Gervinho Forehead Quotes

There's no great mystique to photography. A lot of photographers like to put their hands up to their forehead and tell you how they've suffered and so forth. Well, I just rent a car and drive to the place and take the pictures. ~ Elliott Erwitt

A giant wields a rusty saw. He gloats and hums as he works, slicing through my forehead and into the mind behind it. ~ E. Lockhart

I have a big forehead, and I got made fun of all time. When I was a little girl, they used to call me 'five-head.' ~ Tyra Banks

If the internal griefs of every man could be read, written on his forehead, how many who now excite envy would appear to be the objects of pity? ~ Pietro Metastasio

If the best man's faults were written on his forehead, he would draw his hat over his eyes. ~ Thomas Gray

She writes that one of the moments that she felt most useful was when her mother had a headache, and she would stroke her head and rub her forehead. And I think Eleanor Roosevelt's entire life was dedicated to two things: (one) making it better for all people, people in trouble and in need, like her family. ~ Blanche Wiesen Cook

The cotton swab softly moved across my face, leaving a pleasant coolness behind. It swept over my forehead, down my nose, on the sides of my cheeks, and across my chin. It relaxed me and I melted. And slowly, I began to fall asleep. I considered reupping for another hour.
But then I felt the burning.
"Oooh," I said, opening my eyes. "Cindy, this doesn't feel right."
"Oh, good," Cindy said, sounding unconcerned. "You're starting to feel it now?"
Seconds later, I was in severe pain. "Oh, I'm more feeling it," I answered, gripping the arms of the chair until my knuckles turned white.
"Well, it should stop here in a second…," she insisted. "It's just working its magic--"
My face was melting off. "Ouch! Ow! Seriously, Cindy! Take this stuff off my face! It's killing me!"
"Oh, dear…okay, okay," Cindy answered, quickly grabbing a soaked washcloth and quickly wiping the nuclear solution from my skin. Finally, the intense burning began to subside.
"Gosh," I said, trying to be nice. "I don't think that's something I want to try again." I swallowed hard, trying to will the pain receptors to stop firing.
"Hmmm," Cindy said, perplexed. "I'm sorry it stung a little. But you'll love it tomorrow morning when you wake up! Your skin will look so fresh and dewy."
It better, I thought as I paid Cindy for the torture and left the tiny salon. My face tingled, and not at all in a good way. And as I walked to my car, the floodgates of wedding worry o ~ Ree Drummond

You're wrong about one thing, though," she said. Daniel looked quizzically at her. "What?" Etta reached up to his brow and brushed his hair off his forehead with a gentle caress that set his blood to pumping. Then she tilted her head back and met his gaze. "You are a hero. My hero." And ~ Karen Witemeyer

No, you're not." He sounds very confident. "Ava, you've found out the worst about me and not run a mile. Well, you did, but you came back." He kisses my forehead. "Do you honestly think I'm bothered about my age? ~ Jodi Ellen Malpas

She wanted to touch him, to throw her arms around him - but something held her back. Maybe it was the fear that her arms would pass right through him, that she would have come all this way only to find a ghost after all.

As though he'd been able to read her thoughts, he slowly angled toward her. He raised his hands and held his palms out to her. Isobel lifted her own hands to mirror his. He pressed their palms together, his fingers folding down to lace through hers. She felt a rush of warmth course through her, a relief as pure and sweet as spring rain.

He was real. This was real. She had found him. She could touch him. She could feel him. Finally they were together. Finally, finally, they could forget this wasted world and go home.

"I knew it wasn't true," she whispered. "I knew you wouldn't stop believing." He drew her close.
Leaning into him, she felt him press his lips to her forehead in a kiss. As he spoke, the cool metal of his lip ring grazed her skin, causing a shudder to ripple through her.

"You..." His voice, low and breathy, reverberated through her, down to the thin soles of her slippers. "You think you're different," he said. She felt his hands tighten around hers, gripping hard, too hard.
A streak of violet lightning split the sky, striking close behind them.

The house, Isobel thought. It had been struck. She could hear it cracking apart. She looked for only a brief moment, long enough to watch i ~ Kelly Creagh

Go Ahead, call me all the names you want," Sansa said airily. "You won't dare when I'm married to Joffrey. You'll have to bow and call me Your Grace." She shrieked as Arya flung the orange across the table. It caught her in the middle of the forehead with a wet squish and plopped down into her lap.
"You have juice on your face, Your Grace ," Arya said. ~ George R R Martin

Give him numbers, he's great. Give him words and sentences to put together and his forehead creases down so you can see exactly what he'll look like when he's eighty. ~ Patrick Ness

Angles from their former lofty positions in the sky. Their absence made everything look different, like a fresh haircut exposing a band of untanned skin on a forehead. Even from deep inside the kitchen, Luke could tell the trees were missing because everything was brighter, more open. Scarier. ~ Margaret Peterson Haddix

Holden's point of view: 'I didn't say anything for the rest of the trip to Barker's house. Quintus kept talking until I could feel a vein twitching in my forehead. I had never been so happy to see Baker in my life than when his house finally came into view. ~ Liz Schulte

His short hair is damp and a few strands are plastered to his forehead. His eyes are bluer than blue when he assesses me coolly.
"Ready for me?"
DEAR GOD YES. ~ R.S. Grey

A large bare forehead gives a woman a masculine and defying look. The word "effrontery" comes from it. The hair should be brought over such a forehead as vines are trailed over a wall. ~ Leigh Hunt

My forehead is starting to get wrinkled, but you'd hardly notice it because all the wrinkles in my shirt would distract your attention from my face. ~ Jarod Kintz

But if they thought Blair stripping Furi was hot, Furi leaned in, his forehead pressed against Blair's, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth, slowly popping one of the buttons on Blair's shirt, teasing the guys with more skin, and before they could all calm down from that, Furi gripped Blair's hips and yanked his body into him, dragging his hands up his chest, clamping down on his shoulders and in one skilled move, shoving Blair to his knees. The crowd erupted and God finally had to pry his eyes away and look over at Prescott and Syn. Both of them looked proud and extremely turned on. Blair and Furious together should be fucking illegal. ~ A.E. Via

Matt?"
"Hmm?"
"Kiss me."
He leaned in and rested his forehead against hers. "Sweetheart, I thought you'd never ask. ~ Samantha Chase

Kat turned back to Hale. "The Mary Poppins?"
"Seemed like a good idea at the time."
"Oh. Yeah. Obviously. Just so we're clear, this master plan of yours ... "
"Might have a couple kinks to work through," Hale admitted, then reached for her hand. As soon as he touched her, Kat knew there was no such thing as curses. People make and break their own fortunes-they are the masters of their own fate. And right then Kat wouldn't have changed a thing.
She kissed him, quick and feather soft.
"What was that for?" he asked.
Kat placed her fingers on his face and brought his forehead close to hers, touching as she whispered, "For luck. ~ Ally Carter

I'm not a big drinker and I've had enough secondhand smoke for this decade and the next, so ... "
Great. All she had to do was complain about the deafening volume of the music, and she might as well slap a sticker on her forehead saying old next to the one that already said nerd.
"Band's good, though," she added. "Country's not my thing, but the players are ... proficient." And great, now she sounded like a professor. Proficient. God.
But he was nodding. "Country's not my thing, either."
"But you have a cowboy hat," she said, and as soon as the words left her lips, she realized how stupid she sounded, no - not that she sounded, but that she was. ~ Suzanne Brockmann

Do you know how to play?" I asked.
Hannah gave me one of her vexed looks. "Goodness, Andrew, if it weren't for me you wouldn't know the first thing about marbles. Your brain is a regular sieve these days."
I tapped my forehead to remind her I'd been sick. She looked so contrite I felt guilty. "Will you teach me all over again?"
Hannah poured her marbles onto the quilt and sighed. Without raising her eyes, she said, "Girls my age are supposed to be ladies, but sometimes I get mighty tired of trying to be what I'm not."
Cradling an aggie almost as shiny as Andrew's red bull's-eye, she cocked her head, studied her targets, and shot. The aggie hit a glass marble and sent it spinning off the bed. Hannah grinned and tried again.
When all the marbles except the aggie were scattered on the floor, Hannah seized my chin and tipped my face up to hers. Looking me in the eye, she said, "If you promise not to tell a soul, I'll give you as many lessons as you want. No matter what Papa thinks, I'd rather play marbles than be a lady, and that's the truth."
"Ringer," I said sleepily. "Do you know how to play ringer?"
Hannah ruffled my hair. "You must be pulling my leg, Andrew. That's what we always play. It's your favorite game."
I yawned. "Starting tomorrow, we'll practice every day till I get even better than I used to be."
"When I'm finished with you, you'll be the all-time marble champion of Missouri. ~ Mary Downing Hahn

I hate that thing that if you are over 45, and you're going to be on telly or make films, you have to do all this stupid stuff to your face. I would no more let someone stick a needle in my forehead than fly to the moon. ~ Lesley Manville

Marked." My face was on fire, my limbs shaking. "All of you. I will take all of you out with my own bare hands!"
There was laughter building in Bram's voice as he responded. "As cute as I'm sure that would be, your attempt ... if we thought the people who might try to trace that chip could make you absolutely, one hundred percent safe, I would carry you to them and hand you over myself."
I gingerly rested my fingertips against my forehead, breathing deeply, trying to calm myself down.
"There are some very bad men out to get you, Miss Dearly."
"You have got to be kidding me."
"By the way, you have quite the vocabulary, for a princess." He still sounded amused.
This statement was random enough to get my attention. "Princess?" I asked, confused.
"You know, a princess. A New Victorian girl."
My lips parted to fire off another question before it clicked. "You're a Punk."
"Born and bred."
"Fantastic. ~ Lia Habel

My eyes flickered back and forth. Sweat beaded on my forehead and I felt the fluid suffuse my palms, a bastion of warm comfort in a moment of primal terror. ~ Wonderwall123

Everybody clapped enthusiastically and Dr. Marx popped up from behind the podium, where he had been hiding all along. He was the hairiest man the pirates had ever seen. Several of the crew were actually worried for a moment that the Seaweed That Walked Like a Man had returned from one of their previous adventures to ambush them. His nose was hairy. His forehead was hairy. Even his hands were hairy. And his beard was a great bushy black number, which looked like he had sellotaped a bunch of cats to the bottom of his face and then frightened them with a loud noise. ~ Gideon Defoe

Beth's fingers trembled in his hair, and her forehead dropped against his. A heavy, wet tear fell onto Lincoln's lips, and he licked it. He pulled her close, as close as he could. Like he didn't care for the moment whether she could breathe. Like there were two of them and only one parachute. ~ Rainbow Rowell

He stopped, resting his forehead on mine. "Kalista…" He sighed, cupping one side of my face. We remained like that, close to each other, waiting for our bated breaths to steady for countless minutes. Our lips warm and puffy from our kiss.
He looked at me. "Your lips taste better than I imagined, like cherry," he said, brushing his thumb over my bottom lip.
He'd imagined our kiss. "That's because of my cherry chapstick," I smiled.
He pulled me closer, looking down at my lips. "I doubt it," he whispered in a low voice. ~ Tatiana Vila

Four flips the gun in this hand, presses the barrel to Peter's forehead, and clicks a bullet into place. Peter freezes with his lips parted, the yawn dead in his mouth. "Wake. Up," Four snaps. "You are holding a loaded gun, you idiot. Act like it. ~ Veronica Roth

I told you, God is not coy. He's more likely to hit you across the forehead with a two-by-four than whisper in your ear ~ Glenn Beck

They fire lots of bullets very, very quickly. Quicker than anything else."
I looked up and around the bedroom, the mismatched furniture, the weirdly firm light. "Why? What could you hunt with those? What could they have to do with anything?"
"I don't know," he replied. "That's what's so unnerving."
I rubbed a hand to my forehead, feeling an ache beginning to build behind my skull. "Armand."
His eyes went to mine.
I had to say this carefully; I had no wish to add to his despair, but I couldn't let it go. "Do you think…do you suppose it's possible that your father might…mean to do you any harm?"
But I'd actually made him smile. A real one, too, even if it came acerbic and thin. "With a pair of Vickers? Not unless he means to mount them in the hallway and spry me with bullets when I'm not paying attention. Seems like rather a spot of work for him. Surely even an unwelcome heir is better than none."
I returned his smile as I pulled away my hand. "I think we need to teach you how to Turn to smoke, just in case. It's a handy thing to be able to vanish in a hurry."
His smile widened, but there was no humor left to it. "Handy." He fell back against the blankets of the bed, his eyes gone shiny and hard. "If I could vanish into smoke, Eleanore, I'd leave this place and never return. That's a promise."
"Just like Rue," I said softly. ~ Shana Abe

And Gray ... Gray was finished. Done for. Completely and hopelessly lost in the softest, most tender embrace he'd ever known. He held her face in his hands, brushing light kisses over her lips. Kissing her slowly, carefully, as though he were only just learning about kissing-because he was. Not learning how to kiss, but learning why to kiss. Not in persuasion, not as a prelude to further liberties. Simply to discover the taste of her, delicate and fresh and exquisitely sweet. To tell her things he didn't dare express in words. To tell her things he had no words to express. He kissed her for no greater pleasure than to kiss, because at that moment, kissing her felt like the greatest pleasure imaginable.
He pressed his lips to her cheeks, her brow, her eyelids, her hair, interspersing his kisses with little endearments in every language he knew. Then, eyes closed, he rested his forehead against hers and waited. Leaving the choice to her. ~ Tessa Dare

Rather than pulling away to walk back to the counter, he brings both his hands to my face and holds me still while he looks at me in silence for several seconds. His thumbs brush lightly across my jaw, and he releases a soft breath. His brows furrow, and his eyes close. He presses his forehead to mine, still holding on to my face, and I can feel his internal struggle.

"Tate."

He says my name so quietly I can feel his regret in the words he hasn't even spoken yet. "I like…" He opens his eyes and looks at me. "I like kissing you, Tate."

I don't know why that sentence seemed hard for him to say, but his voice trailed off toward the end as though he was attempting to stop himself from finishing his words.

As soon as the sentence leaves his mouth, he releases me and quickly steps around the partition as if he's trying to escape from his own confession.

I like kissing you, Tate. ~ Colleen Hoover

I opened the other envelope. It contained a photograph of a girl. The pose suggested a natural ease, or a lot of experience in being photographed. It showed darkish hair which might possibly have been red, a wide clear forehead, serious eyes, high cheekbones, nervous nostrils and a mouth which was not giving anything away. It was a fine-drawn, almost a taut face, and not a happy one ~ Raymond Chandler

I'd do it all over again, you know. I wouldn't trade one second if it meant we were right here, in this moment."
She took in a deep breath, and I gently kissed her forehead.
"This is it," I whispered.
"What?"
"The moment. When I watch you sleeping ... that peace on your face? This is it. I haven't had it since before my mom died, but I can feel it again." I took another deep breath and pulled her closer. "I knew the second I met you that there was something about you I needed. Turns out it wasn't something about you at all. It was just you."
Abby offered a tired smile as she buried her face into my chest. "It's us, Trav. Nothing makes sense unless we're together. Have you noticed that?"
"Noticed? I've been telling you that all year!" I teased. ~ Jamie McGuire

Your wife is always right. Very simple. I think I'm going to get it tattooed on my forehead. ~ Hugh Jackman

In the shade of the house, in the sunshine of the riverbank near the boats, in the shade of the Sal-wood forest, in the shade of the fig tree is where Siddhartha grew up, the handsome son of the Brahman, the young falcon, together with his friend Govinda, son of a Brahman. The sun tanned his light shoulders by the banks of the river when bathing, performing the sacred ablutions, the sacred offerings. In the mango grove, shade poured into his black eyes, when playing as a boy, when his mother sang, when the sacred offerings were made, when his father, the scholar, taught him, when the wise men talked. For a long time, Siddhartha had been partaking in the discussions of the wise men, practising debate with Govinda, practising with Govinda the art of reflection, the service of meditation. He already knew how to speak the Om silently, the word of words, to speak it silently into himself while inhaling, to speak it silently out of himself while exhaling, with all the concentration of his soul, the forehead surrounded by the glow of the clear-thinking spirit. He already knew to feel Atman in the depths of his being, indestructible, one with the universe. ~ Hermann Hesse

The feeling of an unbridgeable gulf between consciousness and brain-process:When does this feeling occur in the present case?It is when I (for example) turn my attention in a particular way on to my own consciousness, and, astonished, say to myself: THIS is supposed to be produced by a process in the brain!
as it were clutching my forehead. ~ Ludwig Wittgenstein

The tallest slugger touched my forehead, and I ignited like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. Shards of dazzling light rippled under my skin. I was the constellation Grus. The Trifid Nebula. I was the Big Bang, expanding endlessly through time and space forever.
"I thought I was dying. That I was going to expire on a cold slab, trapped inside an UFO, my body filled with every light that had ever existed. I couldn't imagine a better way to die. ~ Shaun David Hutchinson