Start every day off with a smile and get it over with.
What sunshine is to flowers, smiles are to humanity. These are but trifles, to be sure; but scattered along life's pathway, the good they do is inconceivable.
A smile is the best way to get away with trouble even if it’s a fake one.
My mom told me that I should trust the man who could see the sorrow behind my smile, the love behind my anger, and the reasons behind my silence.
I think people who truly can live a life in music are telling the world, ‘You can have my love, you can have my smiles. Forget the bad parts, you don’t need them. Just take the music, the goodness, because it’s the very best, and it’s the part I give most willingly
I hate my smile - I think I look like an absolute wally when I smile, I really do.
I don't like smiley pictures. A smile is a defense mechanism. It says, You can't have the real me but here's my smile. You get closer to the real person when they stop smiling.
Were my smile not submerged in my countenance, / I should suspend it over her grave.
For me, music makes my smile brighter during my workouts. It adds that extra something that motivates me to go further or work harder!
My grief and my smile begin in your face, my son.
My memory bank has overflowed out of control forever. I'm surprised my smile hasn't killed me yet. I have lived an indescribable joyful, adventurous, musical dream life and it just gets better every year.
I hate my smile. I always have, even in my school pictures when I was a little kid.
My silks and fine array, My smiles and languished air, By love are driv'n away And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave: Such end true lovers have.
I kept hiding my smile in pictures throughout middle school and most of high school until picture day came my senior year.
People ask me to smile for the camera, but somehow it always comes out gloomy.
I wondered if my smile was as big as hers. Maybe as big. But not as beautiful.
I have my father's lopsided mouth. When I smile, my lips slope to one side. My doctor sister calls it my cerebral palsy mouth. I am very much a daddy's girl, and even though I would rather my smile wasn't crooked, there is something moving for me about having a mouth exactly like my father's.
I have had wrinkles on my forehead and my smile line since I was a kid. I see them in my own kids. I know what they're going to look like. So it's kind of like that's my personality. I feel the older you get, too, the more confident you become just in your own skin.
I don't know why my smile has become a signature pose. I think it's a nice change. I think people want to see happiness, so a smile is what can bring that. I didn't make it my trademark on purpose.
Taking delight in my family, my time in nature, and in the chance to do work that I find endlessly fascinating and rewarding. My smile grows even bigger when I think about how lucky I am to have such delights be part of my everyday life.
My smile wavers as I revert to my natural state of being: nervous and weird.
Well, my smile's pretty hard to miss, considering I'm a gal who likes her lipstick-the redder the better.
In the face of the oppressed I recognize my own face, and in the hands of the oppressor I recognize my own hands. Their flesh is my flesh, their blood is my blood, their pain is my pain, their smile is my smile.
You are not going to waltz in here and distract me with a clever phrase and a beguiling smile." "You think my smile is beguiling?
Your scare me rather. My reflection in the glass never did that; of course, I knew it so well. Like something I had tamed...I'm going to smile, and my smile will sink down into your pupils, and heaven knows what it will become.
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