Best 2694 quotes in «hair quotes» category

It is natural that we should always expect an Israeli attack, even when it does not threaten.

It is only natural that for any statesman at the helm of any government the question of his country's security should be a concern of the utmost importance.

It is only necessary to behold the least fact or phenomenon, however familiar, from a point a hair's breadth aside from our habitual path or routine, to be overcome, enchanted by its beauty and significance ... To perceive freshly, with fresh senses is to be inspired.

It is said in Java that the tiger's hearing is so acute that hunters must keep their nose hairs cut lest the tiger hear the breath whistle through their nostrils.

It is not white hair that engenders wisdom.

It is not hoary hairs that bring wisdom; some have an old head on young shoulders.

It is so expensive to take care of my hair and keep it looking like I was born with it, when my real hair is the color of rat fur.

It is still news to her that passion could steer her wrong though she went down, a thousand times strung out across railroad tracks, off bridges under cars, or stiff glass bottle still in hand, hair soft on greasy pillows, still it is news she cannot follow love (his burning footsteps in blue crystal snow) & still come out all right.

It never occurred to him that now he was looking at his master, at the one person in all the world who held his fate right between her palms - me, in patched hand-me-downs and untrimmed hair and idiot smile - and that my hatred for him is pure and black and unforgiving. And that I don't believe in God, but if I did, if I did, it would be the God of Moses, angry and demanding and OUT FOR REVENGE.

It made our hair stand up in panic fear.

It just isn't the way you've been told. Let me give you an example: Time makes no sense. It really doesn't apply to me; it doesn't fit. My hair gets thin and I can't stay up all night the way I used to. But I don't change.

I took his hand, and suddely he yanked me―too roughly―right off the bed so that I thudded against his chest. "Just in case," he muttered against my hair, crushing me in a bear hug that about to broke my ribs. "Can't―breathe!" I gasped.

I trailed off.Patch leaned lazily against the counter. Dark hair flipped out from under his ball cap. A smile tugged at his mouth. My thoughts dissolved and just like that, a new thought broke the surface of my mind. I wanted to kiss him. Right now.

I treat myself like I would my daughter. I brusher her hair, was her laundry, tuck her in goodnight. Most importantly, I feed her. I do not punish her. I do not berate her, leave tears staining her face. I do not leave her alone. I know she deserves more. I know I deserve more.

It's a GIRL. It's a little girl, with scrunched-up petal lips and a tuft of dark hair and hands in tiny fits, up by her ears. All that time, that's who was in there. And it's weird, but the minute I saw her I just thought: IT'S YOU. Of course it is.

I try to look nice. I comb my hair, I tie my tie, I put on a jacket, but I draw the line when it comes to trimming my eyebrows. You work with what you got.

It's amazing that it's considered revolutionary to wear my hair the way it grows out of my head.

I try to take care of my hair because it sort of has to withstand a lot of blowdrying and ironing.

It's a small town; everybody eats in the same cafe; everybody gets their hair cut in the same barber shop. That kind of community building, I think, begins to bridge those gaps.

It's being a grown up, which I never figured out how to do, scrubbing the tub, and remembering to eat and shampoo my hair. It's the basics: I can write a whole book, but I cannot handle the basics.

I try to neutralize my figures; I want them to be mythic and timeless. I want them to exist beyond time. I've used the skull caps or cowls to banish hair, which is distracting. I want to isolate the face and concentrate on what is really going on deep within my subjects.

It's amazing the things that you cry at. I cry when I smell my son's hair in the morning. We have a moment of peace and I'll be like, 'Ahhhh! How can you love this much?'

It's fascinating how much of our sense of attractiveness and feminine identity is bound up in our hair.

It seems like you can't actually have really bad hair or be bald and run for President of the United States.

It seems no more than right that men should seize time by the forelock, for the rude old fellow, sooner or later, pulls all their hair out.

It's funny to see my friends going through that middle-age thing about losing their hair. I went through it in college. They all say, "Oh my God, I'm getting old. I'm never getting laid again." Shut up. Yes, you are.

It's great to have gray hair. Ask anyone who's bald.

It's hard to have a bad hair day when you're famous.

It's Christmas time and my rhyme's steady bumpin. Everybody happy, hair still nappy, Gonna steal a gift for my old grandpappy.

It's fun to be blond, and it's almost difficult to remember how I used to look with my proper hair color.

It's how you look at beauty. Is it only an outward appearance with hair and makeup and a hot body, or is it something deeper than that?

It's funny, honestly, by rights, with a lot of the stuff that's happened to me I should be running down the street with my hair on fire, but instead I want to shape things, and I want to shake things up. There's nothing wrong with being an agitator.

It's important for me to have strong hair in case someone pulls it and tries to rip it all out.

It's hard to make speeches with your hair in your face!

It's like those high-school yearbook photos that everyone would rather not see: Oh my God, look at that mullet hair. I have those photos too, but for me, they're, like, entire movies. And they show them on cable.

It's more likely I'll dye my hair green, get a bunch of tattoos and go on tour with Amy Winehouse.

It's like the smell of burned toast. You made the toast. You looked forward to it. You even enjoyed making it, but it burned. What were you doing? Was it your fault? It doesn't matter anymore. You open the window, but only the very top layer of the smell goes away. The rest remains around you. It's the walls. You leave the room, but it's on your clothes. You change your clothes, but it's in your hair. It's on the thin skin on the tops of your hand. And in the morning, it's still there.

It's nice not to have lines when you frown, especially on TV. I don't know why people make such a fuss about it. No one is interested if a woman has her teeth capped or her hair dyed.

It's not that I have compromised or anything, but it's always been important to me to take good care of myself and be a good example. I'm not much a role model in terms of hair care, though.

It's not the hair on your head that matters. It's the kind of hair you have inside.

It sometimes strikes me that the whole of science is a piece of impudence; that nature can afford to ignore our impertinent interference. If our monkey mischief should ever reach the point of blowing up the earth by decomposing an atom, and even annihilated the sun himself, I cannot really suppose that the universe would turn a hair.

It's in the click of my heels, The bend of my hair, the palm of my hand, The need of my care, 'Cause I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me.

It's so different when you change your hair color, you're treated so differently. It's a very funny experience. It's fun, I love changing up my hair.

It's only that ye looked so beautiful, wi' the fire on your face, and your hair waving in the wind. I wanted to remember it.

It's so wonderful and creative to go in and tell the wardrobe department what you want to wear and how you want your hair to look. That's great, for an actor. The actors get to do more than they would, normally.

It's too hot for me to bother with wearing my hair down in the summer. I'd rather pin it up in braids, or throw it in a top knot so I don't have to think about it the rest of the day.

I turned my head and saw the wind, Not far from where I stood, Dragging the corn by her golden hair, Into a dark and lonely wood.

It's no surprise that things are so screwed up: everyone that knows how to run a government is either driving taxicabs or cutting hair.

It's taken me 40-something years, but I embrace the curl. My littlest daughter has the same hair. She likes it when my hair is curly, so I wear it for her.

Its very hard trying to talk to an actor about how they should deliver lines, or cut their hair, unless it comes from a place of a strong point of view.