Sorrow makes an ugly face odious.

This, I suppose, makes me such a sauce-box, and bold-face, and a creature, and all because I won't be a sauce-box and bold-face indeed.

It was a low-scoring, ugly game. We both slowed the game down. It got ugly for a while.

To what a bad choice is many a worthy woman betrayed, by that false and inconsiderate notion, That a reformed rake makes the best husband!

How soon my sorrow hath destroyed my face

L.A. makes you feel ugly.