欧宝娱乐

“To be inspired is great, but to inspire is an honor.”
― Stacey T. Hunt

“I always am in a role, lovely 鈥� for you, for them 鈥� even for myself. Yeah... Even when I鈥檓 alone, I am still in a role 鈥� and I myself am the most exacting audience I have ever had.”
― Simona Panova, Nightmarish Sacrifice

“And I wasn鈥檛 playing a role 鈥� I was trying to be myself.
But the harder I was striving, the more I was realizing that I had probably lost that 鈥榤yself鈥� somewhere between two perfectly performed roles...”
― Simona Panova, Nightmarish Sacrifice

“...there's something magical about a mask, but I have never worn one - I want you to see my pain and know how your love affects me...”
― John Geddes, A Familiar Rain

“Even I don鈥檛 know myself... In fact, I don鈥檛 know if I really have a self at all, as I鈥檓 constantly playing different roles and pretending 鈥� not so much on stage as in real life...”
― Simona Panova, Nightmarish Sacrifice

“The mirror will only lie, when you look at it through a mask.”
― Anthony Liccione

“We mask our needs as the needs of others.”
― Terry Tempest Williams, When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice

“Masks! I see them everywhere. That dreadful vision of the other night - the deserted town with its masked corpses in every doorway; that nightmare product of morphine and ether - has taken up residence within me. I see masks in the street, I see them on stage in the theatre, I find yet more of them in the boxes. They are on the balcony and in the orchestra-pit. Everywhere I go I am surrounded by masks. The attendants to whom I give my overcoat are masked; masks crowd around me in the foyer as everyone leaves, and the coachman who drives me home has the same cardboard grimace fixed upon his face!

It is truly too much to bear: to feel that one is alone and at the mercy of all those enigmatic and deceptive faces, alone amid all the mocking laughs and the threats embodied in those masks. I have tried to persuade myself that I am dreaming, and that I am the victim of a hallucination, but all the powdered and painted faces of women, all the rouged lips and kohl-blackened eyelids... all of that has created around me an atmosphere of trance and mortal agony. Cosmetics: there is the root cause of my illness!

But I am happy, now, when there are only masks! Sometimes, I detect the cadavers beneath, and remember that beneath the masks there is a host of spectres.”
― Jean Lorrain, Monsieur de Phocas

“I try to imagine keeping something like that a secret for my whole life. It would be like always wearing a mask over your face, which everyone believed was the real you. You would be the only person who knew it wasn't--and who knew that you could never take it off.”
― Liz Kessler, A Year Without Autumn

“Boldness is a mask for fear, however great.”
― John Dryden

“No...he lives to create art, but he loves to murder.”
― Mo'Dayvia La'Beija

“It's hard for a masked man to hide behind a mask when he isn't wearing one.”
― Lionel Suggs

“His character would be blamed, loathed, discussed, and adored 鈥� but somewhere there, behind his mask of a hero, Cardew would remain faceless.
Anonymous.”
― Simona Panova, Nightmarish Sacrifice

“It is my belief that, given the necessary physical likeness, it was far easier to pretend to be king of Ruritania than it would have been to personate my next-door neighbor.”
― Anthony Hope, The Prisoner of Zenda

“I like the masks; because the real face of the mask is again itself!”
― Mehmet Murat ildan

“March 1898

What a strange dream I had last night! I wandered in the warm streets of a port, in the low quarter of some Barcelona or Marseille. The streets were noisome, with their freshly-heaped piles of ordure outside the doors, in the blue shadows of their high roofs. They all led down towards the sea. The gold-spangled sea, seeming as if it had been polished by the sun, could be seen at the end of each thoroughfare, bristling with yard-arms and luminous masts. The implacable blue of the sky shone brilliantly overhead as I wandered through the long, cool and sombre corridors in the emptiness of a deserted district: a quarter which might almost have been dead, abruptly abandoned by seamen and foreigners. I was alone, subjected to the stares of prostitutes seated at their windows or in the doorways, whose eyes seemed to ransack my very soul.

They did not speak to me. Leaning on the sides of tall bay-windows or huddled in doorways, they were silent. Their breasts and arms were bare, bizarrely made up in pink, their eyebrows were darkened, they wore their hair in corkscrew-curls, decorated with paper flowers and metal birds. And they were all exactly alike!

They might have been huge marionettes, or tall mannequin dolls left behind in panic - for I divined that some plague, some frightful epidemic brought from the Orient by sailors, had swept through the town and emptied it of its inhabitants. I was alone with these simulacra of love, abandoned by the men on the doorsteps of the brothels.

I had already been wandering for hours without being able to find a way out of that miserable quarter, obsessed by the fixed and varnished eyes of all those automata, when I was seized by the sudden thought that all these girls were dead, plague-stricken and putrefied by cholera where they stood, in the solitude, beneath their carmine plaster masks... and my entrails were liquefied by cold. In spite of that harrowing chill, I was drawn closer to a motionless girl. I saw that she was indeed wearing a mask... and the girl in the next doorway was also masked... and all of them were horribly alike under their identical crude colouring...

I was alone with the masks, with the masked corpses, worse than the masks... when, all of a sudden, I perceived that beneath the false faces of plaster and cardboard, the eyes of these dead women were alive.

Their vitreous eyes were looking at me...

I woke up with a cry, for in that moment I had recognised all the women. They all had the eyes of Kranile and Willie, of Willie the mime and Kranile the dancer. Every one of the dead women had Kranile's left eye and Willie's right eye... so that every one of them appeared to be squinting.

Am I to be haunted by masks now?”
― Jean Lorrain, Monsieur de Phocas

“Everywhere man is in disguise! Who is who is unknown! Try to enter the mask and find out who the man inside really is!”
― Mehmet Murat ildan

“Her mask gave no sign of how this affected her.”
― Donna Leon, About Face

“Il avait encore la peau recouverte d'acn茅 juv茅nile et, pour que 莽a ne se voie pas, il portait sur son visage le masque de la r茅volte.”
― Milan Kundera, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting