It's Toby Jones playing Alfred Hitchcock, not Alfred Hitchcock. We all felt that his silhouette was crucial, so his nose and lips were crucial as well. We had to build it out a bit to get the silhouette. But, with my nose being so small within the proportion of my face, the first nose was too big. I felt like a nose on parade.
At the end of the day, I want to create collections that, although I am inspired by very creative women, I want my customer to walk away with a silhouette that she doesn't even know what collection it comes from. That it just lasts in her wardrobe and makes her feel strong and confident and hopefully happy.
I think my attitude's different when I'm in the different places. I don't walk around in character. I try not to walk around with the accent, but those little things change you, whether it's your hair, your clothes, your shoes or a different silhouette. People absolutely look at you differently.
But if a role model in her seventies isn't layered with contradictions - as we all come to be - then what good is she? Why bother to cut the silhouette of another's existence and place it against our own if it isn't as incongruous, ambiguous, inconsistent, and paradoxical as our own lives are?
. Then I smile and in haste... I can't help it! I worship your silhouette. How I gaze and can't help but stare. I place my hands in your red hair. It is wonderful knowing you have found my undying love. But now I'll end this and say goodnight and await the day to be with you through the night and wake with you in my arms underneath the morning light.
Benedict (Cumberbatch, who is playing Sherlock) looks amazing. He's still got a Sherlockian silhouette, with a large overcoat, but in a classic cut. Watson dresses with an urban elegance, a touch of old school dashing, giving a feeling of both the military and medical profession. I suppose it's something they have in common as well. They're a bit metrosexual.
It requires a certain kind of mind to see beauty in a hamburger bun. Yet is it any more unusual to find grace in the texture and softly carved silhouette of a bun than to reflect lovingly on the hackles of a fishing fly? Or the arrangements and textures on a butterfly's wing? Not if you are a McDonalds's man.
Like in great painting and architecture, in couture, to make clothes you must eliminate, eliminate, eliminate to obtain the true sense of a line. You see, the more you add, the more you load on, the more it's mad. You must try to have just the silhouette, which is an intelligence in clothes.
Hubert de Givenchy
NONE OF US WILL SOON FORGET THE DAY BEFORE THOSE THINGS ARRIVED IN THE CHURCHYARD ON THE HILL, A MAN HAD JUST BURIED HIS BRIDE SHE RETURNED THAT DAY, ALIVE. THERE'S A SILHOUETTE ON THE HORIZON LIKE AN EVIL STAIN ON THE RISING SUN. AND AS IT APPROACHED, WE SAW IT WAS HER. AND HER EYES WERE RED, SHE SAID 'YOU'RE ALL DEAD!', THEN COLLAPSED DOWN TO THE GROUND AS IF SOMEBODY CUT HER STRINGS.
Flynn's reaction is electric, for all he only moves an inch, straightening, gazed fixed on the sky overhead. Though his eyes are on the clouds, I can't help but watch his silhouette in the darkness. The way his mouth is set, the hope and determination there-the strength of his shoulders, the energy in the way he gazes skyward. The breeze stirs his hair, and I find myself transfixed.
I had hardly ever seen Great Granny Webster at that time, and yet her feelings interested me. She was little more to me than the silhouette of a formidable old woman dressed in black who appeared occasionally at family gatherings and made us feel that she was taking a dangerous risk with her upright spine when circumstances forced her to bend over and kiss her great-grandchildren.
We walked at night towards a cafe blooming with Japanese lanterns and I followed your white shoes gleaming like radium in the damp darkness. Rising off the water, lights flickered an invitation far enough away to be interpreted as we liked; to shimmer glamourously behind the silhouette of retrospective good times when we still believed in summer hotels and the philosophies of popular songs.
Tree' is the title of a dance, is the cadence of a song. The black silhouette is only a moment of stillness caught by the shutter of the eye. It is finely tuned to the harmonics of the air. It loves both the sun and the wind and is let turn towards its beloved and so become itself. This is the dance of all living things. This is why endangered peoples say if they have their dance they will never die.
I steal one glance over my shoulder as soon as we are far from the foreboding luminance of the neon glow, and it is there that my stomach leaps into my throat. Squatting just shy of the light and partially concealed by the shade of an alley is a sinister silhouette beneath a crimson cowl, beaming a demonic smile which spans from cheek to swollen cheek.
Nathan Reese Maher
The driver, a black silhouette upon his box, whipped up his bony horses. Icy silence in the coach. Marius, motionless, his body braced in the corner of the carriage, his head dropping down upon his breast, his arms hanging, his legs rigid, appeared to await nothing now but a coffin; Jean Valjean seemed made of shadow, and Javert of stone.
Fashion is one thing, you kind of can change your silhouette and try this and try that. But I think that with skin care, you know anything that you put into your skin goes into your body, so you want to know it's actually good for you. So I think I don't believe in fashion when it comes to skin care if that makes sense.
In the dark behind the glare of the television, like a mannequin behind it, I could see a silhouette and it wasn't moving. It was maybe six foot high with its shoulders hunched and I blinked to make sure it was real. The TV fuzzed grey and white and black and I had a lump in my throat that I couldn't swallow away. 'Rory' I whispered. Clawing out gently beneath the duvet cover, reaching for his hand. But I couldn't find it. And he didn't answer.
It is the Late city that first defies the land, contradicts Nature in the lines of its silhouette, denies all Nature. It wants to be something different from and higher than Nature. These high-pitched gables, these Baroque cupolas, spires, and pinnacles, neither are, nor desire to be, related with anything in Nature. And then begins the gigantic megalopolis, the city-as-world, which suffers nothing beside itself and sets about annihilating the country picture.
Amid the moon and the stars, amid the clouds of the night, amid the hills which bordered on the sky with their magnificent silhouette of pointed cedars, amid the speckled patches of the moon, amid the temple buildings that emerged sparkling white out of the surrounding darkness - amid all this, I was intoxicated by the pellucid beauty of Uiko's treachery.
We've turned off all the lights in the living room to make hand shadows. We've got this big flashlight aimed at the wall. I make the silhouette of my hand into a duck. Robin makes his into a rabbit. Now my duck kisses his rabbit And-POOF!- it turns into a turkey. And for some reason this strikes us as hysterically funny. But you probably had to be there.
In the glowing evenings embedded within pearl sands of my Utopian lands and the skies dazzling with the beauty of a thousand melodic rainbows, feeling your tender touch, hearing your luring voice, merged with your silhouette, I am moved and lead by your strong unseen hand to explore on the great graceful oceans of life with immortal passion, fair and wild... in the sunset of golden romance...
[While designing] I'm mixing two lines of thought really: me as a designer for women and then me as a man. At the start of the design process it's the designer for women that comes to the forefront - sketching and revising the silhouette. Then the man comes into the picture - and I look at the shoe from a very masculine point of view. Then there is a conflict between the two sides of me. Sometimes the man wins, and sometimes the designer wins.
You can't remember sex. You can remember the fact of it, and recall the setting, and even the details, but the sex of the sex cannot be remembered, the substantive truth of it, it is by nature self-erasing, you can remember its anatomy and be left with a judgment as to the degree of your liking of it, but whatever it is as a splurge of being, as a loss, as a charge of the conviction of love stopping your heart like your execution, there is no memory of it in the brain, only the deduction that it happened and that time passed, leaving you with a silhouette that you want to fill in again.
E. L. Doctorow
I bet I've noticed features on you that you have yet to distort in your imagination or discover. Remember how much I stared haha I was enamored with the simple things about you, so I did make note of your jawline and various facial features. I made note of your habitual movements and gestures, because you interested me. I was fixated on your outline and parameter just as much as I marveled at your wit and adored your insecurity. I wanted to love your hidden vulnerability as much as I wanted to trace your silhouette
Magnus stood up and went to the window. He pushed the curtain back, letting in just enough light to silhouette his hawklike profile. "Blood, " he said, half to himself. "I had a dream two nights ago. I saw a city all of blood, with towers made of bone, and blood ran in the streets like water." Simon slewed his eyes over to Jace. "Is standing by the window muttering about blood something he does all the time?" "No, " said Jace, "sometimes he sits on the couch and does it.
Magnus stood up and went to the window. He pushed the curtain back, letting in just enough light to silhouette his hawklike profile. "Blood," he said, half to himself. "I had a dream two nights ago. I saw a city all of blood, with towers made of bone, and blood ran in the streets like water." Simon slewed his eyes over to Jace. "Is standing by the window muttering about blood something he does all the time?" "No," said Jace, "sometimes he sits on the couch and does it.
Just let me wait a little while longer, Under your window in the quite snow. Let me stand here and shiver, I'll be stronger If I can see your light before I go. All through the weeks I've tried to keep my balance. Leaves fell, then rain, then shadows, I fell too. Easy restraint is not among my talents, Fall turned to Winter and I came to you. Kissed by the snow I contemplate your face. Oh, do not hide it in your pillow yet! Warm rooms would never lure me from this place, If only I could see your silhouette. Turn on your light, my sun, my summer love. Zero degrees down here, July above.
L'Heure Exquise La lune blanche Luit dans les bois ; De chaque branche Part une voix Sous la ramee... e" bien-aimee. L'etang refle¨te, Profond miroir, La silhouette Du saule noir Oe¹ le vent pleure... Reªvons, c'est l'heure. Un vaste et tendre Apaisement Semble descendre Du firmament Que l'astre irise... C'est l'heure exquise.
Knightley Academy stood out against the moonlight in silhouette, a ramshackle collection of chimneys, turrets and gables. Both boys stopped to take in the sight of the manicured lawns and tangled woods, the soaring chapel and the ivy-covered brick of the headmaster's house. They were home. For this, Henry felt, was home. Not some foreign castle encircled by guard towers, but this cozy, bizarre assortment of buildings with its gossiping kitchen maids and eccentric professors and clever students.
Don't go far off, not even for a day, because I don't know how to say it - a day is long and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep. Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then the little drops of anguish will all run together, the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift into me, choking my lost heart. Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach, may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance. Don't LEAVE me for a second, my dearest, because in that moment you'll have gone so far I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking, will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?