Best 2694 quotes in «hair quotes» category

My long hair just can't cover up my redneck.

My look is attainable. Women can look like Audrey Hepburn by flipping out their hair, buying the large sunglasses, and the little sleeveless dresses.

My line of work makes you aware of the fragility of life. You can get up in the morning, eat your cornflakes, blow-dry your hair, go to work and end up dead.

My look is pretty low maintenance, I have a great team around me for hair and make-up, and they have also taught me some great tricks over the years for when I'm doing my own.

My lusts they do me leave, My fancies all be fled, And tract of time begins to weave Grey hairs upon my head.

My mom grew up in the Philippines, and she would use coconut oil. I put that in my hair always - literally, natural coconut oil that you use for cooking. I use that for my cuticles and dry spots on my skin too.

My most noticeable physical trait is, hands down, my hair. It's big, unruly and curly, and you can spot it from a mile away... literally.

My mother always said I must be part Mongolian because of my lotus-pale complexion and squid-ink black hair.

My mother emails me stuff about when she finds a paparazzi photo and theyre like, his hair is out of control.

My mother's white, and she didn't know how to do my hair, so I had something that I always call white-mama hair.

My mother, she was able to swim through planets and turn them into whatever she wanted - they didn't have to be what we know them to be. So she actually had Jupiter in her hair, when she was talking to me.

My mum doesn't enjoy sometimes listening to me tell staff off, and I say to my mum, it's a kitchen, not a hair-dressing salon.

My motto is to go wild on the accessories - the belts, the hair clips, the jewelery.

My mother was my Girl Scout leader, and George's mother was his Cub Scout leader. In fact, that's when some say her hair turned white.

My must-have hair products are Phyto silk spray and Kusco-Murphy setting lotion.

My own feeling about JJ, without knowing anything about him, was that he might have been a gay person, because he had long hair and spoke American. A lot of Americans are gay people, aren’t they? I know they didn’t invent gayness, because they say that was the Greeks. But they helped bring it back into fashion. Being gay was a bit like the Olympics: it disappeared in ancient times, and then they brought it back in the twentieth century. Anyway, I didn’t know anything about gays, so I just presumed they were all unhappy and wanted to kill themselves.

My one main secret I did right after my pageants days, is I only wash my hair once a week. I tell everyone, 'You have to stop washing your hair so much!'

My only phobia is untidiness. My hair has to be neatly kept; my shoes are always clean. Everything has to be in a straight line, in its place.

My parents owned a hair salon, so I learned a few tricks there. I can cut people's hair - if they let me.

My parents pressed upon me that "In this world, you are a black woman," so I was political about my hair and would not straighten it.

My personal beliefs were shaped more by experience and by watching the news when I was young: images of angelic-looking college students in Mississippi crying like the world was ending because black people were being allowed on their campus; the slow mounting horror of Vietnam on the evening news every night; sitting with my parents in front of the TV and being appalled at the way the Chicago police were treating the protesters during the '68 Democratic convention. Being eyed with suspicion because of my age and the way I wore my hair.

My perfect Valentine's Day would be coming home to a giant box waiting for me, and it has a gorgeous dress and high-heeled shoes and a handbag. And someone's waiting to do my hair and makeup. You can tell I've been in too many romantic comedies.

My quest these days is to find my long lost inner child, but I'm afraid if I do, I'll end up with food in my hair and way too in love with the cats.

My singing is part of me, like my stoutness, or my light hair, or my poor eyesight.

My sister, with her ratty red-highlighted hair and her linen pajamas and her combat boots—how could she possibly worry about being possessed by a goddess? What goddess would want her, except the goddess of chewing gum?

My son would walk to the refrigerator-freezer and fling both doors open and stand there until the hairs in his nose iced up. After surveying $200 worth of food in varying shapes and forms, he would declare loudly, 'There's nothing to eat!'

My thoughts took frantic flight, wanting to escape this prison, and seek out the wind so it could fan my hair and sting my skin, and make me feel alive again.

Myths that need clarification: "No matter how many times you see the Grand canyon, you are still emotionally moved to tears." False. It depends on how many children the out-of-towners brought with them who kicked the back of your seat from Phoenix to Flagstaff and got their gum caught in your hair.

My TWA enabled me to be done at the hair section much earlier than the other girls. I washed my hair and put some conditioner at home before heading to the Armory, where the show took place. The hairstylist basically only had to put some spray so that my TWA would be looking its best. It took the hairstylist literally 10 seconds.

My wearing my hair in locs on an Oscar red carpet was to showcase them in a positive light, to remind people of color that our hair is good enough.

My video game character is a bit better looking than me, actually. I don't think he has to worry about his hair getting messed up.

My wedding was at home, so I didn't really want to wear a veil in my house. Instead I wore a lot of diamond hair clips. They were brooches, actually, designed by Lorraine Schwartz.

My worst memory is of my first dance lesson as a 14-year old in Prague. My mother put me in this silver and pink lame dress. My hair was all curled, and it was the first time I wore a garter belt. I felt so out of place!

Naturally as a kid, I was inspired by Sting. I remember seeing him with the blonde hair, the neon tights, and the painted face.

My worst hair experience was when I was trying to relax my hair and my grandmother did it. It went all straight and I looked like a black Bee Gee.

Naturally, when it comes to voting, we in Texas are accustomed to discerning that fine hair’s-breadth worth of difference that makes one hopeless dipstick slightly less awful than the other. But it does raise the question: Why bother?

Nellie Gomez awoke to a splitting headache. Worse, she was still hungry. "Where's my croissant?" she demanded of the person leaning over her. "Dear child," came a strangely familiar voice. "Don't 'dear child' me!" she snapped. The twenty-two-year-old punk rocker ran black-polished fingernails through black-and-orange-dyed hair, which did nothing to soothe the pounding behind her black-shaded eyes. "Give me my croissant or I'll–" It was then that she suddenly realized she was threatening the venerable Alistair Oh. "Alistair, what are you doing here?

Neither rings, bright chains, nor bracelets, perfumes, flowers, nor well-trimmed hair, Grace a man like polished language, th' only jewel he should wear.

Never be afraid to tell me anything,” he whispered against her hair. “No matter how ashamed you might feel. I’ll never judge you, Rachel. I love you.

Never shall a young man, Thrown into despair By those great honey-coloured Ramparts at your ear, Love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.

Never marry something until you've established the perfect pizza ratio...The premise is simple. My husband and I knew we were made for each other because we're a 6:2 ratio, six slices for him and two for me...Never marry a man who wants two slices one week and four the next. They're undependable and highly unpredictable and will likely dump you for some Internet honey who says she doesn't mind his back hair.

Never, never and never again shall it be that this beautiful land will again experience the oppression of one by another.

Never say you are too old. You do not say it now, perhaps; but by and by, when the hair grows gray and the eyes grow dim and the young despair comes to curse the old age, you will say, "It is too late for me." Never too late! Never too old! How old are you--thirty, fifty, eighty? What is that in immortality? We are but children.

Nineteen eighty is almost here, thank God. the hippies are getting old, they blew their brains on acid and now they're begging on street corners all over San Francisco. Their hair is tangled and their bare feet are thick and gray as shoes. We're sick of them.

Never trust a man who combs his hair straight from his left armpit.

New Rule: Stop asking Miss USA contestants if they believe in evolution. It’s not their field. It’s like asking Stephen Hawking if he believes in hair scrunchies. Here’s what they know about: spray tans, fake boobs and baton twirling. Here’s what they don’t know about: everything else. If I cared about the uninformed opinions of some ditsy beauty queen, I’d join the Tea Party.

No. 1 music event in 1998? 'Weird Al gets LASIK to cure his myopia. At the same time, he grows out his hair and shaves his mustache, drastically changing his look.'

No amount of charters, direct primaries, or short ballots will make a democracy out of an illiterate people.

Nobody who cooks does it with full hair and makeup in front of a TV camera.

Nobody is really happy with what's on their head. People with straight hair want curly, people with curly want straight, and bald people want everyone to be blind.