Flustered Face Quotes & Sayings

It's an interesting thing. When you're young you often ask people what they want to do when they're older, then you meet them years later and they're not doing that. I didn't want that. I didn't want to be a singer, but I just believed and knew somehow that I'd be in showbiz, although I had no idea how I was going to do it. Dreams do come true. — Peter Andre

I hope that readers will tear through my books because they can't stop themselves - and then, maybe, read them again and find new things there. — Helen Dunmore

Idiotic reply, June. Why don't you punch him in the face while you're at it. I turn even more flustered when I remember that I have actually pistol-whipped him in the face before. Romantic — Marie Lu

In Allston, as generous as he was with his praise and encouragement, Sophia had come face-to-face with the male art establishment and its aesthetic. She had encountered it before when she was hustled out of Thomas Doughty's studio while a men's painting class was in session. More recently, at a gathering in the Reverend Channing's parlor, she had been stunned when the minister had quoted the influential British artist Henry Fuseli's sneering observation that there was "no fist" in women's painting - and then demanded Sophia's response. Flustered, Sophia had "sunk away into my shell," unable to speak, she confided in her journal. She had enough trouble summoning the confidence to paint each day, let alone defend women artists as a class. Channing's question struck to the heart of Sophia's ambivalence about taking the initiative to create original works of art. Virtually — Megan Marshall

The good mother sayes not, Will you? but gives. — George Herbert

Minerva considered herself a reasonably intelligent person, but good heavens ... handsome men made her stupid. She grew so flustered around them, never knew where to look or what to say. The reply meant to be witty and clever would come out sounding bitter or lame. Sometimes a teasing remark from Lord Payne's quarter quelled her into dumb silence altogether. Only days later, while she was banging away at a cliff face with a rock hammer, would the perfect retort spring to mind. — Tessa Dare

Knowledge is flour, but wisdom is bread. — Austin O'Malley

For years, I've been interviewed, and they write what they thought I thought or what they thought I said. Sometimes it's accurate, and often it isn't. — Linda Ronstadt

People ask me, "Do you ever run out of patience? Are you ever rude to people?" Sometimes I am. I hate when it happens, but it seems like some people just try to get on your nerves. There are times when I feel like saying something like, "Why don't you get out of my face, you ugly woman. And take those bratty kids with you!" But at times like that I usually get all flustered. I get confused and say stupid stuff like, "Kiss my ass, that's what you are. And don't think I can't do it! — Dolly Parton

Hi, I'm Driggs."
"Damn, boy. You're even cuter up close." Cordy looked him up and down hungrily. "Got any dead brothers in here?"
Lex made a face. "Cordy, ew."
"Doesn't hurt to ask!" She peered at Driggs. "Now tell me, what are your intentions with my sister?"
Driggs became flustered. "Um, I don't know. To love her...and, uh...honor...protect..."
Lex went red. "Driggs, shut up."
"Awkward." Cordy beamed. "Love it."
"We have to go," Driggs said in an unnecessarily loud voice. — Gina Damico

You can lock up from a thief, but you can't from a liar. — Flora Thompson

It was this: Blue's smile - crooked, wry, ridiculous, flustered. There was a lot of happiness tucked in the corner of that smile, and even though her face was several inches from Gansey, some of it still spilled out and got on him. — Maggie Stiefvater

I also had the distinct impression that, when he'd leaned into my space, he'd tried to smell me, and he'd managed to do it without coming across as a creepy creeper. Admittedly, if he were less epically good-looking, he might have come across as a creepy creeper. But, as he had the body of a gladiator and the face of a movie star, I felt flustered, flattered, and turned on. The fact that I felt flattered made me feel like an idiot. I hated this about myself. I hated that, even though I knew better, good looks negated odd behavior. His odd behavior being that he was attempting to use all five of his senses to experience me while trapping us in an elevator; I didn't doubt that, if I'd given him any indication that I was in favor of his advances, he would have tried to taste me as well. I shivered at the thought, a wave of warmth spreading from my chest to the pit of my stomach, stinging and sudden, like a hot flash. — L. H. Cosway

I shall not be satisfied unless I produce something which shall for a few days supersede the last fashionable novel on the tables of young ladies. — Thomas Babington Macaulay

But this upland pass was the right place for remembering how, when I was young, I learned to feel for the harshness underneath every soft appearance. — Nuala O'Faolain

Sorry, bad wing."
When Theo kissed him, surprise and pleasure flustered him. He couldn't remember the last time
this boy, this young man, had done so. "God, I'm glad to see you." He pressed his lips to his daughter's
hair, leaned into his son. "So glad to see you."
"Don't ever do that again." Maddy kept her face pressed against his chest. She could smell him,
feel his heart beat. "Not ever again. — Nora Roberts

I thought the Vietnam war was an utter, unmitigated disaster, so it was very hard for me to say anything good about it. — George McGovern

I saw your face, honey. You were more than a little flustered. You looked as if you'd gone ten rounds with the ghost of Christmas past. — Michelle Celmer

The stiff-witted and academic seem not to comprehend that it is entirely possible to be ironic and sincere at the same instant, that a knowing tongue in cheek does not necessarily preclude an affectionate glow in heart. — Tom Robbins

Life is like invading Russia. A blitz start, massed shakos, plumes dancing like a flustered henhouse; a period of svelte progress recorded in ebullient despatches as the enemy falls back; then the beginning of a long, morale-sapping trudge with rations getting shorter and the first snowflakes upon your face. The enemy burns Moscow and you yield to General January, whose fingernails are very icicles. Bitter retreat. Harrying Cossacks. Eventually you fall beneath a boy-gunner's grapeshot while crossing some Polish river not even marked on your general's map. — Julian Barnes

I feel such a difference between a philologist/linguist and a linguaphile as, say, a choreographer and a ballerina. — Kato Lomb