Quotes & Sayings About Shirt And Tie

He stands, loosening his black tie and stripping off his white shirt, dropping the latter just in front of my face. The appetizing smell of him reaches my face in a goading wave. As he walks around my body to the bed, he slaps my ass, making me turn and yelp. — Felicity Brandon

The other fellow was more of a fireplug, broad in the chest and shoulders, with a wide pugnacious face and the hint of a shadow even on his freshly shaved jaw. He always looked as if he had not dressed for work that morning so much as gotten into some kind of altercation with his suit, shirt, and tie. — Michael Chabon

The driver got out. He looked like a cop - blond crew cut, red face, white shirt, black-and-gold nylon tie, the heft of his gut dropping over his belt buckle like a stack of pancakes. The other one looked sick. He was skinny and tired-looking and stayed in his seat, one hand gripping his skull through greasy black hair, staring into the side-view mirror as the three boys came around near the driver's door. The beefy one crooked a finger at them, then wiggled it toward his chest until they stood in front of him. — Dennis Lehane

In the intermission, between group one and group two, you go to your dressing-room and change every stitch you have on you: underwear, shirt, tie, socks, pants and tails. Your other clothes are soaking wet. — George Antheil

He didn't move, didn't blink. He didn't seem like a man who heard no too often. Too bad. But he must have found something he liked, because he slowly undid his tie, then unbuttoned his shirt.

She would not drool.

He didn't have an ounce of fat on him. Austin had said Morgan was forty years old, but he didn't look it. Nor did he have the body of a twenty-year-old man. Callie didn't want that anyway. His body had aged beautifully and was clearly well cared for. He had some hair on his chest, but not much. The hair on his belly trailed down to beneath his dress pants and Callie did her best not to swallow her tongue.

She persevered.

Barely. — Carrie Ann Ryan

How had I managed to tie my boots? I didn't even remember getting dressed. I was out here in public at the mall. What was I wearing? Jeans. I could feel socks. I had my boots on. I plucked at the edge of my t-shirt and saw it was red. I was wearing Dad's spare Army jacket, and there was a heavy weight in the right pocket that had to be something deadly. — Lilith Saintcrow

He studied me with his predator's gaze, assessing me from head to toe. I studied him back. He didn't just occupy space; he saturated it. The room had been full of books before, now it was full of him. About thirty, six foot two or three, he had dark hair, golden skin, and dark eyes. His features were strong, chiseled. I couldn't pinpoint his nationality any more than I could his accent; some kind of European crossed with Old World Mediterranean or maybe an ancestor with dark Gypsy blood. He wore an elegant, dark gray Italian suit, a crisp white shirt, and a muted patterned tie. He wasn't handsome. That was too calm a word. He was intensely masculine. He was sexual. He attracted. There was an omnipresent carnality about him, in his dark eyes, in his full mouth, in the way he stood. He was the kind of man I wouldn't flirt with in a million years. — Karen Marie Moning

You know what I hate about rock? I hate tie-dyed tee shirts. I wouldn't wear a tie-dyed tee shirt unless it was dyed with the urine of Phil Collins and the blood of Jerry Garcia. — Kurt Cobain

Seen on her own, the woman was not so remarkable. Tall, angular, aquiline features, with the close-cropped hair which was fashionably called an Eton crop, he seemed to remember, in his mother's day, and about her person the stamp of that particular generation. She would be in her middle sixties, he supposed, the masculine shirt with collar and tie, sports jacket, grey tweed skirt coming to mid-calf. Grey stockings and laced black shoes. He had seen the type on golf courses and at dog shows - invariably showing not sporting breeds but pugs - and if you came across them at a party in somebody's house they were quicker on the draw with a cigarette lighter than he was himself, a mere male, with pocket matches. The general belief that they kept house with a more feminine, fluffy companion was not always true. Frequently they boasted, and adored, a golfing husband. ("Don't Look Now") — Daphne Du Maurier

When I take my hand out of this blanket," he thought, "my nail will be grown back, my hands will be clean. My body will be clean. I'll have on clean shorts, clean undershirt, a white shirt. A blue polka-dot tie. A gray suit with a stripe, and I'll be home, and I'll bolt the door. I'll put some coffee on the stove, some records on the phonograph, and I'll bolt the door. I'll read my books and I'll drink coffee and I'll listen to music, and I'll bolt the door. I'll open the window, I'll let in a nice, quiet girl
not Frances, not anyone I've ever known
and I'll bolt the door. I'll ask her to read some Emily Dickinson to me
that one about being chartless
and I'll ask her to read some William Blake to me
that one about the little lamb that made thee
and I'll bolt the door. She'll have an American voice, and she won't ask me if I have any chewing gum or bonbons, and I'll bolt the door. — J.D. Salinger

She's got a man's nightshirt on and stockings with holes in them. Somebody else's tie, a gold and green chevroned number, hangs around her neck and just at this moment it looks like a king's mantle draped over her shoulders. Her hair's all loose, her lipstick and eyeliner gone a-roving. She's got a cigar in one hand and a jar full of gin in the other, and she's laughing, laughing like for once that damned chicken crossed the road for something really good. — Catherynne M Valente

When one shows up in jeans and a T-shirt, I strongly feel that the audience reacts in a very different way than when you show up in a sport coat and a tie. — Bill Nye

I do not mean to suggest for a moment that all it takes to be a top executive is a custom-tailored European suit. You also need the correct shirt and tie. — Dave Barry

For my prom, I wore a white suit with a burgundy shirt, tie and cummerbund, along with white shoes, a white trilby and a cane. I was extra fly that day. — Ne-Yo

Ya back home they call me the tie-dye shirt kid, well that and fagot. — Bo Burnham

I still use the pronoun she for my publicity materials, and for mainstream media stuff, for two reasons: the first is that I do a lot of work in public schools, and I want those young women and girls to see every kind of she there can be. I want them to see my biceps and my shorn hair and shirt and tie and for some of them to see me as a possibilityI want them to see me living outside of the boxes, because they might be asphyxiating in their own box and need to see there is air out here for them to breathe, that all they have to do is lift the lid a little. — Rae Spoon

You and I, Mia. We have needs that must be attended. I will look after yours, and you will look after mine." He sighs, and his fingers move to his suit jacket and deftly undoes the buttons, letting it fall open to reveal a smart black shirt and tie underneath. "I've waited for this moment for so long. — Claire C. Riley

She wore a boiled shirt and a bow-tie, and her hair, though long and bound, was sleek with oil. She was about two- or three-and-thirty, and her waist was thick; but her upper lip, at least, was dark as a boy's. They would have called her terribly handsome, I guessed, in about 1880. — Sarah Waters

Slowly, slowly, with a drugged, fathomless calm, Henry bent and picked up a handful of dirt. He held it over the grave and let it trickle from his fingers. Then, with terrible composure, he stepped back and absently dragged the hand across his chest, smearing mud upon his lapel, his tie, the starched immaculate white of his shirt.
I stared at him. So did Julian, and Francis, and the twins, with a kind of shocked horror. He seemed not to realise he had done anything out of the ordinary. He stood there perfectly still, the wind ruffling his hair and the dull light glinting from the rims of his glasses. — Donna Tartt

A T-shirt is a T-shirt. Spending hundreds of dollars on it doesn't elevate it. He was under-dressed, even if his casual outfit did cost more than my suit and tie.
I once had another fashion victim tell me, 'This T-shirt cost twelve thousand dollars!'
What difference does that make? If that's the message you want to send about yourself and your fashion sense, you should wear the price tag, or that should be the message on your T-shirt: 'Hi. This T-shirt costs more than a semester of college.' Or: 'Hi. I have money to burn. Please help me get rid of all this wealth.' And my shirt, in turn, would say, 'Great. Please write a $12,000 check to charity. — Tim Gunn

It's Mr. Reese, the school principal. He wears the same outfit he wears every day. A beige suit, light blue shirt, red tie and hair that looks like it just went through a vacuum cleaner. He appears especially harried today, as his eyeglasses sit on his nose like they want to escape his face. — Ben Zackheim

Everybody who is anyone wanted to meet a real life gangster, and here's Joey Gallo hitting the scene. What more could you want with a gangster? He looked the part. They call it gangster chic. He dressed like the 'Reservoir Dogs' - black suit, white shirt, skinny black tie. You know, he had the whole look down. And the big shades, of course. — Tom Folsom

In their hallway, he looked slightly less presidential, but only because the heat had made him messily roll up the sleeves of his button-down shirt and remove his tie. His dusty brown hair was mussed, too, in that way that Virginia warmth always managed. But the watch was still there, large enough to knock out bank robbers, and he still had that handsome glow. The glow that meant that not only had he never been poor, but his father hadn't, nor his father's father, nor his father's father's father. — Maggie Stiefvater

Writers collect stories of rituals: John Cheever putting on a jacket and tie to go down to the basement, where he kept a desk near the boiler room. Keats buttoning up his clean white shirt to write in, after work. — Mona Simpson

It is well known that women carry poison in their pockets. Did you expect a gun? A woman with a gun would be just another policeman. We fall in love with the convicts, remember that. Policemen marry girls from the neighborhood, high school looms over their unions, the first uniform is her prom dress and his black bow tie and white shirt. But the girls are thinking of poison, thinking of poison as the lights go out on the dresser where the revolver has been placed with care for the night. The black shoes, the fine, thick serge of the coat, shoulders and thighs of stallions. And the policemen are usually shot down by someone out of shape, thin, thin, nothing but living bones. Remember that. — Elizabeth Hardwick

In his dark suit, white shirt, and rep tie, he looked - and sounded - utterly professional. There was little chance he would make a mistake on direct or get tripped up on cross by a pettifogger, such as my own wily self. — Paul Levine

He took me in skeptically. "Darling, the ensemble is fabulous," he said, patting my hand, eyeing my black jacket, black tie, black silk shirt, and heavily pegged black satin pants, "but I'm not so sure about the white sneakers."
"But they're essential to my costume."
"Your costume? What are you dressed as?"
"A tennis player in mourning. — Patti Smith

Gus, dressed in the finest button-down shirt he could find in his house (plain white - Pastor Tommy had worn it when he was trying to infiltrate a Young Republicans meeting, only to have been found out, as he was neither young nor a Republican). He also found a bright pink tie to be his splash of color. He wore his slacks from work and a pair of loafers that he hoped would be considered sensible. "I look like a gay Mormon missionary," he lamented in the mirror. "Pardon me, have you heard the word of the Lord? It's fabulous!" He scowled at his reflection. — T.J. Klune

You look spectacluar, Cam.' She smoothes out his shirt and straightens his tie. 'You look like the shining star you are!'
'Let's hope I don't give birth to complex elements.'
She looks at him quizzically.
'Supernova,' he says. 'If I'm a shining star, let's hope I don't blow up. — Neal Shusterman

I pulled him in and kissed back, and he threw his hands through my hair, his tongue licking hard over mine, picked me up by my thighs and wrapped them around him, he had a leather couch in his office and he threw me onto it, he quickly yanked his tie off and ripped his shirt off. I lay on the sofa looking over his sculpted chest, his deep pecks his hard abs, he came at me and grabbed my hair, he pulled it back exposing my throat, he kissed from my jaw down to my collarbone. — Mercy Cortez

The only people discussing "race" with any insight and courage are loud middle-aged white men who romanticize the Kennedys and Motown, well-read open-minded white kids like the tie-dyed familiar sitting next to me in the Free Tibet and Boba Fett T-shirt, a few freelance journalists in Detroit, and the American hikikomori who sit in their basements pounding away at their keyboards composing measured and well-thought-out responses to the endless torrent of racist online commentary. — Paul Beatty

He closed the distance another tight inch. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and her nipples were hard little points stabbing out of the scarlet material, begging to be freed. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her perfume swamped his senses. He grew hard, and her eyes widened as his full length throbbed against her leg in demand.
"I'm calling your bluff, baby."
Pure shock registered on her face as he removed one hand from the wall to casually unbutton his shirt, slide off his tie, then grasp her chin with a firm grip.
"Prove it."
He stamped his mouth over hers, not giving her a chance to think or back off or push him away. He invaded her mouth, plunging his tongue inside the slick, silky cave, then closed his lips around the wet flesh and sucked hard.
She grabbed for his shoulders, and made a little moan deep in her throat.
Then she exploded. — Jennifer Probst

It's like watching a James Bond movie. Morpheus - in a black trench-coat-style blazer that hangs to his thighs, gray tweed pants, a dark gray vest, skinny red tie, and black pin-striped dress shirt - could pass for a punk-fae secret agent who's captured his villain. His thick blue waves touch his shoulders from under a gray tweed flat cap, and his wings drape down his back and across the floor, fluttering sporadically as he keeps his balance against Jeb's resistance. — A.G. Howard

Opening her eyes, Eva placed her palm in the center of William's chest. "You're next." With her wee push, he obliged her and sat on the edge of the bed. Kneeling, she untied his shoes and removed his hose. When she stood, William had already untied the lace of the arming doublet he wore atop his shirt. Eva held up her finger. "Tsk, tsk. You don't want to spoil my fun do you?"
He shrugged out of the doublet with a look of defiance. "It canna hurt to help a bit."
"Come here." She pulled him up by the cord of his chausses. Fingers working quickly, she untied them and his braies, and let them drop to the floor. Then, with a sultry giggle, she slowly tugged the tie on his linen shirt, staring at his eyes while she tortured him, pulling oh so very slowly. "This bit of linen is all that's left between us, William."
He growled though straight white teeth. "And it will be torn to shreds if ye dunna haste to rip it from my torrid flesh. — Amy Jarecki

I like wearing fitted jackets mixed with jeans, a button-down shirt and a tie. I like to keep the rock and roll feel but class it up a bit. As far as stage clothes, I prefer John Varvatos and All Saints. They have clothing that is really accessible for wearing every day as well as for wearing on stage. I also love J. Lindeberg's suits. — Scott Weiland

To be allowed even one color plate in these rather stiff formal articles consisting largely of long scientific names, tables of measurements, fin counts, descriptions of viscera, ect., gives me a feeling of aesthetic release that perhaps the conservative businessman feels when he tops off a dull gray suit and plain white shirt with a red tie. — Eugenie Clark

knowing that he himself looked so cowboylike to these Eastern people, in his best black Tony Lamas, a nice pair of Levi's, a pointed-collar shirt with string tie and a black Stetson, all under a sheepskin coat, his best coat. — Stephen Hunter

Today he wore a burnt-orange shirt, black pants, and a tie that looked like a street fight at the south end of the color wheel. — Kathy Reichs

As I bounced her on my knee, AJ undid the first three buttons on his shirt and ripped off his tie. "I'm ready to dance."
"You've been dancing the entire time we haven't been on stage." I replied.
"No, I mean I really want to dance."
"Ugh," I groaned. "You mean that mexican shit. — Katie Ashley

Anything she might have said died in her throat at the sight of him. His black hair was disheveled, his morning stubble hypnotic, and the rakish way his shirt was undone at the throat and his tie hung in abandoned disarray beneath the collar, was just plain panty-melting.

I'm not wearing any panties. — Christina Phillips

I remember at 16 years old, growing up in Queens, we were punks, but hey, when we went to the theater, we wore a shirt and tie! Similarly, I believe that to keep movie theaters in existence, they're gonna have to make 'em an event, have a couch, a table and drinks or something. Otherwise, there's no reason to get out of your bed! — James Caan

I went to see Dad in hospital after he had gone through one particularly grueling operation. I walked into the room where he was recovering, and he was sitting up in a chair, wearing his shirt and tie. That was after eight hours of surgery. I found that so moving. — Rachel Joyce

He was handsome enough - dark eyes and a nice chin, though his hair was thinning. He wore a dark overcoat and a dark suit, a white shirt and a tie, and there was the worn shine of a brass belt buckle as he reached for his wallet. "Reminds me of some days we had overseas," he said, taking a bill from his billfold. She frowned, reflexively. "Where were you?" He shook his head, smiled at her. Something in his manner seemed to indicate that they knew each other, that they'd had such conversations before. "In another life," he — Alice McDermott

Well, he replied, finally letting my hand go so that he could gesticulate with his; you don your khakis, schlep off to some jungle, hang out with the natives, fish and hunt with them, shiver from their fevers, drink strange brew fermented in their virgins' mouths, and all the rest; then, after about a year, they lug your bales and cases down to the small jetty that connects their tiny world to the big one that they kind of know exists, but only as an abstract concept, like adultery for children; and, waving with big, gap-toothed smiles, they send you back to your study - where, khakis swapped for cotton shirt and tie, saliva-liquor for the Twinings, tisane or iced Scotch your housekeeper purveys you on a tray, you write the book: that's what I mean, he said. Not just a book: the fucking Book. You write the Book on them. Sum their tribe up. Speak its secret name. — Tom McCarthy

Dressed in new jeans, a light blue dress shirt and a red patterned tie, he stood at Heather's grave with his eyes closed. Although I didn't hear him, his lips were moving like he was praying. In the faint breeze, Mother Nature ran her fingers through his dark hair like I wanted to. He looked tall and strong, the way he used to, but somewhere along the way, without me, he'd stepped into the shoes of a man. And a part of me ached for those missing years. — Jordan Dane

I always dressed as a man when I was at school. I loved wearing a tie and a shirt, and I was always wearing suits. Annie Lennox was my hero. I was always playing men in high school. — Cate Blanchett

The third day, he wasn't on the road. I wanted to feel relieved. Instead, I was disappointed. Until I got home. Mom had had the day off, the first in a long while. So, of course, she was home when I got there. And so was Joe. Sitting at our kitchen table. Wearing dress pants, a dress shirt. And a bow tie. Which, unbeknownst to me, turned out to be one of my greatest weaknesses. I — T.J. Klune

My uniform: grey suit, white shirt, grey tie and tie bar, grey cardigan and black wingtips. — Thom Browne

It was about eleven o'clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills. I was wearing my powder-blue suit, with dark blue shirt, tie and display handkerchief, black brogues, black wool socks with dark little clocks on them. I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and I didn't care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars. — Raymond Chandler

A great physicist taught at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. He published many important books and papers. Often he had an idea in the middle of the night. He rose from his bed, took a shower, washed his hair, and shaved. He dressed completely, in a clean shirt, in polished shoes, a jacket and tie. Then he sat at his desk and wrote down his idea. A friend of mine asked him why he put himself through all that rigmarole. 'Why,' he said, surprised at the question, 'in honor of physics! — Annie Dillard

You can be 24 and continue to live like you're at college, or even continue to live like you're in high school. Or you can put on a shirt and tie and pretend to be an adult. — Ezra Koenig

His cream-colored three-piece suit, gray silk tie, and sky blue shirt. He's wearing — Kristen Callihan

By now, Kate has released her hair and lost her shoes. My tie is off, the top two buttons of my shirt open. Our appearance could make things feel friendly - intimate - like an all-night study session in college.
If we weren't trying to rip each other's thraots open, of course. — Emma Chase

Adam miserably wondered which of the neighbors were coming to his father's defense.
In an hour, this will be over. You will never have to do it again. All you have to do is survive.
The door cracked open. Adam didn't want to look, but he did anyway. In the hall stood Richard Campbell Gansey III in his school uniform and overcoat and scarf and gloves, looking like someone from another world.
Behind him was Ronan Lynch, his damn tie knotted right for once and his shirt tucked in.
Humiliation and joy warred furiously inside Adam. — Maggie Stiefvater

I never knew watching you run around in a shirt and tie could be so much fun."
He leaned in and gave her a kiss. "You liked that, huh?"
"Yeah," she said softly. "It would have been even nicer if you'd had less clothes on, but I made do."
His eyes smoldered. "I'll have to see what I can do about that later. — Paige Tyler

He's not his immaculate self today. He's a little rough around the edges, probably from a few bad nights' sleep. His mustard shirt is the ugliest colour I have ever seen. His tie is badly knotted, his jaw is shadowed with stubble. His hair is a mess and has a devil's horn on one side. He's practically a Gamin today. He looks divine and he's looking at me with a memory in his eyes. — Sally Thorne

"Wait." I grab his tie. Even through his shirt, I feel the strong curve of his collarbone beneath my fingers. It takes me back to how he looked in my bedroom: shirtless and perfect - wings spread high like those of some sort of celestial being - elegant power and pulsing light. Unabashed, unashamed, and confident. All the things that I crave to be.
My pulse beats rapidly against the bite on my neck. "There's something I want you to do, before Jeb wakes enough to know what's going on."
Morpheus kneels again. "What? You want I should kiss your ouchies?" The dark purr of his voice is more teasing than seductive. — A.G. Howard

In the hall stood Richard Campbell Gansey III in his school uniform and overcoat and scarf and gloves, looking like someone from another world. Behind him was Ronan Lynch, his damn tie knotted right for once and his shirt tucked in.
Humiliation and joy warred furiously inside Adam.
Gansey strode between the pews as Adam's father stared at him. He went directly to the bench, straight up to the judge. Now that he stood directly beside Adam, not looking at him, Adam could see that he was a little out of breath. Ronan, behind him, was as well. they had run.
For him. — Maggie Stiefvater

I think he has a girlfriend? Not sure though, he just seems to be off limits to all women here - well you know the other single women teachers. Maybe he's gay?"
"I seriously doubt that one." I responded struggling not to laugh.
"That would be a serious punishment to women kind. I wonder what he looks like without that vest and tie teacher getup ... I bet he looks amazing naked."
"Holy crap Jaz!" I yelped, but I knew I was blushing. I knew what he looked like with his shirt off and it was damned good. — Cassandra Giovanni

She wore a steel gray business suit and under the jacket a dark blue shirt and a man's tie of lighter shade. The edges of the folded handkerchief in the breast pocket looked sharp enough to slice bread. — Raymond Chandler

When I rode away from Jock's farm a week later, I took nothing that I couldn't tie onto the back of my saddle - pyjamas, a toothbrush and comb, a second pair of slacks, a man's shirt in heavy cotton. For Pegasus I carried a thick rug and brush, several pounds of crushed oats, and a small, tarnished blacksmith's knife. It felt wonderful to be riding out in the bush and travelling so lightly, but I was also leaving much unsettled behind me. It was a devil's bargain I had struck with Jock. — Paula McLain

We always need to have a smart black blazer in our closets. It's just a nice clean way to dress up even something as simple as jeans and a t-shirt. And something I always have in my closet, I always have a vintage headscarf with me, to tie around my bag or protect my hair from the sun, it depends but I always find a use for it. — Nicole Richie

You have shoes to match."
"I do?"
"You do, yes, and go with diamonds. Leave the color to the dress."
"Which diamonds? Do you know how many you give me? Why do you do that?"
The aggrieved sound of her voice amused him nearly as much as giving her diamonds. "It's a sickness. I'll get them for you once you're dressed."
She said nothing, and stood where she was as he selected a dark suit from his forest of suits, a slate-colored shirt, and a stone-colored tie.
"How come you don't wear color?"
"The better to serve as the backdrop for my beautiful wife."
She narrowed her eyes. "You had that one ready."
"The truth is always ready."
She jabbed a finger at him. "That one, too."
"Such a cynic. — J.D. Robb

I wore a black suit and a white shirt, a black tie and black shoes, all polished and shiny: clothes that normally would make me feel uncomfortable, as if I were in a stolen uniform, or pretending to be an adult. Today they gave me comfort of a kind. I was wearing the right clothes for a hard day. — Neil Gaiman

His name was Mr. Quan and he was the concierge, which explained the black suit and the lavender shirt but not the oversized bow tie in chrome-yellow silk. Perhaps nothing could. — Carsten Stroud

Taro came into the room, strands of hair flying free of the tie at the back of his skull, sweat plastering his cream-colored shirt against his chest and back. I wished I had an artist's skill, that I could make renderings of him in all his states of beauty. He would never want to look at them, or even know about them. I would just like them for myself. Maybe he would want to see them when he was much older, and beautiful in a different way. — Moira J. Moore

At that time in IBM you had to wear a white shirt, dark pants and a black tie with your badge stapled to your shoulder or something," said Steve Bristow, an engineer. "At Atari the work people did counted more than how they looked. — Walter Isaacson

The blood ran in tiny rivulets down his white face, as if from Christ's Crown of Thorns, his long blond hair flying out as he turned full circle, his hand ripping at his shirt, tearing it open down his chest, the black tie loose and falling. His pale crystalline blue eyes were glazed and shot with blood as he screamed the unimportant lyrics. — Anne Rice

The great chandeliers hang silent. The tables in the vast dining room overlooking the lake are spread with white cloth and silver as if for dinners before the war. At a little after 4, into the green room with the slow walk of aged people, the Nabokovs come. He wears a navy blue cardigan, a blue-checked shirt, gray slacks and a tie. His shoes have crepe soles. He is balding, with a fringe of gray hair. His hazel-green eyes are watering, oysterous, as he says. He is 75, born on the same day as Shakespeare, April 23. He is at the end of a great career, a career half-carved out of a language not his own. — James Salter

I don't want to be carried out of a club wearing a tie-dye T-shirt and a cap on the wrong way around when I am 70, but I would like to settle down a bit. Maybe with a partner. — Rupert Everett

Pumpkins. That's what we resemble
pumpkins, in our orange graduation robes.
'This color makes me look so fat,'
Angie says, straightening her cap.
'Why can't our school have decent colors?'
'You're not fat,' Michael says, dressed in shirt and tie.
You're glowing. Like a nuclear pumpkin.
Very attractive, really. — Kelly Bingham

His shirt, tie, and trousers were folded small as an apology on a faded blue-velvet chair. — Rachel Joyce

I size him up. A pasty jumble of limbs in latex-tight sharkskin slacks with three inches of white socks showing at the ankles above two-tone patent leather, a jacket matching the slacks stretched over narrow shoulders and an embroidered cowboy shirt with silver caps on the points of the collar, a bolo tie featuring a cockroach frozen in amber snug around his throat. — Charlie Huston