Best 2694 quotes in «hair quotes» category

I am fine with the fact that some of my hair is gray. If it was all gray overnight, that would be a scary thing.

I am here and you will know that I am the best and will hear me. The color of my skin or the kink of my hair or the spread of my mouth has nothing to do with what you are listening to.

I am in Paris. Yes ma'am , I made it back. I came up from Berlin, stopped here ten days, fought a losing battle against my deepest inclinations, pulled myself out by the hair and went to Madrid...Madrid is a lovely enchanting city, and there was almost ready for me a kind of penthouse full of sunlight, a roof garden, and so on. I gave one look at it all, returned to the hotel and went to bed and wept bitterly for eleven hours...Why? Because I had seen Paris and could not endure the thought of being anywhere else.

I am inspired by anything beautiful. Sometime it's a pair of eyes or flowing gorgeous hair, other times it's the sky or a sunset. I've been inspired by supple skin or the texture of a soft shirt.

I am just old-fashioned enough to prefer long hair.

I am my best self when I have super short hair. That’s when I feel most like me and most confidant.

I am not going to respect... gray hairs unless there is wisdom beneath them.

I am not just my hair; I proved to myself that I am a cast of characters. I'm feeling freer to venture out of the 'look' people know me for.

I am pretty sure that, if you will be quite honest, you will admit that a good rousing sneeze, one that tears open your collar and throws your hair into your eyes, is really one of life's sensational pleasures.

I am quite alone. I am neither happy nor unhappy; I lie suspended like a hair or a feather in the cloudy mixtures of memory.

I . . . am small, like the wren, and my hair is bold like the chestnut burr; and my eyes like the sherry in the glass that the guest leaves.

I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch.

I am tired of the cult of youth. The cultural rejection of old age, the stigmatization of wrinkles, grey hair, of bodies furrowed by the years. I am fascinated by Diana Vreeland, Georgia O’Keeffe and Louise Bourgeois, women who have let time embrace them without ever cheating. Society today condemns this, me, I celebrate it.

I am the man who put the hair in hair metal.

I am the reincarnation of Pikachu. That's why my hair is yellow, you see.

I am very impressed with the results (from laser hair removal). Even after the first treatment, there was a huge difference. I save time everyday that would be spent waxing or shaving. Laser hair removal also saves money in the long run. Now I don't have to deal with razor burn or ingrown hairs since the hair does not grow back!

Ian didn't come. He just sat here with you--he said he didn't care what you looked like. He wouldn't let anyone else put a finger on your tank at all, not even me or Mel. But Doc let me watch this time. It was way cool, Wanda. I don't know why you wouldn't let me watch before. They wouldn't let me help, though. Ian wouldn't let anyone touch you but him.' Ian squeezed my hand and leaned in to whisper through all the hair. His voice was so low that I was the only one who could hear. 'I held you in my hand, Wanderer. And you were so beautiful.

Ian squeezed my hand and leaned in to whisper through all the hair. His voice was so low that I was the only one who could hear. 'I held you in my hand, Wanderer. And you were so beautiful.

I attract a different kind of boy when my hair's red. I get more quality men - like a more thoughtful, nerdy dude.

I believe people should study a little bit every day. It should become habitual, like brushing your teeth, combing your hair, having a shower or getting dressed. Study the mind, the laws of the universe and paradigms. There's enough information on those subjects to keep a person studying forever.

I believe you've got to utilize what god gave you, so if you have facial hair, there are ways to look good while sporting it.

I brush my hair, waiting in the pain machine for my bones to get hard, for the soft, soft bones that were laid apart and were screwed together. They will knit. And the other corpse, the fractured heart, I feed it piecemeal, little chalice. I'm good to it.

I belong to Bridegrooms Anonymous. Whenever I feel like getting married, they send over a lady in a housecoat and hair curlers to burn my toast for me.

I bet she woke up with her hair looking like something out of a Pantene commercial while little bluebirds circled around her head, and raccoons brought her breakfast or something.

I bought a Christmas tree for twenty dollars. When I came home the next day, my wife was wearing it in her hair.

I can never see fashion models, lean angular cheeks, strutting hips and blooming hair, without thinking of the skulls at the catacombs in Lima, Peru.

I came to serve you at the age of 28 and now I have not a hair on me that is not white, and my body is infirm and exhausted. All that was left to me and my brothers has been taken away and sold, even to the cloak that I wore, without hearing or trial, to my great dishonor.

I can be whatever. I can wear shoes or don't wear shoes. I can tie my hair up or wear it down. It doesn't matter.

I can see his pain, see it in the way he runs his fingers through his hair, over and over, and I understand what it costs him to hide it all.

I can see getting married and having a family, because it is the next thing on the agenda. You can only do this for so long. I'm old, and my friends all have kids. And I'm single, still blow drying my hair!

I can tell you that, you know, when I went to my first movie premiere, it was my own movie, and I wore the best jeans I had and my favorite top. You know, I made sure my hair had some wave in it because I braided it the night before myself.

I can't bear looking in the mirror - I guess that's why my hair looks like this.

I can't be one of those hipster guys with a beard when I have a hair campaign. I strive to look a little bit more... all-American.

I can't force you. I can't make you want to survive this." He pulls me against him and runs his hand over my hair, tucking it behind my ear. His fingers trail down my neck and over my shoulder, and he says, "But you will do it. It doesn't matter if you believe you can or not. You will, because that's who you are.

I can't keep the sparrows from flying around my head, but I can keep them from making a nest in my hair.

I can't relax here. These people have no pubic hair anywhere. We have pubic hair on the ceiling.

I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to just put my hair under a wig cap and slap on a wig that’s already done. It’s dress up for your hair!

I can't live without mousse. When my hair is damp I put it at the roots. When I blow dry my hair it makes it so much bouncier. It gives you shampoo commercial hair and makes your blowout so much better.

I can't imagine going back to long hair. Cutting it was the greatest thing I ever did

I can't sit through plays and musical theatre. I just want to run up onstage and mess up their hair and turn over the furniture.

I can't even say 'hair pie,'' I told him, 'unless I'm talking about an actual pie made out of rabbits.

I cleaned the attic with the wife the other day. Now I can't get the cobwebs out of her hair.

I could lose myself forever in that dark hair and those sweet love handles.

I consider myself an artist, but instead of paint or clay, my medium is drag. I put so much of myself into my drag from every detail of the costume, makeup and hair to my performance, the way I speak or even stand.

I could croak with no warning, and the only tragedy anyone would experience would be showing up on the last day of my estate sale simply to discover that all remaining items had copious amounts of dog hair on them.

I could announce one morning that the world was going to blow up in three hours and people would be calling in about my hair!

I couldn't wait until I grew up. I used to look at my mom's stockings and put them on with her high heels and mess with my hair.

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I cut my own hair most of the time. You just do it all by feel.

I cut my hair like three times a week. Sometimes more if I'm working, and I know I got to be in front of people with interviews or TV or video. I've been blessed to be so busy.