As he looked at his reflection in the dresser mirror, he felt that recurring surprise that the tall, attractive man staring back was he, and beyond that was the wonder that the image bore no real relationship to the man himself.

a man possessed with peace is always smiling

Every man carries with him through life a mirror, as unique and impossible to get rid of as his shadow.

A mans manners are a mirror in which he shows his portrait.

The world is a looking glass and gives back to every man the reflection of his own face.

The world is a looking glass, and gives back to every man the reflection of his own face.

What I see in the mirror [is] someone that's overcome a lot. I've been through a lot and I genuinely see a fighter. I don't see a championship winner, but I see a fighter and someone who is going to continue to fight no matter what is thrown their way. I have a lot of confidence now because I have said the things I believe in. I know I can hold my own on a first date with someone, in a conversation with someone. That's what I see when I look in the mirror — a strong woman.

Happy is the man who hath the hour of his death always before his eyes, and daily prepareth himself to die.

I still think of myself as I was 25 years ago. Then I look in a mirror and see an old bastard and realise it's me.

In the mirror, I make eye contact with an unshaven, bleary-eyed man in his mid-thirties, looking harmless but not thrilled to see me at this hour. I’ll just never be a morning person.

Nothing flatters a man as much as the happiness of his wife; he is always proud of himself as the source of it.

One day when I was able to get up, I decided to look at myself in the mirror on the opposite wall. I had not seen myself since the ghetto. From the depths of the mirror, a corpse was contemplating me. The look in his eyes as he gazed at me has never left me.

Every man carries within him through life a mirror, as unique and impossible to get rid of as his shadow.

A parlor game for a wet afternoon – imaging the mirrors of one’s friends. A has a huge pier glass, gilded and baroque, B a discreet little pocket mirror in a pigskin case with his initials stamped on the back; whenever one looks at C, he is in the act of throwing his mirror away but, if one looks in his pocket or up his sleeve, one always finds another, like an extra ace.

There comes a time when you look into the mirror and you realize that what you see is all that you will ever be. And then you accept it. Or you kill yourself. Or you stop looking in mirrors.