characterdescriptions

[characterdescriptions]

He had badly misremembered her. He never would have recalled her forehead as so capacious and high, her chin as so delicately pointed. In fact, her face would have seemed overlong were it not counterbalanced by an extravagant flying buttress of her nose. Her rather small lips were set in a bright red hyphen that curved downward just enough at one corner to allow itself to be read as a smirk of amusement, from which she was not exempt, at the surrounding tableau of human vanity. And yet in her eyes there was something unreadable, something that just did not want to be read, the determined blackness that in predator animal conceals hostile calculation and in the prey form of an overwhelming effort to seem to have disappeared.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon

[characterdescriptions]

He was not, in anyway conventional way handsome. His face was an inverted triangle, brow large, chin pointed, with pouting lips and blunt, quarrelsome nose. He slouched and wore clothes badly: he always looked as though he had just been jumped for his lunch money He went forward every morning with the hairless cheek of innocence itself, but by noon a clean shave was no more of a memory, hoboish penumbra on the jaw not quite sufficient to make him look tough. He thought himself ugly, but this was because he never saw his face in repose.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon

[characterdescriptions]

Reported himself to the officer of the watch a tall and rather gangling individual with hollow cheeks and a melancholy cast of countenance, whose uniform looked as if it had been put on in the dark and not readjusted since

Lieutenant Hornblower by C.S.Foster

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"What are we going to do?" Wilmer’s voice was rising in octaves again. The man was a human teakettle always on boil.

The Jester by Michael J. Sullivan

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My sister could be so beautiful If she just took care of her self-combed her hair,got some sleep every once in a while. She’s like a picture of our mother that someone crumpled up and tired to smooth out again.

The Last Policeman by Ben Winters

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He made out a slender young man about his own age, slumped like a question mark against the door frame, a disheveled pile of newspaper pin under one arm, the other other thrown as if in shame across his face. This, Mrs. Klayman said, giving Sammy a helpful shove toward the wall was Josef Kavalier.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon