Quotes About Beard

If being a decent soul is maternal, then fine. I'll call it human

And there's no need to be nasty about the beard. As I was telling Natalie, it's a nice, well-groomed beard, not just a cover-up for immaturity or unwashedness or acne.

All the men in my family were bearded, and most of the women.

My father and I had a good relationship, it was very relaxed. He had a lot of humour. He looked a little bit like me, although he had no beard. He had the appearance of a very elegant British-looking man.

His eyes were as liquid as run honey, dark clover honey, and his hair was a rich brown with bronze sun straks, but his beard, like his eyebrows, was black. His face and hands were the colour of walnut, or perhaps elm bark, but lighter where his sleeves rose above his wrists. He was not thick-boned and heavy-muscled like Cei, but whippy as a hazel rod, and she knew she would not face him lightly in battle.

In the corner shop, or, rather, in its window, a purveyor of hot spiced honey drinks had installed himself, with a samovar of red copper and a face just as red as the samovar, so that from a distance you might think that there were two samovars standing in the window, if one samovar hadn't been wearing a beard black as pitch.

I don't see what's so funny about a man combing his beard," he muttered, and put way his comb.

I have the terrible feeling that, because I am wearing a white beard and am sitting in the back of the theatre, you expect me to tell you the truth about something. These are the cheap seats, not Mount Sinai.

over his own dark Cealdish beard. "Nothing like your marvelous facebear,

Yes. Weary." He eyed me speculatively, smoothing his beard with a hand. "You have a gift for words. It's one of the reasons you ended up with Elodin, I expect." I didn't say anything to that. I must have said it quite loudly too, because Dal gave me a curious look. "How are your studies progressing with Elodin?" he asked casually.

What have you got for us tonight?" he asked, running his hand over his beard. "A surprise." Stanchion paused in the act of getting off his stool. "Is this the sort of surprise that's going to cause a riot or make folk set my place on fire?" he asked. I shook my head, smiling. "Good." He smiled and headed off in the direction of the stage. "In that case I like surprises.

I shaved once, or was it twice? Time enough for me to grow a bit of a beard." Wil rolled his eyes at this, running his hand over his own dark Cealdish beard. "Nothing like your marvelous facebear," I said. "Still, mine grew out at least two or three times.

Thin gentleman, tidy little beard?" He brushed his chin with his fingers. The

Distantly recall. Standing there with a smile of triumph and his scruffy week old beard. I swear. I start to laugh. That's what he does to me: aggravate me all the way to the point of laughter.

So Hanun took Davidís servants, shaved off half of each manís beard, cut off their garments at the hips, and sent them away.

On that day the Lord will use a razor hired from beyond the Euphrates—the king of Assyria—to shave your head and the hair of your legs, and to remove your beard as well.