Quotes About Mustache

You're basically competing with the same exact product. Coke and Pepsi are at least in different cans. Lyft and Uber drivers are just swapping out the mustache for the U on the dashboard, depending on which one they're getting the call on.

A guy in a mustache looks best dressed up in a suit. A track suit and mustache won't help your look. You need to look groomed and polished.

Milo's mustache was unfortunate because the separated halves never matched.

Oh! Do not excite yourself. Shall I say that he interested me because he was trying to grow a mustache and as yet the result is poor." Poirot stroked his own magnificent mustache tenderly. "It is an art," he murmured, "the growing of the mustache! I have sympathy for all who attempt it.

He went slowly out of the boat house, unhappy and displeased with himself. He, Hurcule Poirot, had been summoned to prevent a murder and he had not prevented it. It had happened. What was even more humiliating was that he had no real ideas, even now, as to what has actually happened. It was ignominious. And tomorrow, he must return to London, defeated. His ego was seriously deflated. Even his mustache drooped.

Adolf Hitler was a few inches shorter than all of his guards. The first thing you noticed about him was his pale face and his long, ratlike nose with that bushy little mustache under it. His dark brown hair swept down across his forehead to just above his eyes, which were baggy and tired-looking.

I wash it every second day, and I use Kerastase shampoo and conditioner. I just stick to that. But I also have a mustache comb, and I shampoo and condition my mustache as well.

Jordan Cross sat in the back of a taxicab headed for the wharf wearing tortoiseshell glasses, a blond mustache and a straw fedora over his dyed hair, smiling like an idiot, nodding his head up and down, up and down, like one of those fuzzy sequin-eyed plastic dogs they sell in tacky souvenir shops. He

My uncle's a big man, muscular. He's given to bulk in his shoulders.Yes, I suppose he could be a little frightening. So is his wife, Sara interjected with a smile. I couldn't tell them apart. He pinched her backside for being insolent. Dunnford has a mustache. So does she.

his chair again. He pulled at his mustache. "Well, I wish I could

I think I've become the go-to mustache man. It works in period pieces. Modern-day mustaches are probably creepy. But I get compliments - everyone's like, 'Wow, love the 'stache, dude.

His fair landlady was in despair. She would most willingly have made M. d'Artagnan her husband--such a handsome man, and such a fierce mustache!

A mustache really defines your face. My dad had a mustache when I was growing up, and I can still remember when he shaved it, he looked like a completely different person.

I watched Gene Kelly for his smile, for his energy. Vittorio Gassman for his movement. Clark Gable for his mustache. And I watched Lassie who was happy as a dog.

I watched a lot of Douglas Fairbanks movies. He always played the same role with a mustache. Zorro had a mustache. The Musketeer had a mustache. Tarzan had a mustache.

Not to get too deep on shaving my mustache, but it was kind of symbolic of, 'This is a moment of liberation, a chance to reinvent yourself.' That's kind of what I did.

perhaps with the guardsman who had such brown eyes, and a mustache that curled up on either side of his nose like two waxed black laces, even as this guardsman, whose name you didn't ask calls out a name in his sleep that is not your name, you are dreaming about the road again. When

I watched Gene Kelly for his smile, for his energy. Vittorio Gassman for his movement. Clark Gable for his mustache. And I watched Lassie who was happy as a dog.

Believe me, I've taken a lot of heat for my mustache.

Perhaps a mustache, like that thing infesting the gleeman's face.

A tall, thin fireman with a grey mustache watched me stride across the street. He was still wearing a helmet and coat in the July heat. Four others had stripped down to T-shirts with just the rubbery-looking pants on. Someone had sprayed them down with water. They looked like an ad for a beefcake wet T-shirt contest.

Principal Principal stormed in yesterday, smelling pleasure. His mustache moved up and down, a radar sweep for all things unruly. An unseen hand turned off the radio as he crossed the threshold, and bags of potato chips vanished, leaving the faint scent of salt to mix with vermilion oil paint and wet clay.

I was afraid I sounded a bit comical with all my threats. As if I needed a mustache to twirl like some sort of ancient villain.

Milo still sported the same mustache I remembered from my childhood visits—a big swooping throwback to nineteenth-century lumbermen and prospectors. Now speckled gray and white, it curled down to enclose his small, thin-lipped mouth parenthetically. This had always made sense to me, since Milo spoke in asides.