Truly she was of elegant deportment, and very pleasing and amiable in bearing. She took pains to counterfeit the manners of the court and to be dignified in behavior and to be held worthy of reverence.

And when she was good she was very very good. But when she was bad she was horrid.

She was beautiful - but especially she was without mercy.

Her face was not young, but it was simple; it was not fresh, but it was mild. She had large eyes which were not bright, and a great deal of hair which was not 'dressed,' and long fine hands which were — possibly — not clean.

She was never without dark glasses, she was always well groomed, there was a consequential good taste in the plainness of her clothes, the blues and grays and lack of luster that made her, herself, shine so.

She was only a prostitute, but she had the nicest face I ever came across.

She was sweet, but a psycho.

she swore in good mouth-filling oaths, but never smutty ones, and that was uncommon. She knew the prosody of profanity. . . . she knew the tune, as well as the words. She was not a raving beauty, but she had fine eyes and a Pre-Raphelite air of being too good for this world while at the same time exhibiting much of what this world desires in a woman, and I suppose I gaped at her and behaved clownishly.

... since she might not be splendid, she would at least be immaculate.

Those about her pitied the poor woman; and, as she did not weep, as she was gay and smiling, they believed her mad.

She was a triumph over ugliness, so often more beguiling than real beauty, if only because it contains paradox.

She had a lot of face and chin. She had pewter-colored hair set in a ruthless permanent, a hard beak and moist eyes with the sympathetic expression of wet stones.

A face devoid of love or grace, A hateful, hard, successful face, A face with which a stone Would feel as thoroughly at ease As were they old acquaintances, —

[My grandmother] was so humble of heart and so gentle that her tenderness for others and her disregard for herself and her own troubles blended in a smile which, unlike those seen on the majority of human faces, bore no trace of irony save for herself, while for all of us kisses seemed to spring from her eyes, which could not look upon those she loved without seeming to bestow upon them passionate caresses.