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“No matter how hard she tried to maintain her calm and collected persona, she knew it was all a ruse. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and hide. Hide from the world. Hide from her memories. Enter a shell and never leave. But hers would always be a broken shell, with all her cracks and holes exposed for the world to see. The veneer she had carefully painted to protect and hold herself together was peeling away.”
― Cristiane Serruya, Trust: Betrayed

“...when things are very beautiful and comfortable on the surface, it can be harder to see the ugliness underneath.”
― Emma Törzs, Ink Blood Sister Scribe

“WHO AM I?

I have seven heavenly panels
Leading up to a pointed sphere
I’m multidimensional like a crystal
And my center is never clear.

I’m an inventor and pioneer.
A mentor to my peers.
But I'm not as sound as my shell reveals,
Because I’m tormented by my fears -
That may appear to be grounded
But my insides are filled with tears.
And the sadness is well-founded,
From years and years
Of traumatic experiences
Compounded
In the most demented
Atmospheres.

I talk but feel like nobody hears.

Has reason disappeared?
And, God, are you near?

This is Giza’s 7th light force
And I'm asking you to interfere.
I can no longer walk amongst the blind and dead
With open eyes and ears.
I’m trying to maintain my sanity
And to straighten up my veneer
As I roll amongst the growing calamities
Flowing on Earth’s severely trashed
Frontier.



Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun (2010)”
― Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem

“The problem with wearing a facade is that sooner or later life shows up with a big pair of scissors.”
― Craig D. Lounsbrough

“Ellen got off the bus at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Fiftythird Street. Rosy twilight was gushing out of the brilliant west, glittered in brass and nickel, on buttons, in people's eyes. All the windows on the east side of the avenue were aflame. As she stood with set teeth on the curb waiting to cross, a frail tendril of fragrance brushed her face. A skinny lad with towhair stringy under a foreignlooking cap was offering her arbutus in a basket. She bought a bunch and pressed her nose in it. May woods melted like sugar against her palate.

The whistle blew, gears ground as cars started to pour out of the side streets, the crossing thronged with people. Ellen felt the lad brush against her as he crossed at her side. She shrank away. Through the smell of the arbutus she caught for a second the unwashed smell of his body, the smell of immigrants, of Ellis Island, of crowded tenements. Under all the nickelplated, goldplated streets enameled with May, uneasily she could feel the huddling smell, spreading in dark slow crouching masses like corruption oozing from broken sewers, like a mob. She walked briskly down the cross-street. She went in a door beside a small immaculately polished brass plate.”
― John Dos Passos, Manhattan Transfer

“When you peel back the glamorous veneer of the astronaut, you find that it is a really dangerous and biologically toxic job.”
― Steven Magee

“The men were not watering the grass; they were spraying it an emerald green. This was Ireland in an atomizer. The workers were coloring the dead, hurrying to finish before the Crown Prince's gaze would zoom by, perhaps peering through the bullet-proofed, tinted, heavily-armored glass of his German car. So much about the Kingdom concerned outward appearances. Veneer was as important as substance, perhaps more so.”
― Qanta A. Ahmed, In the Land of Invisible Women: A Female Doctor's Journey in the Saudi Kingdom

“Behind the veneer of the ‘American Dreamâ€� was a person with failing health.”
― Steven Magee

“Toxic companies hide behind a thin veneer of health and safety.”
― Steven Magee

“Behind the veneer of ‘The Greatest Nation On Earthâ€� is a shady third world like country.”
― Steven Magee