The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart.

The face is the soul of the body.

The human face is the organic seat of beauty.... It is the register of value in development, a record of Experience, whose legitimate office is to perfect the life, a legible language to those who will study it, of the majestic mistress, the soul.

A man's face is his autobiography. A woman's face is her work of fiction.

Without wearing any mask we are conscious of, we have a special face for each friend

Women do not simply have faces, as men do; they are identified with their faces. Men have a naturalistic relation to their faces. Certainly they care whether they are good-looking or not. They suffer over acne, protruding ears, tiny eyes; they hate getting bald. But there is a much wider latitude in what is esthetically acceptable in a man’s face than what is in a woman’s. A man’s face is defined as something he basically doesn’t need to tamper with; all he has to do is keep it clean. He can avail himself of the options for ornament supplied by nature: a beard, a mustache, longer or shorter hair. But he is not supposed to disguise himself. What he is “really” like is supposed to show. A man lives through his face; it records the progressive stages of his life. And since he doesn’t tamper with his face, it is not separate from but is completed by his body – which is judged attractive by the impression it gives of virility and energy. By contrast, a woman’s face is potentially separate from her body. She does not treat it naturalistically. A woman’s face is the canvas upon which she paints a revised, corrected portrait of herself. One of the rules of this creation is that the face not show what she doesn’t want it to show. Her face is an emblem, an icon, a flag. How she arranges her hair, the type of make-up she uses, the quality of her complexion – all these are signs, not of what she is “really” like, but of how she asks to be treated by others, especially men. They establish her status as an “object.

The human face is, after all, nothing more nor less than a mask.

Our own faces, seen suddenly, will sometimes tell us things concerning ourselves that we did not suspect before.

What is a face really? It's own photo? It's makeup? Or is it a face as painted by such or such painter? That which is in front? Inside? Behind? And the rest? Doesn't everyone look at himself in his own particular way? Deformations simply do not exist.

When I consider others I can easily believe that their bodies express their personalities and that the two are inseparable. But it is impossible for me not to feel that my body is other than I, that I inhabit it like a house, and that my face is a mask which, with or without my consent, conceals my real nature from others.

I have always considered my face a convenience rather than an ornament.

When confronted with mixed signals from the face (such as happiness cues along with anxiety signals or pleasure behaviors seen alongside displeasure displays), or if the nonverbal facial messages are not in agreement, always side with the negative emotion as the more honest of the two. The negative sentiment will almost always be the more accurate and genuine of the person's feelings and emotions.

It's not the face, but the expressions on it. It's not the voice, but what you say. It's not how you look in that body, but the thing you do with it. You are beautiful.

As an actor, your face is your superpower. If you take that away, and put someone in a mask, it’s really difficult to emote. Having done that for maybe eight years has given me a great sense of confidence in my physicality.