called her complexion peaches and cream and said her freckles added character. Yeah, cause I need more of that. ~ Julia Mills

Far as to say that white-skinned people are actually black-skinned mutants who lost the ability to produce significant amounts of eumelanin. Redheads, with their characteristic milky white skin and freckles, may be a further mutation along the same lines. In order to survive in places with infrequent and weak sunlight, such as in parts of the U.K., they may have evolved in a way that almost completely knocked out their body's ability to produce eumelanin, the brown or black pigment. ~ Sharon Moalem

At first glance, it looked like the portrait of her family that hung in the Great Hall. But this painting had four people in it: the king, the queen, Elsa, and another little girl.
The child was a few years younger than Elsa, and she was the spitting image of the king. She had wide-set blue eyes, bright red hair set in pigtails, and a sprinkle of freckles dotting her nose. She wore a pale green dress, and she was clutching Elsa's arm as if she might never let go. ~ Jen Calonita

She tasted disgusting, worse than Gurdyroots! Okay, Ron, come here so I can do you…"
"Right, but remember, I don't like the beard too long--"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, this isn't about looking handsome--"
"It's not that, it gets in the way! But I liked my nose a bit shorter, try and do it the way you did last time."
Hermione sighed and set to work, muttering under her breath as she transformed various aspects of Ron's appearance. He was to be given a completely fake identity, and they were trusting to the malevolent aura cast by Bellatrix to protect him. Meanwhile Harry and Griphook were to be concealed under the Indivisibility Cloak.
"There," said Hermione, "how does he look, Harry?"
It was just possible to discern Ron under his disguise, but only, Harry thought, because he knew him so well. Ron's hair was now long and wavy; he had a thick brown beard and mustache, no freckles, a short, broad nose, and heavy eyebrows.
"Well, he's not my type, but he'll do," said Harry. ~ J.K. Rowling

He was so pale the freckles stood out on his face the way they did when he was upset or hadn't slept. She thought they might be telling her something if she could only understand the language of freckles. ~ Alice Hoffman

She had a face which was not so much freckled as one big freckle with occasional areas of skin. ~ Neil Gaiman

He grinned, teeth and dimples and freckles moving like dust in a ray of sunlight. "Ayup, petal."

Oh ~ Alexis Hall

He wants to match the new freckles along Henry's nose to the stars above them and make him name the constellations. ~ Casey McQuiston

She isn't the girl who used to live next door, hasn't been for years. Back then she had freckles and jeans with holes at the knees and a ponytail yanked so tight it made her eyes pull at the corners. Now she wears pantyhose and tailored suits; she has had the same short bob hairstyle for five years. But when Patrick gets close enough, she still smells like childhood to him. ~ Jodi Picoult

And age was just a trait, like the color of your hair, or the amount of freckles on your skin. ~ Jodi Lynn Anderson

What's the matter, Freckles?" he said, pressing a light kiss to the tip of my nose.
"What changed?" I blurted out.
He drew back. "Changed?"
"You seemed like you were trying to keep distance between us before, but after last night…"
"I should get a medal for managing to keep my hands off you that long."
"It was only a few days," I reminded him dryly.
"Felt like a lifetime."
"So those first kisses… you liked them?"
His eyes widened. "You thought that I didn't?"
"Well, after that you didn't touch me."
"Shit," he swore beneath his breath and ran a hand over his head. "I liked it too much. The sparks between us are so hot, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to stop. I was afraid I would scare you off. Thank God I did because you're so innocent."
Innocent? Ugh.
I folded my arms across my chest. "So what changed your mind?"
His smile was sexy and filled with innuendo. "I realized you could handle the heat."
I still wasn't so sure, but I didn't tell him that. "Well, you are definitely hot."
He grinned. He had such a big ego. "How hot?"
I shook my head. "So hot your touch leaves torch marks on my skin."
He whistled between his teeth. "Damn. I'm good. ~ Cambria Hebert

A dinner party is the oldest experiment. Trap a bunch of souls in a room. Faces move like painted moons, rising and setting, as talk blows in from the east. The thunk and freckles of a hand slammed down on the table in laughter, the noise of a long night unscrolled like a map. Madeira and Roquefort. Paper towels for napkins. The maroon wall telephone rings: next round of folks on their way! ~ Jardine Libaire

Four things I am wiser to know: Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe. ~ Dorothy Parker

I want to know every part of you,
every scar,
every bruise,
I want to trace the map of you,
my fingers a compass,
your freckles the constellations
which in my heart I will chart
so when I close my eyes
I'll have you in my stars forever. ~ Atticus Poetry

Zinnia always wants to hug me and pat me because she has a boy my same age named Melvin. I said maybe some day Melvin could come play at our farm, and I could bring him to the maze and show him the shortcuts. Zinnia started crying. That's when I seen that she has freckles. ~ Wally Lamb

If
If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn't a lie,
Life would be delight,
But things couldn't go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn't be I.
If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I'd be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn't be you.
If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,
Yet they'd all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn't be we. ~ E. E. Cummings

I was a homely kid with freckles that came out every spring and stuck on me till Christmas. ~ Myrna Loy

When Sebastian, cearly delighted to be treated like one of the guys, didn't move, Alex bared his teeth. "Depeche-toi!"
Sebastian depeched. Alex turned back, all Cheshire cat smile.
"No," I said.
"No what?"
"No,you are not going to teach me all the cool words so I can go to Chamonix and be conversational."
"Good." He leaned in so I could see the faint dusting of freckles on his nose and smell spearmint gum. "Chamonix is so 1990s. Everyone who is anyone goes to Courchevel these days."
I turned on my heel and started to walk off.
"Jeez. Ella." He loped after me. "What if your problem? Conversational, my ass. Talking to you is like dancing around a fire in paper shoes."
I stopped. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It's an expression my Ukranian babushka likes. I'll explain it at our first turtoring session."
I scowled at his shirt. This one had what looked like a guy riding a dolphin instead of the ubiquitos alligator or polo player. "There isn't going to be a tutoring session."
"Winslow seems to think otherwise."
"Wouldn't be the first thing she's wrong about," I muttered.
He gave an impressive sigh. The dolphin lurched, but the little guy on it held tight. "You don't want to fail French, do you? That would be a serious admission of weakness from an Italian girl."
I almost smiled. Instead, I announced. "Fuhgeddaboudit. I'll buy a 'Teach Your Poodle French in Ten Easy Lessons' online. Problem solved, and Winslo ~ Melissa Jensen

But the body fails us and the mirror knows, and we no longer insist that the gray hush be carried off its surface by the cloth, for we have run to fat, and wrinkles encircle the eyes and notch the neck where the skin wattles, and the flesh of the arms hangs loose like an overlarge sleeve, veins thicken like ropes and empurple the body as though they had been drawn there by a pen, freckles darken, liver spots appear, the hairah, the hair is exhausted and gray and lusterless, in weary rolls like cornered lint. ~ William H Gass

It's about the important things, like the way their face lights up when they laugh, or the way they move as they're walking towards you, or the way their freckles create a map of the stars. ~ Jennifer Niven

But my last conscious thought was an image of Prince Char when he'd caught the bridle of Sir Stephan's horse. His face had been close to mine. Two curls had spilled onto his forehead. A few freckles dusted his nose, and his eyes said he was sorry for me to go. ~ Gail Carson Levine

Freckles never tired of studying the devotion of a fox mother to her babies. To him, whose early life had been so embittered by continual proof of neglect and cruelty in human parents toward their children, the love of these furred and feathered folk of the Limberlost was even more of a miracle than to the Bird Woman and the Angel. ~ Gene Stratton-Porter

But from where he was standing, he could see her perfectly: the wavy red hair and the oversize T-shirt with a smiling lobster on the front, the way her legs were tucked up beneath her on the swing, and the freckles across her nose. He could see her, and it was just like he'd thought. It was just like being punched in the stomach. ~ Jennifer E. Smith

The girls seemed unconcerned and went about their days, each as lovely in their own way as the flowers they tended. Sorrel's black hair became streaked with premature white, which gave her an exotic air, although the elegance was somewhat ruined by the muddy jeans and shorts she practically lived in. Nettie, on the other hand, had a head of baby-fine blonde hair that she wore short, thinking, wrongly, that it would look less childlike. Nettie wouldn't dream of being caught in dirty jeans and was always crisply turned out in khaki capris or a skirt and a white shirt. She considered her legs to be her finest feature. She was not wrong.
Patience was the sole Sparrow redhead, although her hair had deepened from its childhood ginger and was now closer to the color of a chestnut. It was heavy and glossy as a horse's mane, and she paid absolutely no attention to it or to much else about her appearance, nor did she have to. In the summer her wide-legged linen trousers and cut-off shorts were speckled with dirt and greenery, her camisoles tatty and damp. The broad-brimmed hat she wore to pick was most often dangling from a cord down her back. As a result, the freckles that feathered across her shoulders and chest were the color of caramel and resistant to her own buttermilk lotion (Nettie smoothed it on Patience whenever she could make her stand still). When it was terribly hot, Patience wore the sundresses she'd found packed away in the attic. She knew they were her mother's, an ~ Ellen Herrick

But just because you bury something, that doesn't mean it stops existing. Those feelings, they'd been there all along. All that time. I had to face it. He was part of my DNA. I had brown hair and I had freckles and I would always have Conrad in my heart. ~ Jenny Han

It's been what – eleven years?" he says, his voice quieter now.

"Twelve." I swallow.

"Twelve. Christ, yeah, right." He runs his hand through his hair. "You look different ... but the same – you know," he shrugs.

"I know," I smile. "You look different too." I gesture to the tattoos on his arms.

He grins down at them, then back at me.

"But still the same." I point my finger to the freckles on his nose.

Surprised by how much my fingers are itching to touch him, I draw my hand back.

He rubs his hand over his nose. "Yeah, no getting rid of them."

"I always liked them."

"Yeah, but you liked the Care Bears, Tru."

I flush. I can't believe he remembers that.

It's crazy that he, Jake Wethers, rock god extraordinaire, remembers that I liked the Care Bears when I was little. ~ Samantha Towle

Come on, Kai ... my freckles are getting impatient.
Bloody hell ... did my little vixen just tell me to hurry up? ~ Wendy Higgins

I love you, Freckles. The smartest thing I ever did was come to Tombstone to romance Willie Vaughn. ~ Charlotte McPherren

West couldn't stop staring at Lady Clare. He had the feeling if he reached out to touch her, he would come away with his fingers scorched. That hair, blazing from beneath a simple gray traveling bonnet... he'd never seen anything like it. Bird-of-paradise red, with glimmers of crimson dancing amid the pinned-up locks. Her skin was flawless ivory except for a tender spray of freckles sprinkled across her nose, like a finishing spice on some luxurious dessert.
She had the look of someone who had been nurtured: educated and well dressed. Someone who had always been lovingly sheltered. But there was a shadow in her gaze... the knowledge that there were some things no human being could be protected from.
God, those eyes... light gray, with striations like the rays of tiny stars. ~ Lisa Kleypas

I thought of Paris as a beauty spot on the face of the earth, and of London as a big freckle. ~ James Weldon Johnson

As Wessner struggled to his feet, he resembled a battlefield, for his clothing was in ribbons and his face and hands streaming blood. "I--I guess I got enough," he mumbled. "Oh, you do?" roared Freckles. "Well this ain't your say. You come on to me ground, lying about me Boss and intimatin' I'd stale from his very pockets. Now will you be standing up and taking your medicine like a man, or getting it poured down the throat of you like a baby? I ain't got enough! This is only just the beginning with me. Be looking out there!" He sprang against Wessner and sent him rolling. He attacked the unresisting figure and fought him until he lay limp and quiet and Freckles had no strength left to lift an arm. Then he arose and stepped back, gasping for breath. With his first lungful of air he shouted: "Time!" But the figure of Wessner lay motionless. ~ Gene Stratton-Porter

She wasn't gorgeous, wasn't ugly. A sprinkle of freckles crossed the bridge of her nose. Mostly, she looked like a hundred other girls in school, except for two things, She wore no makeup, and her eyes were the biggest I had ever seen, like deer's eyes caught in headlights. ~ Jerry Spinelli

Jax took Robb by the face, fingers spreading into his hair, dark curls wrapping around his fingers, snarling them, so Robb could look at no one else. He memorized the constellation of freckles crossing Robb's nose, peppering his sun-kissed cheeks. The way the human boy looked at him made a strange, burning feeling turn in his stomach. He wanted to kiss off the freckles and place them in the sky as guiding stars. ~ Ashley Poston

The waitress delivered me a plate of towering blueberry pancakes dripping in butter. The sweet scent of the fluffy goodness had my stomach rumbling in appreciation. I pushed back my tall glass of orange juice to make way for the food that was about to be introduced to my belly. I swirled my finger around in a giant pad of softening butter and brought it to my lips as the waitress handed Holt his own stack of pancakes plus a plate loaded with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. When she was gone, I reached for the syrup.
"Are you trying to kill me?" Holt said, leaning over the table and stabbing his fork in my direction.
I glanced dubiously at the fork. "Are you trying to kill me?"
He grinned. "You can't just go around licking your fingers like that, Freckles. It makes a man forget he's in a public place."
I laughed and dug into my pancakes, shoving an unladylike bite into my mouth and then groaning as the sweetness slid over my tongue.
"There you go again," he said, his eyes darkening with desire.
"Wasn't last night and this morning enough for you?" I asked playfully.
"I don't think I'll ever get enough of you. ~ Cambria Hebert

Somewhere in the middle of the second glass that Mad Sweeney himself began to throw both details and irrelevancies into Ibis's narrative (" ... such a girl she was, with breasts cream-colored and spackled with freckles, with the tips of them the rich reddish pink of the sunrise on a day when it'll be bucketing down before noon but glorious again by supper ... ") and then Sweeney was trying, with both hands, to explain the history of the gods in Ireland, wave after wave of them as they came in from Gaul and from Spain and from every damn place, each wave of them transforming the last gods into trolls and fairies and every damn creature until Holy Mother Church herself arrived and every god in Ireland was transformed into a fairy or a saint or a dead king without so much as a by-your-leave ... Mr. ~ Neil Gaiman

You might think you're the villain in my story, Lux, but what you don't seem to realize is that I don't care. Princess or Evil Queen, I want you standing by my side when the tale comes to an end. So I'm not walking away - I'm going to wear you down, until you're ready - no, until you're dying - to tell me what happened back then." Another kiss landed on my lips, and I fought off a tremble of desire. "And Freckles?"
My eyes flickered up to meet his searing gaze.
"It's going to be a hell of a lot of fun. ~ Julie Johnson

She'd assumed God made them to spite her, but Wyatt said it with warmth, as if God made them because He liked freckles, because He specifically liked them on her. ~ Sarah Sundin

Had she been born 500 years sooner, Raphael would have chosen her as a model for his cherubs. Tendrils of bright red hair framed her face, a spray of freckles powdered her nose, and she was as plump as a perfectly ripened peach. Raphael probably would have painted out the freckles, and that would have been a mistake. Like brushing cinnamon off cinnamon toast. ~ E.L. Konigsburg

In that latitude the temperature flirted with a hundred degrees for a few of the dog days, but to a child it can hardly ever be too hot. I liked the sun licking the backs of my legs, and the sweat between my shoulder blades, and the violet evenings, with ice cream and fireflies, wherein the long day slowly cooled. I liked the ants piling up dirt like coffee grounds between the bricks of our front walk, and the milkweed spittle in the vacant lot next door. I liked the freedom of shorts, sneakers, and striped T-shirt, with freckles and a short hot-weather haircut.
We love easily in summer, perhaps, because we love our summer selves. ~ John Updike

I did feel funny about being fair and having red hair and freckles. I did not like that because I grew up in a neighbourhood where no one had red hair. I felt very conspicuous but not in a nice way. ~ Patti Scialfa

I don't like how you smell like honey and cotton candy. I dislike your blue eyes that I don't get lost in. I really dislike the seventeen freckles on your face [ ... ] I haven't thought about you every day since we met that one night[ ... ] In your eyes I don't see the missing pieces I've been searching for. And I know this isn't crazy ... but I thing I hate you, Andie. ~ Brittainy C. Cherry

If you're asking whether I intentionally mess up my hair, no, I don't. And certain things, like my freckles, they're just there. I don't do anything consciously. I suppose I could get contact lenses. I suppose I could comb my hair more often. ~ Bill Gates

I've seen you up close, like this. I remember your eyes. They're the color of the sea -- just inside a coral reef and your freckles are like the stones of a volcanic island scattered along the sand. Your hair is like the sun setting over the water, shooting out orange rays in all directions ~ Melissa Turner Lee

I'm shorter, I don't have as many freckles as Ron, and I can't do magic. ~ Rupert Grint

His name feels like a secret, and now he's wearing it on his wrist. I want to know all about this girl who put it there. What she looks like. If she's got freckles, fair hair or dark, like his. If she's scrappy or etheral, funny or serious, scrape-kneed or ladylike. I know that she loves him, so I want to know everything else. But West doesn't want to share her with me. I shouldn't keep trying to scale these walls he puts up. I'm a terrible climber. ~ Robin York

Liver spots are mature freckles.. ~ K.j. Force

People don't associate red hair, pale skin, and freckles with beauty. ~ Shirley Manson

Quickly, she pulls out a photograph from the same drawer. Two girls; one English, one Japanese. Their hair is in plaits, knees in the same position, peeking out under school skirts. There is no gap between their bodies. They look entirely different. Chinatsu is delicate, so flawless that she seems like a drawing, whereas Fleur is scrawny and ablaze with freckles. And yet, they look like sisters; the same posture, the same sadness in their eyes. She remembers that day. It was the worst and best of her life. ~ Sarah Dobbs

Boys next door were supposed to be fresh-faced with fair skin,
butterscotch-blond hair they brushed out of clear blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles. They were
also supposed to be friendly. We'd moved in a week ago and this kid had avoided us like we were a
family of spitting cobras on crack. ~ A&E Kirk

Sometimes life could be astonishingly efficient in dispensing mortifications. In the space of a minute, she would be exposed before three male visitors to be both freakishly tall and an abominably poor sculptor. What would come next? Perhaps her father would invite the men to count her freckles, one by one. They'd be here until moonrise.
Suddenly, Bramwell was at her side.
"This?" he asked, touching a finger to the model's edge.
She cringed, wishing she could deny it. "Yes, thank you."
As he retrieved the model from the shelf, she stole glances at him out of the corner of her eye. She had to admit, the Rycliff title suited him. Give the man a mace and a chain mail vest, and she could easily have mistaken him for a medieval warrior, squeezed through some rocky gap in the centuries to emerge in modern day. From the sheer size of him, large and solid all over, to that squared jaw, shadowed with a day's or more growth of whiskers. He moved with more power than grace, and he wore his dark hair long, tied back at his nape with a bit of leather cord. And the way he'd looked at her just before that kiss-as though he would devour her, and she would enjoy it-was straight from the Dark Ages.
As he presented the crumbling mess of sun-dried clay and pasted-on moss, Susanna fought the urge to blow dust off the thing. Evidently the maids couldn't reach this shelf, either.
"Isn't it clever?" Her father took the model from Bramwell's hands and held it up. "Susann ~ Tessa Dare

Clean-cut. She has freckles! ~ Robyn Carr

He thought her delightful, - freckles, picnic-untidiness and all. ~ Elizabeth Von Arnim

What strength he once possessed had left his body and gone to a tiny girl with freckles. ~ Paullina Simons

Your identifier is you. I remember your eyes. Your mouth. The freckles on both cheeks that look like constellations. I know your smiles, at least three of them, and at least eight of your expressions, including the ones you only do with your eyes. If I could draw, I would draw you, and I wouldn't need to look at you to do it. Because your face is stuck in my mind. ~ Jennifer Niven

What are you doing?" I whisper, not at all surprised when he doesn't answer my question. He keeps up drawing patterns for a few minutes, nearly lulling me to sleep, before leaning over and pressing a soft kiss between my shoulder blades. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me onto my side toward him, my back flat against his warm chest."I was connecting the dots," he says quietly. "Your freckles are like stars. They tell a story, depending on how you connect them."I smile to myself as he takes my hand, linking our fingers together. "What did they tell you?""They told me you're beautiful," he says. "And I'm a lucky son of a bitch to have you all to myself. ~ J.M. Darhower

Good heavens above, the poor child has more freckles than there are stars in the sky! if she doesn't start using a good bleaching lotion at once, she'll never catch a good husband! -James Augustus Peregrine Pympoole-Bothame ~ Kerstin Gier

But the best stories were about their mother, how her hair was as red as blood, how she had seventy-four freckles on her face, how she was a ferryboat captain's daughter who believed that people could fly. ~ Alice Hoffman

So, Freckles," he said when I sat down.
"Freckles?" I interrupted.
"You said I couldn't call ya, Katie-cat."
I shuddered. "I do have a given name, you know."
"I don't want to call you what everyone else calls you."
"You don't?"
"Nope."
"Why?" I asked suspiciously.
"Because I'm special."
"There goes that ego of yours again." I held out my arms wide. "Big," I mouthed. ~ Cambria Hebert

I want to feel the creases in his skin, connect his freckles with invisible lines, brush my fingers across the inside of his wrists. ~ Stephanie Perkins

I want to tell her to fucking stop, to open herself back up, because she's perfect exactly how she is, even though she's jealous and angry, and suffering. I want to tell her that her rawness is fucking flawless and I crave it. I want to tellher that her sun freckles are my favorite part of summertime, and that she's my home. ~ YellowBella

Do I "really like" him? Is that the right way to put it? I've only known him for the summer technically, but "really like" doesn't seem to encompass it. If you "really like" someone, do they insist on invading your every thought? Does just saying their name make goose bumps rise on your arms? Do you contemplate how many freckles your children will have? ~ Leah Rae Miller

She looked like she believed in something, or wanted to, and I hoped to hell it wasn't God, not in the way The Dad believes, because all that does is make him forced and desperate. No, it was something else, not just that I saw a pretty girl and just got all excited. I mean, yeah, that part is true, and she really was gorgeous, and the freckles covering her, the freckles on top of freckles all spread out and folding into one another made her skin look like it had grain and texture, like polished wood, like it would feel smooth to the touch, and so soft. I knew that. But it wasn't how she looked. ~ Brad Barkley

What does it mean to love somebody? It is always to seize that person in a mass, extract him or her from a group, however small, in which he or she participates, whether it be through the family only or through something else; then to find that person's own packs, the multiplicities he or she encloses within himself or herself which may be of an entirely different nature. To join them to mine, to make them penetrate mine, and for me to penetrate the other person's. Heavenly nuptials, multiplicities of multiplicities. Every love is an exercise in depersonalization on a body without organs yet to be formed, and it is at the highest point of this depersonalization that some- one can be named, receives his or her family name or first name, acquires the most intense discernibility in the instantaneous apprehension of the multiplicities belonging to him or her, and to which he or she belongs. A pack of freckles on a face, a pack of boys speaking through the voice of a woman, a clutch of girls in Charlus's voice, a horde of wolves in somebody's throat, a multiplicity of anuses in the anus, mouth, or eye one is intent upon. We each go through so many bodies in each other. ~ Gilles Deleuze

Mother Duncan, do kisses wash off?............"Lord, na! Freckles," she cried. "At least, the anes ye get from people ye love dinna. They dinna stay on the outside. They strike in until they find the centre of your heart and make their stopping-place there, and naething can take them from ye-I doubt if even death-Na, lad, ye can be reet sure kisses dinna wash off! ~ Gene Stratton-Porter

Zane turned his attention to the bus. Phoebe got a bad feeling when she caught sight of the worn sandals, tie-dyed T-shirts and woven hats on the next couple to disembark.
"Hey," the man said. "I'm Martin Lagarde and this is my wife, Andrea."
The woman, a thirtysomething brunette with freckles and glasses, shook hands with Zane.
"We're so excited to be here. Martin and I just love being in the outdoors. We've hiked all over, and last year we did a week at a meditation retreat in Hawaii, but we've never done anything like this." She continued to pump his hand as her expression turned earnest. "We really want this opportunity to be one with the land. To experience a different kind of life. The Old West." She finally released Zane's hand. "We're vegetarians. I hope that won't be a problem."
Zane considered them for a moment, then said, "Not for me." He jerked his head toward the compartment beneath the bus that the driver had opened. "Collect your gear and head inside. Chase will show you where you'll bunk tonight."
"Sure thing," Martin said.
He held up his hand for a high five. When Zane simply stared at him, Martin grabbed Zane's wrist and pulled it until it was level with his shoulder, then slapped his hand against Zane's.
When he walked away, Zane turned to look at her. "Two starving kids and tree-hugging vegetarians. I'm going to kill Chase. ~ Susan Mallery

I really believe in less is more in terms of makeup. I try not to wear too much foundation. I like to see my skin coming through. I like to see my freckles. I just think that's the most youthful look. ~ Michelle Monaghan

He squints at me. "Except for the red hair and freckles, you look okay. You'll be fine and dandy sitting at the table with a napkin on your lap. ~ Christina Baker Kline

Nasser found himself imagining her, without wanting to: those large green eyes, and freckles, and sweet bow lips. ~ Kaye Thornbrugh

Willow turned her gaze from him as he sat down on the bed and smoothed her tangled hair off her face. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you, sweetheart. Are you all right now?"
Willow couldn't help flinching from his touch. "Of course I'm all right," she snapped.
Rider jerked his hand back as if bitten. "Freckles, honey, is something wrong, something you're not telling me?"
The angry redhead shrugged. "What could possibly be wrong?"
"I don't know. You just seem a little....out of sorts."
Bastard, she silently cursed. But aloud she said, "I'm fine. Just tired, I guess."
"Do you want me to bring your supper to you in here? I'd be happy to keep you company."
"I would like to have my supper in here but don't bother yourself on my account. I'm sure you have things to discuss with Pa and the boys."
Rider stood abruptly, obviously at a loss over her attitude. "Fine,Willow, if that's what you want."
"It is."
He opened the door to leave but halted when she called, "Rider."
"Yes?"
"You better move your things in with one of the boys. Miriam is sharing my bed tonight."
"Tonight? But I'm leaving tomorrow and won't be back until-"
"Really,Rider, it's only for one night and I ain't,er, am not in any shape for fooling around!"
"I know that," he bit out, his ire piqued now. "I just thought it might be nice to hold you."
With that, he slammed out the door and Willow broke into tears. Before they stopped, her head was p ~ Charlotte McPherren

If I had known all the things you didnt want me to
I would have worried more about you but I would not have walked away
Beautiful man with the freckles underneath the tan
Understanding underneath the grin
I would not have walked away

You couldnt have got rid of me back then
Not even if you tried
Cause I couldnt wait to really be your friend
I always thought that wed have time

Now I look up, I think I see you in a silvery cup
Trying to tell us that weve cried enough but I dont want to walk away
Youre with me in a way that you will always be
And I hope that you feel free
I know this world is never gonna be the same
Im gonna keep saying your name
I dont want to walk away

You cant get rid of me that fast
Ill come and find you in my dreams
Youre a part of all things that last
All the way to eternity ~ Catie Curtis

That red spot!" she says with alarm.
"That's a freckle!"
"It wasn't there before ... " she says as she inspects her entire arm.
"It's cute."
"It's not cute."
"Then it's mine," I say. "If you don't like it, it's mine. I'll call it Brady."
"My freckle?"
"Yes."
"You're naming my freckle after yourself?" she says. "And you think I have issues?"
"It's like a star. People buy stars in the constellation and name them after people al the time. As gifts."
"So then are you buying my freckle? Because I don't know if you can afford my freckle. My freckles don't come cheap, you know."
"I've already claimed it," I declare. "It's not up for discussion anymore. Just eat your ice cream. And don't spill any on Brady. ~ Caprice Crane

She looked at him all serious, and Gael swore even her freckles looked like they weren't messing around. ~ Leah Konen

It's like escaping a hot, bright room
for the serenity of a city at night, covered in snow.
People eliminated. A carpet of silence
for taxis to whisper across. The world becoming
a pleasant dream of itself. The itch
of want smoldering to life on skin. Memory sends
a chill vanishing between vertebrae.
It's New Year's Eve. Hail the Calendar! As if
clocks will pause for a moment
before reloading their long rifles. Years are tiny
freckles on the face of a century.
Where is the constellation we gazed at each night
Through a bill rolled so tight
the first President lost his breath, as our eyeballs
literally unraveled? I am alone
in the rectangular borough in the observatory,
where even fire trucks can't rescue
the arsonist stretching his calves in my brain. ~ Jeffrey McDaniel

Tell your daughters how you love your body.
Tell them how they must love theirs.

Tell them to be proud of every bit of themselves -
from their tiger stripes to the soft flesh of their thighs,
whether there is a little of them or a lot,
whether freckles cover their face or not,
whether their curves are plentiful or slim,
whether their hair is thick, curly, straight, long or short.

Tell them how they inherited
their ancestors, souls in their smiles,
that their eyes carry countries
that breathed life into history,
that the swing of their hips
does not determine their destiny.

Tell them never to listen when bodies are critiqued.
Tell them every woman's body is beautiful
because every woman's soul is unique. ~ Nikita Gill

That she is beautiful, an impossible kind of beauty, composed of all the wrong elements: white hair, the flawless but deeply lined skin, the freckles of age dotting the hands and face. ~ Sue Miller

You're beautiful, Evie," came his soft comment.
Having been raised by relations who had always lamented the garish color of her hair and the proliferation of freckles, Evie gave him a skeptical smile. "Aunt Florence has always given me a bleaching lotion to make my freckles vanish. But there's no getting rid of them."
Sebastian smiled lazily as he came to her. Taking her shoulders in his hands, he slid an appraising glance along her half-clad body. "Don't remove a single freckle, sweet. I found some in the most enchanting places. I already have my favorites… shall I tell you where they are?"
Disarmed and discomfited, Evie shook her head and made a movement to twist away from him. He wouldn't let her, however. Pulling her closer, he bent his golden head and kissed the side of her neck. "Little spoilsport," he whispered, smiling. "I'm going to tell you anyway." His fingers closed around a handful of the chemise and eased the hem slowly upward. Her breath caught as she felt his fingers nuzzling tenderly between her bare legs. "As I discovered earlier," he said against her sensitive throat, "there's a trail inside your right thigh that leads to - "
A knock at the door interrupted them, and Sebastian lifted his head with a grumble of annoyance. "Breakfast," he muttered. "And I wouldn't care to make you choose between my lovemaking or a hot meal, as the answer would likely be unflattering. ~ Lisa Kleypas

He might tolerate someone dipping into his stash of dark-roast coffee, but nobody messed with his pot. Not even if she was cuter than a bug's ear, with that faint sprinkling of freckles across her nose. ~ Carolyn Brown

Without lifting her head, she said, "I want you to get out."

And right then I was sure: M had been born with the mean gene.
It's the way we come out, Toby said. Maybe M being mean wasn't any different than Mike and Chad being gay, or me having freckles. Mean was just the way she came out. She hated me all right, but it was nothing personal. ~ Jennifer Gooch Hummer