Stiff Upper Lip Quotes

And I definitely do that very British thing of, take things with a pinch of salt, stiff upper lip, you know what I mean? ~ Jessie J.

Your mother says she will be brave and keep a stiff upper lip," said Father. "Americans are heartless. I will cry into my pillow every night. ~ Cassandra Clare

How much of what we think of as an admirable response to trauma - the "stiff upper lip" - is actually dissociation, the mind's attempt to protect us from experiences that are too painful to digest? I can recall the facts, at least some of them. But I don't feel very much. At least, the feelings I have are not kind. They are not sympathetic toward my fifteen-year-old self. It happened. It happens to a lot of women. I survived. Most women do. I am "strong," but in those moments of strength, I don't feel. I will admit that I am very afraid of one thing. Not just afraid. Ashamed. I am afraid that I am incapable of love. (11) ~ Jessica Stern

How? How did you get Torin to Hex Hall?"
Dad blinked rapidly, and at first, I thought he was surprised by my question. Then I realized that, no, he was fighting tears. Seeing my father, who practically had a PhD in Stiff Upper Lip, on the verge of crying because he was so happy to see me made my own eyes sting. Then he cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, and said, "It was exceedingly difficult."
I laughed through my tears. "I bet."
"It was Torin's idea," someone said behind me, and I turned to see Izzy standing there. Like my parents and her sister, she was dressed in jeans and a black jacket, although she also had a black cap pulled over her bright hair. "We had tons of old spell books, and after you and Cal disappeared, he started looking through them. Found a spell that would let him travel to a different mirror."
"Of course, the problem was finding your mirror," Aislinn said, coming out of the darkness.
"Aren't you afraid that he'll permanently peace out from his mirror and start hanging out in girls' locker rooms or something?"
Aislinn's eyes slid to Izzy. "Torin has his reasons for wanting to stay with us," she said, and even in the dim light, I saw red creepy up Izzy's cheeks. Maybe one day, I'd get to the bottom of whatever was going on there. Preferably once I was done getting to the bottom of the thousand other things on my agenda. ~ Rachel Hawkins

The smell nearly distracted me from my task, but no-I remained steadfast. Stiff upper lip, Watson! Action! Answers!

THEN bacon. ~ G.S. Denning

It's a very valuable function and requirement that you're performing, so have a great day and keep a stiff upper lip. ~ Dan Quayle

The cultural code of the stiff upper lip is not for her boys. She is teaching them that it is not "sissy" to show their feelings to others. When she took Prince William to watch the German tennis star Steffi Graff win the women's singles final at Wimbledon last year they left the royal box to go backstage and congratulate her on her victory. As Graff walked off court down the dimly lit corridor to the dressing room, royal mother and son thought Steffi looked so alone and vulnerable out of the spotlight. So first Diana, then William gave her a kiss and an affectionate hug.
The way the Princess introduced her boys to her dying friend, Adrian Ward-Jackson, was a practical lesson in seeing the reality of life and death. When Diana told her eldest son that Adrian had died, his instinctive response revealed his maturity. "Now he's out of pain at last and really happy." At the same time the Princess is acutely aware of the added burdens of rearing two boys who are popularly known as "the heir and the spare." Self-discipline is part of the training. Every night at six o'clock the boys sit down and write thank-you notes or letters to friends and family. It is a discipline which Diana's father instilled in her, so much so that if she returns from a dinner party at midnight she will not sleep easily unless she has penned a letter of thanks.
William and Harry, now ten and nearly eight respectively, are now aware of their destiny. On one occasion the boys were discussing their ~ Andrew Morton

People who often talk about showing a 'stiff upper lip' are choosing to suffer in silence, isolating themselves from others and destroying a chance to be authentic and sincere. I have spent time with many male recovering addicts who have healed as a result of talking about their emotional pain and depression. Some of them fought in the first and second wars in Iraq; they are physically hard men and are certainly not 'weak'. ~ Christopher Dines

I studied in Britain and spent great moments of my life there as a student living in Belsize Park. I admire the British trait of the stiff upper lip in the face of adversity. My wife studied in Britain, too, and both of us have many friends there. ~ Asif Ali Zardari

It's a peculiarity of the Norwegian culture and of the English and American, too, that men are not supposed to cry. Stiff upper lip and all that. But the Vikings cried like women in public or privately. They soaked their beards with tears and were not one bit ashamed about it. Yet, they were as quick to draw their swords as they were to shed tears. So, what's all this crap about men having to hold in their sorrow and grief and disappointment? ~ Philip Jose Farmer

dear little baby of the folks I work for, I got a present for you .. my whole damn life! I'm handin' it over to you & your ma & pa. if you got no money to pay, I wanna stay anyhow, my pleasure is to wait on you forever. to hell with my children & hooray for you!.. you stayin' up all night fixin' up Character Parts for me! givin' 'em what you call dignity! dignity! you know what your dignity is? a black straw hat with a flower stickin' up in front, hands folded cross my stomach, sayin' the same damn fool things .. only nice & easy & proper!" --trouble in mind (1955) ~ Alice Childress

You know the only rule you need to know to get on in this country? 'Never complain, never explain. ~ Amanda Craig

Don't be too brave. Bravery is a fine thing on some occasions, but sometimes it can be quite a dangerous thing. The stiff upper lip is not always the best. ~ Jeremy Brett

It is poison - rank poison - to knuckle down to care and hardships. They must come to us all, albeit in different shapes, and we may not escape them. It is not possible. But we may swindle them out of half of their puissance with a stiff upper lip. ~ Mark Twain

She's going to keep up her public facade of stoicism and generosity and getting on with thungs. She knows she can do it, she can do the stiff upper lip thing. I will survive. But behind closed doors the going is rough. It's when she is alone that it hits her. And she is often alone, too often, she things no one should have to be alone as much as she is. It should have been me: her mind is a morass of old songs now, Errol Brown started it. It should have been me. ~ Kate Pullinger

I shoot from the hip and keep a stiff upper lip. - AC/DC ~ Stephen King

I put my chin up and tried to stiffen my upper lip, but found I didn't seem to have any muscles in it. ~ Lynne Reid Banks

Christianity is in no way a stoic faith. It fundamentally rejects the "stiff upper lip" school of thought. ~ Tullian Tchividjian

It was part of war; men died, more would die, that was past, and what mattered now was the business in hand; those who lived would get on with it. Whatever sorrow was felt, there was no point in talking or brooding about it, much less in making, for form's sake, a parade of it. Better and healthier to forget it, and look to tomorrow.
The celebrated British stiff upper lip, the resolve to conceal emotion which is not only embarrassing and useless, but harmful, is just plain commons sense ~ George MacDonald Fraser

And so I was very grateful that I didn't do the British stiff upper lip, but I went straight to a therapist. And she was wonderful and helpful, and I went for about two years. ~ Lynn Redgrave

1944 - Exploring London in wartime, a city with stiff upper lip, gritted teeth, clenched fists, makes you realize that Paris is a bit of whore.

Every day and every night for weeks now, London has been bleeding and hiding its wounds with impressive dignity. A 'don't show off' attitude prevails. From time to time a sputtering doodle-bug (a VI) shatters the torpor of the overcast sky. One second, sometimes two ... at most three ... of silence. Visualizing that fat cigar with shark fins as it stops dead, sways, idiotically tips over, then goes into a vertical dive. And explodes. Usually it's an entire building that's destroyed.

Apparently the Civil Defense rescue teams observe a very strict rule of discretion and restraint. You never see any panic. In this impassive city detachment is the expression of panic. ~ Jacques Yonnet

God calls us to have strength in our character and conduct, not simply a stiff upper lip in sorrow or a stubborn persistence during hardship. Secondarily, because the word is "passive voice," we know that the strength God demands He also provides. The strength does not come from a place inside us but a source beyond ourselves, namely, the Lord. ~ James MacDonald

27. So often, we go through our battles in private. As it was with me and with many of the women in my generation. We were taught and reared and molded to keep that stiff upper lip and to never explain in public how deeply some people have hurt us. I cannot get away from that mold. I am comfortable in it. I derive my sanity from it. ~ Psyche Roxas-Mendoza

If he was paralyzed, we'd have to put in ramps and have things altered for wheelchair access; you can get kitchens refitted; bathrooms altered ... I'd get him a really fast wheelchair. It'd be OK. If he couldn't talk, I'd get him a great computer. Anything can be dealt with, everything can be overcome. Just be alive. Just, please God, I beg you, please, please keep him alive for me. ~ Mindy Hammond

And, indeed, is there not something holy about a great kitchen? ... The scoured gleam of row upon row of metal vessels dangling from hooks or reposing on their shelves till needed with the air of so many chalices waiting for the celebration of the sacrament of food. And the range like an altar, yes, before which my mother bowed in perpetual homage, a fringe of sweat upon her upper lip and the fire glowing in her cheeks. ~ Angela Carter

While awake, he was all angles and tension- the muscles of his jaw were strung tight as a bow, as though he were in a perpetual state of holding himself back. But now, in slumber, in the glow of the fire, he was...
Beautiful.
The angles were still there, sharp and perfect, as though a master sculptor had had a hand in creating him- the tilt of his jaw, the cleft of his chin, his long, straight nose, the perfect curve of his brows, and those eyelashes, just as they were when he was a boy, unbelievably long and lush, a black, sooty caress against his cheeks.
And his lips. Not pressed in a firm, grim line at the moment, instead lovely and full. They had once been so quick to smile, but... they had become dangerous and tempting in a way they'd never been when he was a boy. She traced the peak and valleys of his upper lip with her gaze, wondering how many women had kissed him. Wondering what his mouth would feel like- soft or firm, light or dark.
She exhaled, temptation making the breath long and heavy.
She wanted to touch him. ~ Sarah MacLean

A purely sinister smirk shapes his
upper lip and I swear his eyes turn black. ~ J.M. Sevilla

your hips will try to burst through your skin.

your thighs will try to grow together like a mermaid's tail.

a soft garden will try to sprout on your legs.

(& between your legs, on your upper lip, on your armpits, etc.)

no, you are not just here to be sexy for him.

the world begins & ends when you say so.

-what they don't want you to know ~ Amanda Lovelace

As is always the case with a thoroughly attractive woman, her defect - the shortness of her upper lip and her half-open mouth - seemed to be her own special and peculiar form of beauty. ~ Leo Tolstoy

With a sudden flash of anger, she blurted, "Lash wasn't impotent, all right? He wasn't ... impotent-"

The temperature in the room plummeted so fast and so far, her breath came out in clouds.

And what she saw in the mirror made her swing around and take a step back from John: His blue eyes glowed with an unholy light and his upper lip curled up to reveal fangs that were sharp and so long they looked like daggers.

Objects all around the room began to vibrate: the lamps on the bed stands, the clothes on their hangers, the mirror on the wall. The collective rattling crescendoed to a dull roar and she had to steady herself on the bureau or run the risk of being knocked on her ass.

The air was alive. Supercharged. Electric.

Dangerous.

And John was the center of the raging energy, his hands cranking into fists so tight his forearms trembled, his thighs grabbing onto his bones as he sank down into fighting stance.

John's mouth stretched wide as his head shot forward on his spine... and he let out a war cry-

Sound exploded all around her, so loud she had to cover her ears, so powerful she felt the blast against her face.

For a moment, she thought he'd found his voice- except it wasn't vocal cords making that bellowing noise.

The glass in the sliders blew out behind him, the sheets shattering into thousands of shards that blasted free of the house, the fragments bouncing on the ~ J.R. Ward

WELCOME, ONCE AGAIN, to the beautiful Sinclair family. We believe in outdoor exercise. We believe that time heals. We believe, although we will not say so explicitly, in prescription drugs and the cocktail hour. We do not discuss our problems in restaurants. We do not believe in displays of distress. Our upper lips are stiff, and it is possible people are curious about us because we do not show them our hearts. It is possible that we enjoy the way people are curious about us. ~ E. Lockhart

In the variety of the tone of her words, moods, hugs, kisses, brushes of the lips, and this night the upside-down kiss over the back of the chair with her dark eyes heavy hanging and her blushing cheeks full of sweet blood and sudden tenderness brooding like a hawk over the boy over the back, holding the chair on both sides, just an instant, the startling sudden sweet fall of her hair over my face and the soft downward brush of her lips, a moment's penetration of sweet lip flesh, a moment's drowned in thinking and kissing in it and praying and hoping and in the mouth of life when life is young to burn cool skin eye-blinking joy - I held her captured upside down, also for just a second, and savored the kiss which first had surprised me like a blind man's bluff so I didn't know really who was kissing me for the very first instant but now I knew and knew everything more than ever, as, grace-wise, she descended to me from the upper dark where I'd thought only cold could be and with all her heavy lips and breast in my neck and on my head and sudden fragrance of the night brought with her from the porch, of some 5 & 10 cheap perfumes of herself the little hungry scent of perspiration warm in her flesh like presciousness. ~ Jack Kerouac

She fell asleep rapidly, swimming through a haze of pleasant images... walking through the forest in Hampshire... dangling her feet in a cool pond on a hot day... pausing in the kissing gate, while the smell of sun-warmed meadowsweet rose thickly to her nostrils. She closed her eyes and tilted her chin upward, relishing the sultry rays, while a butterfly's wings brushed lightly against her cheek. Entranced by the delicate tickle, she held very still. The silken strokes moved over the tip of her nose, the sensitive periphery of her upper lip, the tender corners of her mouth.
Searching blindly, she lifted her face to the brushes of warmth and was rewarded by a gentle pressure that opened her lips and drew a moan from the upper part of her lungs. Lord Sydney was standing with her in the kissing gate, his arms trapping her against the painted ribs of latticework. His mouth searched hers so gently, his body firm against hers, and she writhed in a mute plea for him to hold her more tightly. Seeming to know exactly what she wanted, he pushed his knee into her skirts, right against the place that felt swollen and yearning. Gasping, she curled her fingers in his glossy hair, and he whispered for her to relax, that he would take care of her, satisfy her-
"Oh." Blinking hard, she stirred from the sensuous dream as she realized that she was not alone. The bed curtains had been drawn aside, and Nick Gentry's long body was entangled with hers. One large hand was cupped beneath he ~ Lisa Kleypas

Leo turned to me, his upper lip curved in that way it does when he's confused. "What exactly is your problem? You broke it off with me, remember?"
The bitch wasn't backing down. Now she had control of my hands. She wagged a finger at Leo. "And you just couldn't wait to climb aboard that silicone-stuffed herpes ride, could you? ~ Barbra Annino

Her hands clutched at his upper arms.
"Y-you make me feel ... "
He glanced up at her, saw the way she was biting her lower lip and the tortured frown between her closed eyes. "What do I make you feel, honey?" he prompted in a low voice, unable to look away from her beautiful face, and he rubbed the heel of his palm against the hard bud of her clitoris.
Her body went wire taut, arching like a hunter's bow as she gasped for him.
"Unbalanced. ~ Edie Harris

William glanced at her sword. His upper lip rose, showing her his teeth. My, my, Lord Bill, what big fangs you have. That was all right. She wasn't Red Riding Hood, she wasn't scared, and her grandmother could curse his ass so hard, he wouldn't know which way was up for a week. ~ Ilona Andrews

A secret could be born when a man witnessed a dance that the rest of the world would never see. A secret could be felt or held in a minuscule smile that was no more than a tic on an aging man's upper lip, or a glimmer of starlight in a bastard child's eyes. ~ Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor

Hey, baby," Chelsea said in a voice that bordered on baby talk as Mike bent down to give her a quick kiss. "Miss me?"
Violet almost rolled her eyes.
"I thought about you all period," he answered, his voice husky. "Did you get the note I left in your backpack?"
Violet couldn't hold back any longer; she rolled her eyes. Neither of them noticed.
"I did. You're so sweet." The cooing verged on sickening. "Did anyone say anything about your mustache?"
Mike winced, as if he suddenly remembered the patchy hair on his upper lip. "A coupla' people," he reluctantly responded, and Violet suspected that he'd taken his hair share of ribbing over it.
Chelsea ignored the obvious distress in his voice. "Vi and I gotta run or we'll be late." She stretched up to kiss him and then rubbed her thumb across the hairs above his lip as if she were petting them. "See you after class."
Chelsea tugged at Violet, who was still staring at his unsightly mustache. It was like seeing a car accident…hard to look away.
"So do you? Like it, I mean?" Violet asked as she was being dragged down the hallway.
"The mustache?" Chelsea grimaced. "God, no. It's hideous on him."
"Then, why?"
"I told you, to see if he'd actually do it. Don't worry. I'm gonna make him shave it this weekend."
Violet wasn't sure whether to congratulate her friend on her training abilities or reprimand her for being so cruel. In the end, she didn't do either, mostly because she knew ~ Kimberly Derting

Gazing for the first time upon this amphibian terrain, this bog of nightmare, I should have felt excited; but the heat and recent events were weighing me down; my upper lip was still childishly wet with nose-goo, but I felt oppressed by a feeling of having moved directly from an overlong and dribbling childhood into a premature (though still leaky) old age. ~ Salman Rushdie

Her gray, sun-strained eyes stared straight ahead, but she had deliberately shifted our relations, and for a moment I thought I loved her. But I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as brakes on my desires, and I knew that I had to get myself definitely out of that tangle back home. I'd been writing letters once a week and signing them: "Love, Nick," and all I could think of was how, when a certain girl played tennis, a faint mustache of perspiration appeared on her upper lip. Nevertheless there was a vague understanding that had to be tactfully broken off before I was free. Everyone suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people I have ever known. ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

Lilac curled her upper lip in a dead-eyed sneer, and it made my skin crawl. The girl looked like she might fillet me and have me for a snack later. She made the Dale R. Fielding High School Cheer Squad look like Barney and Friends, and I vowed to give her a wide berth. ~ Veronica Wolff

Jung's upper lip twitched, revealing a single, white fang. Only once had I seen him lose his temper, after someone at work had thought it funny to hide Jung's copy of Pride and Prejudice. He'd taken it well enough at first, but the prankster hadn't ended the gag soon enough and found himself facing a frothing, chest-beating, primal beast. No one got hurt, but that might not have been true if I hadn't been there to hold Jung back. After that, no one got between an eight-hundred-pound gorilla and Jane Austen. ~ A. Lee Martinez

Well, this should certainly teach us, should it not, never to repine, never to despair, never to allow the upper lip to unstiffen, but always to remember that, no matter how dark the skies may be, the sun is shining somewhere and will eventually come smiling through. ~ P.G. Wodehouse

The young lady then placed her hands on Kode's shoulder, letting her cheek rest on top of the pile. The smile on her face was more than a victory smile. It was a happy sign of contentment. Eena wondered.

"When do you suppose those two will get married?" She whispered the question to Kira who still had a firm grip on her arm.

"Kode get married?" The incredulity on Kira's face matched her brother's strong outburst.

"Who the hell says I'm gettin' hitched?"

Niki pushed herself away from her boyfriend's shoulder; her upper lip curled into a resentful scowl at the negative way he had voiced his query.

Eena had never meant for them to overhear. She stumbled over a justification for the question. "It's just that you've been together for a while, you know, like a couple. Close. I mean, you're always together so…I just figured…" she let the notion trail off.

Kode looked queasy. "We're always together 'cause she bloody follows me around everywhere I go like I'm some freakin' tour guide!"

"Fine!" Niki exclaimed, holding her palms like a defensive wall in front of her. "I'll leave if that's what you want. I don't need you! There's plenty of other guys who'd love to get their lips on me!" With that outburst, the pretty Mishmorat twirled her body around, setting off on foot with both fists seared into her hips. Kode let her take about four steps before he darted over and dragged her back. She didn't put up much o ~ Richelle E. Goodrich

Here before you lies the memorial to St. Cefnogwr, though he is not buried here, of course." At her words, an uncanny knowing flushed through Katy and, crazy-of-crazy, transfixed her. "Why? Where is he?" Traci stepped forward, hand on her hip. A you're-right-on-cue look crossed the guide's face. She pointed to the ceiling. Traci scoffed. "I meant, where's the body?" Her American southern accent lent a strange contrast to her skepticism. Again, the tour guide's arthritic finger pointed upward, and a smile tugged at her lips, the smokers' wrinkles on her upper lip smoothing out. "That's the miracle that made him a saint, you see. Throughout the twelve hundreds, the Welsh struggled to maintain our independence from the English. During Madog's Rebellion in 1294, St. Cefnogwr, a noble Norman-English knight, turned against his liege lord and sided with the Welsh - " "Norman-English?" Katy frowned, her voice raspy in her dry throat. "Why would a Norman have a Welsh name and side with the Welsh?" She might be an American, but her years living in England had taught her that was unusual.

"The English nicknamed him. It means 'sympathizer' in Welsh. The knight was captured and, for his crime, sentenced to hang. As he swung, the rope creaking in the crowd's silence, an angel of mercy swooped down and - " She clapped her hands in one decisive smack, and everyone jumped. "The rope dangled empty, free of its burden. Proof, we say, of his noble cause. He's been venerated ever since ~ Angela Quarles

What is art? Art is tar, rearranged. Art is tar on canvas or tar on tarp or tar on a naked body. Art is a bird chirping changed into something visual. Art is an image of a thousand beaks breaking into the office of a quack doctor. I know that doctor, and I've personally spoken to ten of those beaks. Art is rhythm, two hands clapping at a urinal while a third shakes off pee to the beat. Good art stays with you your whole life, especially if that good art is a tattoo. Good art is my name, written backwards, inked on your upper lip in a furry font. Art imitates life, just as life imitates Orafoura. Art can be anything from a Manet to a Monet to a painting of money to a missile. Art can save the world, or devastate it. (We could drop another big bomb on Japan, though I'm not advocating dumping Basquiat paintings on Hiroshima). Art rhymes with a bodily function, and everybody should let their creativity rip everywhere from the privacy of their bathrooms to small heated boxes with four of their closest friends. Art is thinking outside that box, and desperately trying to escape. ~ Jarod Kintz

For the hair has grown on my upper lip
And the clergy are all clean-shaven ~ George Orwell

Hmm, do you mind if I put out your fire then?" I brushed his earlobe with my upper lip. ~ Shaye Evans

You know what works best when life sucks?"
"I'm sure you're about to tell me," she said dryly.
"Flipping it off and carrying on. You take your hand, like this." Liz raised her hand and fisted it. "And you lift that middle finger way up and you shake the shit out of it, right at the sky." She demonstrated, upper lip curled and fire in her eyes. ~ Lindy Zart

Never was the old conventional maxim, that Nature cannot err, more flatly contradicted - never was the fair promise of a lovely figure more strangely and startingly belied by the face and head that crowned it. The lady's complexion was almost swarthy, and the dark down on her upper lip was almost a moustache. ~ Wilkie Collins

You don't look so hot, Adrien."
"Yeah, well I'm having a bad heart day."
His upper lip curled in a semblance of a smile. "Tell me about it. ~ Josh Lanyon

He ... boasted an unassuming mustache, which was perched atop his upper lip cautiously, as though it were slightly embarrassed to be there and would like to slide away and become a sideburn or something more fashionable. ~ Gail Carriger

Lady Selyse was as tall as her husband, thin of body and thin of face, with prominent ears, a sharp nose, and the faintest hint of a mustache on her upper lip. She plucked it daily and cursed it regularly, yet it never failed to return. Her eyes were pale, her mouth stern, her voice a whip. She cracked it now. ~ George R R Martin

The impact had cut your upper lip in two, he had said, clean down the middle. Clean down the middle. Like a harelip. ~ Khaled Hosseini

One large cat bounded up the side of the outcrop to stand in full view on an overhanging boulder. She stared down at them, inside their protective enclosure, tilting her head from side to side. Her scarred yellow-brown coat was immaculately groomed, but the long tufting hair of her snout was matted with the bright red smear of uncongealed blood from a recent kill. Her upper lip curved over the top of foot-long saber teeth. ~ P.J. Parker

Thank you,' Mom says, dropping one of my bags to the floor with a huff. There's a fine sheen of sweat on her upper lip. It must be exhausting carrying around all of my issues. ~ Mindy McGinnis

Sometimes you just have to bite your upper lip and put sunglasses on. ~ Bob Dylan

We were all quiet for a few moments before I broke the silence by saying, in my best upper-crust-girls'-school voice, "I am sure that all of you are really just suffering from some horrible disease, and that I should feel nothing but pity for you. If you let me go, I will organize a charity function that you will not believe. It will be, as our ancestors used to say, 'epic.'"
There was some furious whispering before Bram responded with, "Ah, thank you, Miss, but we're already dead."
I bit my lip. I was starting to crumble. ~ Lia Habel

I shaved my lady mustache (ladystache) off with my roommate's gay razor (it's a gay razor because it's his razor and he's gay) and now I have man-stubble on my upper lip. Then to make it just a tiny bit sexier I broke out where I shaved. So now I have an acne mustache. I should have left it alone. Like I do with the beard. The Korean ladies at the nail place were right. "You too much hair. You do mustache and arms and chin and back and neck. Please. Too much hair, lady-man. ~ Lauren Weedman

Describing laughter: The sound is produced by a deep inspiration followed by short, interrupted, spasmodic contractions of the chest, and especially the diaphragm ... the mouth is open more or less widely, with the corners drawn much backwards, as well as a little upwards; and the upper lip is somewhat raised. ~ Charles Darwin

Hanne is stretched out on her back. Faces hover in a circle above her. A boy with big blue eyes. A woman whose front teeth rest on her lower lip. An old Chinese woman wearing all gray, her
face expressionless, as if she's seen this before, and much worse. Suddenly a man's face zooms toward her. Beads of sweat on his upper lip. Dark sideburns. Dark nose hairs. His eyes are close-set,
unnervingly so. "Don't move," he says, his breath reeking of garlic and cigarette smoke.
An imperative. She tries to sit up, and when she can't, attempts to understand why she's on the floor. This is not
where she should be. She knows that. What is she doing here? "She's bleeding . . . Hurt. A woman." But nothing hurts. Liquid streams from her nose, down her cheek, pools into her ear. The circle of faces still above her. But she can't right herself. The
world is tilting. The man with sideburns is squatting beside her.
What does he want? He's saying something to her. Telling her
something, his horrible breath assaulting her. Get back. She can't
get her mouth to shout, Move back! She hunts for that perfect moment again, the water, her children when they were young, Hiro, but it is gone. ~ Nina Schuyler

Don't cry,' he breathed out so very close to my face. Just a little closer and I'd feel his lips ghosting against mine. "It's like a punch in my guts when you cry.'
"You shouldn't touch me,' I said, but despite my words, I didn't try to move away from his touch. A tear ran to my upper lip and I tasted it with the very tip of my tongue. Nolan's eyes darkened when he followed it, not straying from my mouth. I could see goosebumps over his skin on his neck and on his forearms. "Nolan? ~ Stephanie Witter

The Italians even have a word for the mark left on a table by a moist glass (culacino) while the Gaelic speakers of Scotland, not to be outdone, have a word for the itchiness that overcomes the upper lip just before taking a sip of whiskey. (Wouldn't they just?) It's sgriob. ~ Bill Bryson

I sit in my chair, the wreath on the ceiling floating above my head, like a frozen halo, a zero. A hole in space where a star exploded. A ring, on water, where a stone's been thrown. All things white and circular. I wait for the day to unroll, for the earth to turn, according to the round face of the implacable clock. The geometrical days, which go around and around, smoothly and oiled. Sweat already on my upper lip, I wait, for the arrival of the inevitable egg, which will be lukewarm like the room and will have a green film on the yolk and will taste faintly of sulphur. Today, ~ Margaret Atwood

She wore a boiled shirt and a bow-tie, and her hair, though long and bound, was sleek with oil. She was about two- or three-and-thirty, and her waist was thick; but her upper lip, at least, was dark as a boy's. They would have called her terribly handsome, I guessed, in about 1880. ~ Sarah Waters

Something about her in this moment strikes him as being familiar. The motion of her arm? The shape of her hand? The wrinkle of her upper lip? He does not know. Nor does he have any way to tell whether what he is sensing is a fragment of memory, a fragment of an idea of a memory, or something his mind, desperate for connections, has created on its own. ~ Doug Dorst

He's as bad as my mother. Maybe worse. He's a market-research consultant. He studies people's facial expressions to see how they feel about commercials and products. He used to be a psychologist but he makes more money helping big corporations dupe the public. The worst part is he can look at your face and say 'Your upper lip just twitched! Anger! You're angry. Don't try to hide it from me, young man. Why does it make you angry when I say those pants make you look like a girl? Doe you have something against girls? Perhaps some unresolved Oedipal feelings? ~ Natalie Standiford

Her gaze fell on his lips, and she remembered the ointment in her basket. She bit her lower lip. Dare she?
A small smile formed on the man's mouth, and Serena reared back. Could he read her mind? Of course not, she chided herself. He was probably just feeling better- he'd certainly needed the water he had been able to ingest. Slowly, so as not to disturb his sleep, she leaned toward the basket on the floor and rummaged through it until her fingers wrapped around a little clay pot. It was in her lap and opened before she realized she had made her decision. She looked down at the ointment. Normally, she would have given it to the patient and allowed him to apply it himself, but this man clearly could not manage that. She dipped her finger into the pot before she could convince herself otherwise, the soothing smells of lemon and beeswax filling the space around them. Her hand stretched out toward his face, her heart pounding. What if he woke? How would she explain what she was doing? She dabbed a bit on his lower lip and sat back to see what response he would have. Nothing. He slept on. She nodded. She was a nurse; she could do this. Leaning in again, she quickly spread the ointment across his bottom lip. He moved his head away, as if avoiding a fly, but didn't wake. Determined to finish the job, she reached for the upper lip, which wasn't quite as chapped. It was softer and curved, dark rose in color with an indention in the middle that must be sinful, it was so well shape ~ Jamie Carie

Margaret could not help her looks; but the short curled upper
lip, the round, massive up-turned chin, the manner of carrying
her head, her movements, full of a soft feminine defiance, always
gave strangers the impression of haughtiness. […]
She sat facing him and facing the light; her full beauty met his eye; her round white flexile throat rising out of the full, yet lithe figure; her lips, moving so slightly as she spoke, not breaking the cold serene look of her face with any variation from the one lovely haughty curve; her eyes, with their soft gloom, meeting his with quiet maiden freedom. He almost said to himself that he did not like her, before their conversation ended; he tried so to compensate himself for the mortified feeling, that while he looked upon her with an admiration he could not repress, she looked at him with proud indifference, taking him, he thought, for what, in his irritation, he told himself he was - a great rough fellow, with not a grace or a refinement about him. Her quiet coldness of demeanour he interpreted into contemptuousness, and resented it in his heart to the pitch of almost inclining him to get up and go away, and have nothing more to do with these Hales, and their superciliousness. ~ Elizabeth Gaskell