Best 120 quotes in «beard quotes» category

I was at Live Aid the original, looking like Rolf Harris for some reason. I had a really long beard that day for some reason.

Jargon is part ceremonial robe, part false beard.

My beard towards heaven, I feel my nape support / The back of my head, I grow the breast of a harpy / And my brush as it drips continually / Upon my face, makes it a gorgeous floor.

Legends grow beards, and twenty-three years is plenty of time to grow a long one.

Maybe! Maybe! Maybe if your aunt had a beard, she'd be your uncle.

My beard grows down to my toes, I never wears no clothes, I wraps my hair Around my bare, And down the road I goes.

Never insult a mans beard, you either get thunder or lightning

Nonbeing must in some sense be, otherwise what is it that there is not? This tangled doctrine might be nicknamed Plato's beard; historically it has proved tough, frequently dulling the edge of Occam's razor.

My father and I had a good relationship, it was very relaxed. He had a lot of humour. He looked a little bit like me, although he had no beard. He had the appearance of a very elegant British-looking man.

QUINCE Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. FLUTE Here, Peter Quince. QUINCE Flute, you must take Thisby on you. FLUTE What is Thisby? a wandering knight? QUINCE It is the lady that Pyramus must love. FLUTE Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.

Once I graduated that's when I grew my 'infamous' beard. I trim it every once in awhile but that's about it.

Peter Beard is one of those people I've known a long time. We have an affinity. We share certain values.

Notwithstanding my experiments with electricity the thunderbolt continues to fall under our noses and beards; and as for the tyrant, there are a million of us still engaged at snatching away his sceptre.

Over his own dark Cealdish beard. "Nothing like your marvelous facebear.

Rosie get off your desk, and please put your beard away.

Santa Jr. I was a cop. Yes, I was officially Santa. But a younger Santa. He goes young, clean-shaven, to how we imagine Santa with all the white hair and beard and "Ho ho ho." Kind of funny.

Rap is poetry to music, like beatniks without beards and bongos.

Some artists are bound to an image: Bob Marley has dreadlocks, Matisyahu has a beard. But that's a reminder that the whole thing is not about style. It's about music.

See the gold sunshine patching, And streaming and streaking across The gray-green oaks; and catching, By its soft brown beard, the moss.

Reptilian green the wrinkled throat, Green as a bough of yew the beard; He bent his head, and so I smote

The beard must not be plucked. Ye shall not deface the figure of your beard.

Someone got killed up here.... It was outside. A tall man. He had one leg longer’n the other. And a beard. He was probably a hunter." "How’d you know all that?" "I just trod on ‘im.

The beard, being a half-mask, should be forbidden by the police - It is, moreover, as a sexual symbol in the middle of the face, obscene: that is why it pleases women.

The idea that God's mercy is connected to whether or not I shave is ludicrous and I need to just trust myself, and that, you know, if I'm deserving of God's mercy, I'll get it, regardless of, you know, my beard.

The establishment will irritate you - pull your beard, flick your face - to make you fight. Because once they've got you violent, then they know how to handle you. The only thing they don't know how to handle is non-violence and humor.

There are two kinds of individuals on Planet Earth who do not have beards - women and youth.

There he is, tall, tanned, Italian, sophisticated. So what do you do?" I said, "Er, leap on him and snog him within an inch of his life? Taking care not to strangle myself on his false beard, or disturb his banana.

There are days when I think: what if I just checked out? What if I grew a beard and went off to live somewhere remote? I have often wondered about the freedom that would bring.

Sometimes I have a beard, sometimes I don't, and I'm not very good at maintaining it. I've got an agreement with my life coach and guru that I don't touch it from now on.

Tradition wears a snowy beard, romance is always young.

This music has been around since before the beard on Moses. I happed to do it very well and I happen to have a lot of groovy songs that I know people are going to dig. I know more about it than you do.

When you are kissing a guy with a beard, it's different.

Trust the man who hesitates in his speech and is quick and steady in action, but beware of long arguments and long beards.

Tim [Omundson] is just so wonderfully delicious. He has the sexiest beard on television. He's such a fabulous actor, and a great character.

When I reach puberty I'm definitely going to grow a beard.

You know what you are? You're a beard with an idiot hanging off it.

You always notice a facelift on a woman. It's a tightness around the ears, and the scar is usually inside the ears. If I suspect it's been done, I usually move around until I can see it. But with a man, it actually pulls your beard and your sideburns back, and that's what's so strange.

A beard well lathered is half shaven.

A goatee is to beards what diamonds are to ornaments.

Alçó la mano, a la barba se tomó: —¡Grado a Christus, que del mundo es señor, cuando veo lo que avía sabor, que lidiaran conmigo en campo mios yernos amos a dos!

A soft finger touched his shoulder and he turned to see a little man smiling in the moonlight. He wore an indescribable hat, his eyes were wide and astonished, as if everything were happening for the first time, and he had a dark describable beard.

Any man can grow a moustache and a beard! And this does not make him a man! What it takes to be a man is to help a needy person, stand up for the innocent, and lead one's life in the most courteous, dignified and sophisticated way possible to a man.

Beard is like Niqab, that covers cheeks

Beards – Saving the husband’s from ill-timed expressions since eternity.

...'beard' isn't really a superpower.

First, if you participate in Movember, fuck you. Second, if you want to raise money for prostate cancer (a noble cause), do it the old-fashioned way, by either begging for it or exerting yourself physically for donations. Sitting on your ass and letting nature take its course above your upper lip is not the same thing as running a 10K at a local high school or breaking out the set of power tools your dad gave you as a housewarming present collecting dust in your garage and using them to go out and build a habitat for humanity. Maybe I can raise money for rectal cancer by getting people to pledge a dollar every time I take a shit. And third no one wants to see that horrific seventies pornstache growing like a caterpillar with cerebral palsy zigzagging across your face; you look like you're about to go door to door informing people that you're a registered sex offender who's just moved in next door and would their kids like to come out and was your windowless van for a dollar? Fuck Movember. And November.

Her latest client is Professor Desmond Curnin, a university professor who teaches library sciences to large groups of students. He’s quick to pay on-time, quick to never fall behind. He’s a brown-haired man with an unkempt beard and thick-framed hipster glasses. He slides a leather briefcase stuffed with dollar bills into the open window of Geraldine’s car. “Your fly’s unzipped,” Geraldine points out, disgusted. “Who gave you a license to sell hot dogs, buddy?

Essora el Campeador prísos' a la barba: —¡Grado a Dios, que cielo e tierra manda! Por esso es luenga, que a delicio fue criada. ¿Qué avedes vós, conde, por retraer la mi barba? Ca de cuando nasco a delicio fue criada, ca non me priso a ella fijo de mugier nada nimbla messó fijo de moro nin de cristiana, commo yo a vós, conde, en el castiello de Cabra, cuando pris a Cabra e a vós por la barba. Non ý ovo rapaz que non messó su pulgada, la que yo messé aún non es eguada.—

Hell! His beard grows fast as blazes, like a damp wicket in springtime sun, green, and Rachel's skin is so fine, his bristles can score her red the way a new ball marks a bat, English alum on English unbleached willow, finest quality, special selection, Rachel-grade. Zach, my man, you have cricket on the brain! Thomas has asked him to play on Sunday. Bring Rachel, he said. Thomas 'All Souls' Aubry, gentleman, corinthian at heart, and half French yet more English than a true-born.

He was letting his hair grow, and it was only because Nature is unkind and has no regard for the immortal longings of youth that he did not attempt a beard.