Wear a smile and have friends; wear a scowl and have wrinkles.
Verily, the best of husbands hath many raw edges, and many unnecessary pleats in his temper, and many wrinkles in his disposition, which must be removed.
I'm proud of my wrinkles. They give my face character. As an actress, you mess with that at your peril.
Within, I do not find wrinkles and used heart, but unspent youth.
My mother-in-law has so many wrinkles, when she smiles she looks like a Venetian blind.
The wrinkles in my brow, The furrows in my face, Say, limping age will lodge him now Where youth must give him place.
We live in a quick-fix society where we need instant gratification for everything. Too fat? Get lipo-sucked. Stringy hair? Glue on extensions. Wrinkles and lines? Head to the beauty shop for a pot of the latest miracle skin stuff. It's all a beautiful £1 billion con foisted upon insecure women by canny cosmetic conglomerates.
Wrinkles are engraved smiles.
If I were afraid of wrinkles, I'd probably be hiding in a cupboard, because I have a lot of them.
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.
How can you be a sage if you're pretty? You can't get your wizard papers without wrinkles.
Women shouldn't iron, ever. It's our wrinkles that make us interesting.
Everyone wants to be young and skinny. This is awful. Curves are marvelous. Wrinkles are hypnotizing. Why not just be happy with who you are?
The sister's face Fell all in wrinkles of responsibility. She wanted to do right. She'd have to think.
Wrinkles here and there seem unimportant compared to the Gestalt of the whole person I have become in this past year.
When I behold the heavens as in their prime, And then the earth (though old) still clad in green, The stones and trees, insensible of time, Nor age nor wrinkle on their front are seen
Everything is a self-portrait. A diary. Your whole drug history’s in a strand of your hair. Your fingernails. The forensic details. The lining of your stomach is a document. The calluses on your hand tell all your secrets. Your teeth give you away. Your accent. The wrinkles around your mouth and eyes. Everything you do shows your hand.
Hollywood is a place where the stars twinkle until they wrinkle.
Age should not have its face lifted, but it should rather teach the world to admire wrinkles as the etchings of experience and the firm line of character.
I am resolved to grow fat and look young till forty, and then slip out of the world with the first wrinkle and the reputation of five-and-twenty.