Sentences with phrase «aging skin tends»

As well, aging skin tends to show more visible sun spots, wrinkles, and other complexion ruining side effects of UV rays.

Not exact matches

These lipids can also break down over time, which is why folks tend to have flakier skin as they age.
In addition, women who tend to consume more alcohol, carbonated beverages and nicotine also show signs of premature aging and weakening of their skin's cellular structure.
Aging whether its Natural or Premature tends to Devoid Skin of Essential Nutrients Affecting Collagen, Changing Skin Texture which makes Skin Rough, Wrinkle and Dryness Prone.
Thinning facial skin isn't good because it tends to age skin faster (premature aging), which is another side effect, even if the acne subsides.
You will notice that people with protein - poor diets tend to get premature aging, their skin thins in places, and they get lines and creases on their face before they probably should.
Since your face might tend to become dry with frequent washing or bathing, it is necessary to moisturize often as it feeds your skin and prevents it from aging.
As matte, full coverage finishes tend to age the skin and make harsh lines appear more severe, 50 + women are opting for light, radiant coverage in the way of a skin plumping tinted moisturizer or BB Cream.
A little about me im 6 «3 190 brown skin and I am 28 years of age I like women older than me they tend to already knw what is what but I like sports and I like sex so if my profile fit u mami I am here but if not then take care but that's just me im 100 if u 100 with me
Middle - aged to older dogs tend to get cysts, oil gland growths (sebaceous cysts and sebaceous adenomas), fatty tumors (lipomas), warts, skin tags, and other benign growths.
, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,
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