Best 2694 quotes in «hair quotes» category

She was sleeping on the bed like a novel that is yet to be read and he sat on the floor, reading her, moving his fingers through her hair and staring at her face like she was magic that none ever understood.

Some days after, the girl encountered her again, in a dream, as she was years ago: a very slender young woman in a long white skirt, her amber hair to her waist, her eyes coal black with ardor.

Some of us are happy with our African hair, thank you very much. I don't want some poor Indian girl's hair. And I wish to God I could buy black hair products from black people for once. How we going to make it in this country if we don't make our own business?

She wears the braid every day and always, by lunchtime, the curls and ringlets of her thick mane have managed to escape in rebellious little tendrils. But she refuses to surrender to that hair of hers, and every morning, it goes back into the braid.

Si l'on ne se définit qu'en s'opposant, j'étais l'indéfini en chair et en os; si l'amour et la haine sont l'avers et le revers de la même médaille, je n'aimais rien ni personne. C'était bien fait: on ne peut pas demander à la fois de haïr et de plaire. Ni de plaire et d'aimer.

Skulduggery." "Fletcher." Fletcher stuck out his hand. Skulduggery observed it for a moment. "I'm sorry, what are we doing now?" "Shaking hands," Fletcher said. "Like adults. I just want you to know that this past year has changed me. I've grown, as a person. I'm not the same Fletcher you used to know. "You look a lot like him." "Well, yeah, but-" "And you have the same ridiculous hair." "Can we just shake hands?" "Of course we can," Skulduggery said, and they shook. "Now what?" "I, uh...I don't really know. What do adults usually do after they shake hands?" "Generally, the first thing they do is let go." "Oh, right," Fletcher said, and Skulduggery took his hand back. "So, Skulduggery, how have you been? You're looking well. That's a really nice tie. "It's blue." "And such a nice shade." Skulduggery looked at Valkyrie. "You promised me he wouldn't be annoying.

Some boys feel they are like girls, They are gentle, and like their hair in curls.

Some days you live in pajamas, and your hair kind-of has that Albert Einstein look.

Sorry we’re late. Liam had to make sure his hair fell just right.

Suddenly, Gabriela felt an unusual hand on her shoulder, branding itself through her clothing. Someone leaned against her body. A head now lay on her shoulder, and blond-reddish strands of hair that were not hers fell over her chest. The hand was glisteningly white with a hint of gray and overflown with blue, halted seams, and rested on Gabriela's hand like a stone on sand.

The adult age begins with the blessed single strand of a grey hair.

Thank you so much for the rude know-it-all attitude while also having to look at your ridiculously colored hair and obnoxious facial and chest piercings. I am very fortunate to have just been schooled by someone who looks like they graduated from Care Bear Carnage University.

The greatest thinkers have attempted to find who we are where we come from and why we are here but the greatest enigmas to me are how your hair is a lasso that captures the stars how your eyes are lakes that drown my doubts and how your skin is the sun bursting all at once. If I knew these answers I’d know everything for you alone contain the entire universe.

Then a soft air, a simple melody, rose to the ears of the suddenly hushed court; and for me, it was May Day again, and I was no longer cold, for the sun burned bright and the grass smelled of its sour-sweet bruisings and an old man fashioned a ballad for the Nut-Brown maid, who would ever be true to her lover. I leaned towards the brightness and, in an abandonment of joy and because there was none to see, tore off my henin and let my nut-brown hair fall to my knees. For I would be a child again, for five minutes, and remember the time when men stopped to gaze at me, with my chaplet of flowers crowning that at which they all marvelled, and longed to touch and stroke and possess.

Then he began plucking the pins from her hair, carefully, without touching her anywhere else, and Eve began to wonder if 'hair' could possibly be erotic. She found herself holding her breath, listening to his deep, even exhalations as he worked, her hair loosening and beginning to slide. It fell all at once, uncoiling heavily over her shoulders. She turned her head to look at him, suddenly shy. He was staring at her hair. "It's beautiful," he murmured, burying his fingers in the long tresses, gently working apart the strands, lifting and spreading them. "Like liquid gold." He suddenly lifted the mass to his face. "And perfumed. Like flowers." "Lily of the valley." He made her feel exotic, still dressed in her sensible gray frock, only her hair loose about her shoulders. "Lily of the valley," he murmured. "I'll remember that scent forever now, and whenever I smell it again I'll think of you, Eve Dinwoody. You'll be haunting my tomorrows evermore." She gasped and turned, looking up at him. She'd thought that he'd be smiling teasingly at his words, but he looked quite serious and she stared at him in wonder. Had he always carried this part of himself inside? This wild poetic lover? If so, he'd hidden it well underneath the aggressive, foulmouthed theater manager. She had a secret fondness for the crass theater manager, but the pot... She swallowed, suddenly nervous. She might come to love a wild poet.

The summer brings new and unwanted orange freckles to my face. I hate my hair and my skin...kids call me freckle-face strawberry. My hair is cherry. Who wants that?

... the part in her black hair glowing like a wire in the rhomboid of sunlight.

There are some styles I do not want to take credit for and usually these hairstyles are on the heads of customers who are only too happy to spread the word.

There will be those who love you for your hair and those who love the beauty of your mind and those who adore the warmth of your heart. but there will be those who will leave you for not conforming to their type of hair, mind and heart. And there will be those who will live/die to see your bad hair days, derailed mind, and broken heart. but what matters most is Who You Are

the girl with a moustache" they called me every now and then "It's about time you wax your arms" those who "cared" said I faced the fears of the dreaded thread on my face To succumb every other week to the world's ways

The waves lie on the beach; Your hair on your back of angel. (Les vagues s’allongent sur la plage; - Tes cheveux sur ton dos d’ange. )

they love their hair because they're not smart enough to love anything more interesting

This is an ode to life. The anthem of the world. For as there are billions of different stars that make up the sky so, too, are there billions of different humans that make up the Earth. Some shine brighter but all are made of the same cosmic dust. O the joy of being in life with all these people! I speak of differences because they are there. Like the different organs that make up our bodies. Earth, itself, is one large body. Listen to how it howls when one human is in misery. When one kills another, the Earth feels the pang in its chest. When one orgasms, the Earth craves a cigarette. Look carefully, these animals are beauty spots that make the Earth’s face lovelier and more loveable. These oceans are the Earth’s limpid eyes. These trees, its hair. This is an ode to life. The anthem of the world. I will no longer speak of differences, for the similarities are larger. Look even closer. There may be distances between our limbs but there are no spaces between our hearts. We long to be one. We long to be in nature and to run wild with its wildlife. Let us celebrate life and living, for it is sacrilegious to be ungrateful. Let us play and be playful, for it is sacrilegious to be serious. Let us celebrate imperfections and make existence proud of us, for tomorrow is death, and this is an ode to life. The anthem of the world.

Well, in this world of basic stereotyping, give a guy a big nose and some weird hair and he is capable of anything.

Vasilli had often wondered if the secret of Ladislav’s power was, like Samson, held within his hair. And what would happen if he shaved it off.

Wear a hat and your hair goes flat.

This was all very well: Columbanus's success indicates the appeal of his mission. But his activities, for the first time, brought the nature of Celtic monasticism firmly to the attention of the Church authorities -- to western bishops in general, and to the Bishop of Rome in particular. The Irish monks were not heretical. But they were plainly unorthodox. They did not look right, to begin with. They had the wrong tonsure. Rome, as was natural, had 'the tonsure of St Peter', that is, a shaven crown. Easterners had the tonsure of St Paul, totally shaven; and if they wished to take up an appointment in the West they had to wait until their rim grew before being invested. But the Celts looked like nothing on earth: they had their hair long at the back and, on the shaven front part, a half-circle of hair from one ear to the other, leaving a band across the forehead.

Whenever they are condemning weaves or breast implants, some people speak so passionately that their false teeth almost fall out.

When they had hurried to the train station with their violin cases, they had drawn almost as many stares as they would on any normal day when their hair was to their knees and sheeting behind them like red silk. A poetic fruit-seller had told them once that they looked like dryads, and they did still, only now they looked like dryads who had tired of snagging their hair on brambles and sliced it all off on the edge of a knife.

Why I Like Being Baldy • Never have to pay for a haircut • No need for styling • The birds love it • You can get together with a fellow baldy and pretend to be a pair of tits • You can pretend to be Ming the Merciless, Emperor of the Galaxy, with more conviction than people with hair • It makes you look hard • Richard O’Brien • You can draw a line down the middle of your head and pretend to be a cock • A hat will always fit • No dickies • Save money on Shampoo • Time saver should you wish to become ordained into an order of Buddhist monks Why I Don’t Like Being Baldy • Can never make a balloon static to entertain a child • Might get mistaken for Ross Kemp • Lack of hair

Who cares what colour your hair or what shape your shape is? Who cares what religion your religion or what language your language is? What is the colour of your heart? That is all that matters!

Wind is the most skilled hairdresser! Find a windy weather and let your hair be shaped creatively!

With a paring knife she hacked off her waist-length hair just below the chin. Kit felt a shiver of misgiving. How would she net a talking fish now, or tether a dragon? How would she escape from her tower?

To a pessimist, losing bobby pins is as hopeless as losing hair. To an optimist, losing hair gives hope to get the lost bobby pins back.

Your hair is winter fire, January embers. My heart burns there, too. -Stephen King, IT

1. Organize before they rise! 2. They feel no fear, why should you? 3. Use your head: cut off theirs. 4. Blades don't need reloading. 5. Ideal protection = tight clothes, short hair. 6. Get up the staircase, then destroy it. 7. Get out of the car, get onto the bike. 8. Keep moving, keep low, keep quiet, keep alert! 9. No place is safe, only safer. 10. The zombie may be gone, but the threat lives on.

Ability hits the mark where presumption overshoots and diffidence falls short.

A breeze shook rain out of new leaves onto their hair, but in their pursuit of eternity they never noticed the chill.

A clean and well-cared for appearance should be maintained. Hair styles should be clean and neat, avoiding extreme styles. Mens' hair should be trimmed above the collar, leaving the ears uncovered. If worn, mustaches should be neatly trimmed. Earrings for men are unacceptable, and beards are not acceptable, except for certified medical reasons.

A comedy is just a tragedy interrupted, I once said. Do you finish with the kiss or when she opens her eyes to tell him she loves him and sees blonde hairs on his collar?

A cool breeze stirred my hair at that moment, as the night wind began to come down from the hills, but it felt like a breath from another world.

Actors today go into TV, which I don't consider has a lot to do with acting. They only think of stardom. If you photograph well, that's enough. I have a terrible time distinguishing one from another. Girls wear their hair the same, and are much too anorexic-looking.

Yes, because in a zombie apocalypse, there's a lot of downtime to get your hair done.

Aaron is not at all what his image might indicate. He's fiercly loyal and a true and total gentleman. He's very shy but has very strong opinions. He's into everything, wardrobe, hair, script, casting.

Abstinence sows sand all over The ruddy limbs and flaming hair, But desire gratified Plants fruits of life and beauty there.

A couple of years ago I used to have long, curly, mermaid hair that was amazing, and then I broke up with my boyfriend and I cut it off to my shoulders. It was in this awkward Molly Ringwald phase, so I just kept cutting it shorter.

A creative force that either creates itself or arises from nothing, and which is a causa sui (its own cause), exactly resembles Baron Munchhausen, who drew himself out of the bog by taking hold of his own hair.

Actresses generally arent allowed to have haircuts, because short hair isnt considered as versatile.

Actually, I comb my hair quite often. Of course, I use an electric toothbrush.

A dream is not a very safe thing to be near... I know; I had one once. It's like a loaded pistol with a hair trigger: if it stays alive long enough, somebody is going to be hurt. But if it's a good dream, it's worth it.