A man finds room in the few square inches of his face for the traits of all his ancestors; for the expression of all his history, and his wants.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson, Conduct of Life
There are mystically in our faces certain characters which carry in them the motto of our souls, wherein he that cannot read A, B, C may read our natures.
~Sir Thomas Browne
I've never seen a smiling face that was not beautiful.
I have never been aware before how many faces there are. There are quantities of human beings, but there are many more faces, for each person has several.
~Rainer Maria Rilke, Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge
Some people, no matter how old they get, never lose their beauty - they merely move it from their faces into their hearts.
An eye can threaten like a loaded and levelled gun, or it can insult like hissing or kicking; or, in its altered mood, by beams of kindness, it can make the heart dance for joy.... One of the most wonderful things in nature is a glance of the eye; it transcends speech; it is the bodily symbol of identity.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson
Laughter is the sun that drives winter from the human face.
A man's face is his autobiography. A woman's face is her work of fiction.
It is the common wonder of all men, how among so many millions of faces, there should be none alike.
~Thomas Browne, Religio Medici
God has given you one face, and you make yourself another.
The countenance is the portrait of the soul, and the eyes mark its intentions.
My daddy's face is a study. Winter moves into it and presides there. His eyes become a cliff of snow threatening to avalanche, his eyebrows bend like black limbs of leafless trees. His skin takes on the pale cheerless yellow of winter sun; for a jaw he has the edges of a snowbound field dotted with stubble; his high forehead is the frozen sweep of the Erie.
It matters more what's in a woman's face than what's on it.
~Claudette Colbert, quoted in Kindling the Spirit by Lois P. Frankel
I think your whole life shows in your face and you should be proud of that.
After a certain number of years, our faces become our biographies.
~Cynthia Ozick, The Paris Review