Nice Looking Girl Quotes

That is nice, Mr. Morgan. Because in response to your tough-guy speech, I, in turn, would've had to give you my tough-girl speech, about where, exactly, federal prosecutors who come to my office looking for assistance can stick their obstruction of justice threats ~ Julie James

I'm planning to go redneck chic with the wedding," Maddy announced, looking through the racks of dresses.
"What the hell is that?"
"Redneck chic is a nice way of saying I have bad taste, but I'm embracing it."
Sizing up Maddy's blonde girl next door beauty, I found her dressed normal. "Bad taste how? Is this about Tucker because, yeah, I see it?"
Maddy rolled her blue eyes then walked to the next rack. "Tucker is gorgeous. He's the classiest part of my life."
Nearby, Raven burst into laughter to the point of nearly pissing herself. I didn't blame her since we'd all seen Tucker fall off chairs and struggle with push/ pull doors. Classy, he was not. ~ Bijou Hunter

You're a nice-looking girl ... all over. That's all you need, honey, forget the atmosphere. ~ Lorraine Hansberry

I just cash in on the fact that I'm good looking, and I've got a nice figure and girls like me. ~ Sid Vicious

The girl looked at Patty with large, sad-looking eyes. She finally let out a long sigh. "Oh boy," she said. "Well. I'm sorry I said that shit about you. That stuff about you."
Patty said, "You're sixteen."
"Fifteen."
"You're fifteen, I'm the adult, and I'm the one who did something wrong."
Patty was startled to see that tears had begun to slip down the girl's face, and the girl wiped them with her hand. "I'm just tired," Lila said. "I'm just so tired."
....(Patty:) I can get you into a school, and you can go."
The girl put her head down on her arms on Patty's desk. Her shoulders shook. In a few minutes she said, looking up, her face wet. "I'm sorry. But when someone's nice to me--Oh God, it just kills me."
...Patty handed her a tissue. "It's okay. I'm telling you. It is all going to be okay. ~ Elizabeth Strout

The way I see it, truth only looks good when you're looking at it from far away. It's kind of like that beautiful girl you see on the street when you're riding past in the bus ... there she is, this amazing girl walking by on the street, and you think if you could only get off this stupid bus and introduce yourself to her, your life would change.
The thing is, she's not as perfect as you think, and if you ever got off the bus to introduce yourself, you'd find out ... This girl is truth. She's not so pretty, not so nice. But then, once you get to know her, all that stuff doesn't seem to matter. ~ Neal Shusterman

Hey," I said, wondering why I was either short on words or babbling when I spoke to him. I touched his hat. "Didn't help. I still lost."
The game, anyway. I'd won a date.
"Mac's pretty good at pool," he said.
"You're no slouch, either."
"It didn't look like you were paying attention."
In the beginning, until Mac had shown up, I'd been riveted.
"When I was looking at the program last night, I noticed you and Mac play for the same university," I said, doing our usual change-the-subject thing. "You must know each other pretty well."
"Pretty well."
"He seems really nice."
"He's a pretty good guy."
Not exactly a resounding endorsement. But then guys probably didn't spend a lot of time complimenting other guys.
He's the best. He's the greatest. If I were a girl, I'd definitely go out with him. ~ Rachel Hawthorne

Alex was right in front of the mantel now, bent forward, his nose mere inches from a picture of me.
"Oh,God. Don't look at that!"
It was from the year-end recital of my one and only year of ballet class. I was six: twig legs, a huge gap where my two front teeth had recently been, and a bumblebee costume. Nonna had done her best, but there was only so much she could do with yellow and black spandex and a bee butt. Dad had found one of those headbands with springy antennai attached. I'd loved the antennae. The more enthusiastic my jetes, the more they bounced. Of course, I'd also jeted my flat-chested little self out of the top of my costume so many times that, during the actual recital itself,I'd barely moved at all, victim to the overwhelming modesty of the six-year-old. Now, looking at the little girl I'd been, I wished someone had told her not to worry so much, that within a year, that smooth, skinny, little bare shoulder would have turned into the bane of her existence. That she was absolutely perfect.
"Nice stripes," Alex said casually, straightening up.
That stung. It should't have-it was just a photo-but it did. I don't know what I'd expected him to say about the picture. It wasn't that. But then, I didn't expect the wide grin that spread across his face when he got a good look at mine, either.
"Those," he announced, pointing to a photo of my mulleted dad leaning against the painted hood of his Mustang "are nice stripes. That-" he pointed to the ~ Melissa Jensen

Half inebriated, he vaulted up the stairs to find them lolling in chairs in the hall outside Maria's door. Gabe clasped a bunch of violets in his hand while Jarret held a rolled-up piece of parchment in his.
"What are you two louts doing here in the middle of the night?" he growled.
"It's nearly dawn," Gabe said coolly. "Hardly the middle of the night. Not that you would have noticed, in your drunken state."
Scowling, Oliver took a step toward them. "It's still earlier than you, at least, every rise."
Gabe glanced at Jarret. "Clearly, the old boy doesn't remember what today is."
"I believe you're right," Jarret returned, a hint of condemnation in his tone.
Oliver glared at them both as he sifted through his soggy brain for what they menat. When it came to him, he groaned. St. Valentine's Day. That sobered him right up. "That doesn't explain why you're lurking outside Maria's door."
Jarret cast him a scathing glance as he got to his feet. "Why do you care? You ran off to town to find your entertainment. Seems to me that you're relinquishing the field."
"So you two intend to step in?" he snapped.
"Why not?" Gabe rose to glower at him. "Since your plan to thwart Gran isn't working, and it's looking as if we'll have to marry someone, we might as well have a go at Miss Butterfield. She's an heiress and a very nice girl, too, in case you hadn't noticed If you're stupid enough to throw her over for a bunch of whores and opera dancers, we' ~ Sabrina Jeffries

Have you met my new dancer?"
The girl approached and he was able to dink in the sigh of her with a slackened jaw. Her short, icy-blonde hair wisped around her face, drawing him in to her deep brown eyes. Her brows had a strong arch to them that made her look as though she was either intrigued or annoyed. Beau didn't care so long as she was looking at him. He liked his lips absently, letting his gaze sweep over her face for a moment more. He couldn't stop his brain from picturing her smearing the shimmering pink gloss from her perfect mouth all over his body. Leaving her mark. He cursed in his thoughts again. Who the hell was this girl and what was she doing to him?
He cleared his throat and extended his hand toward her coolly. "Beau Harris, nice to meet you," he said.
The corner of the young woman's mouth twitched and she took his hand before her eyes darted to Vanessa.
"Beau!" Vanessa barked. He glanced at her and reluctantly dropped the dancer's hand. He looked between the two woman for a moment and tried to keep his gaze up and off the stranger's tight, tanned stomach.
"What?" He bit back.
Vanessa huffed and a cackled cracked out of her throat. "You losing eyesight in your old age? That's Whitney. My little sister," she said, drawing out her words out like he was an idiot. ~ Kate Roth

I like looking nice, but I always put comfort over fashion. I don't find thin girls attractive; be happy and healthy. I've never had a problem with the way I loo. I'd rather have lunch with my friends than go to the gym. ~ Adele

She spent the vestigial hours of the night huddled in a large wing-chair, looking too small for it, her little harmonica-sized tran­sistor radio purring away at her elbow. She kept it on the Paterson station, WPAT, which stayed on all night. There were others that did too, but they were crawling with commercials; this one wasn't. It kept murmuring the melodies of Roberta and Can-Can and My Fair Lady, while the night went by and the world, out there beyond its dial, went by with it. She dozed off finally, her head lolling over like a little girl's propped up asleep in a grown-up's chair.

("Too Nice A Day To Die") ~ Cornell Woolrich

One time, on a pleasure cruise, he saw a young couple, fiancés, sitting and looking at the water--the boy had his right arm around the girl's shoulder and held her right wrist tight and she had put her left hand on his right hand, and they sat like that, pressed close together. The little poet looked at them, it's so lovely to see a nice young couple like that. That these children are excited because they want more, that they are only getting each other worked up for what they can't do and don't dare to do, that they never know where to stop--no one ever notices that or thinks about that. It was very lovely, and maybe the truth was that they had just recently gotten engaged and were still satisfied with being madly in love with each other. ~ Nescio

Tina and Pete stood together. Pete knew he should be grilling the girl, getting the full story before details were lost, but he was too spellbound by the reunion. The boy he was watching was so different. There was no way to avoid the truth. Someone, a very evil someone, had hurt his boy. Pete felt his fists clench. Whoever it was that had turned Lockie into the skinny kid trapped behind his pain, he would pay. If he had to spend his whole life looking for him, Pete would find him and then he would make him pay. The girl had obviously helped Lockie. He had no idea if she had found him or if she had been with him the whole time, but Lockie kept saying that she had 'saved' him. He was a clever kid and he knew what the word meant.
Pete liked the way she looked at Lockie - like a lioness, like a sister, like a mother.
The skinny girl with short messy black hair could have been anyone. She looked about fifteen but when she spoke she sounded a lot older. She was wearing a big coat but underneath that Pete had caught a glimpse of a short skirt and a tight red top. Not the kind of thing a nice girl would wear. Maybe she wasn't a nice girl but she was smart. That was easy to see. She was watching Lockie with his dad and Pete could see her body sag with relief. She was relieved to get him home. It must have been a promise she had made the boy.
Pete had no idea how she'd got him home. She didn't look like she had a cent to her name. He sighed.
So many questions t ~ Nicole Trope

Since you haven't got a name," he said. "I guess you can pick one for yourself. Would you like to pick one for me to write down?"
She stopped rocking and looked at him. "I can do that? It's legal and everything?"
He smiled. "It's a free country again," he said. "At least in theory."
She nodded. "And when I pick a name it can be any name I want?"
He nodded.
"What's your name?"
"Victor," he said. "Vic, for short."
"Okay," she said, leaning forward and taking the pad from under his large thing hands. "How do you spell that?"
He spelled it and she wrote it down. Her handwriting was perfectly small and legible. "Can I be Victor, too?" she said, looking up from the pad.
He smirked. "It's a boy's name," he said. "You're a girl. You have to add an i and an a to the end if you want to make it a girl's name."
She looked down at the name she had written and added the letters i and a to the end. "Victoria," she said, passing the notepad back to the cop.
"Hello, Victoria," he said, smiling, taking the pad and pen back and presenting his hand for a shake. "It's nice to meet you, officially. ~ Benjamin R. Smith