Quotes About Wavy

My favourite beauty look is definitely '70s beauty - sun kissed skin, wavy hair and defined eyes.

My dear Caroline," I said. "There's no doubt at all about what the man's profession has been. He's a retired hairdresser. Look at that moustache of his." Caroline dissented. She said that if the man was a hairdresser, he would have wavy hair—not straight. All hairdressers did.

Her wavy, shoulder-length hair was the colour of polished mahogany.

Jeremiah hated his curls. For a while, Conrad had him convinced that crusts made your hair curly, so Jeremiah had stopped eating sandwich crusts, and Conrad would polish them off. As Jeremiah got older, though, his hair was less and less curly and more wavy. I missed his curls. Susannah called him her little angel, and he used to look like one, with his rosy cheeks and yellow curls. He still had the rosy cheeks.

At home, I dedicate occasional whole days to reading as if I'm a convalescent. The ideal place for this is the bath, where the body floats free. Books go a little wavy, but they're mine, so who cares.

Pincurling is my secret! I wear my hair wavy alot, and so I don't have to use all that excess heat every day trying to curl it; I just pincurl it.

My hair is always the same. It's wavy, so I brush it with a round brush. I'm a brush fanatic. I hoard brushes. I love getting my hair brushed. I will ask my friends to brush my hair for me.

She was tall and lithesome with brown wavy hair about to the shoulder with blond highlights.

Tell you what I don't like about a place so goddamned orderly like this. As an artist... it's the lines that get me. All the straight lines in the walls, on the floors, in the corners that turn into boxes—like coffins. The only way I can get rid of the boxes is to take a few drinks. Then all the lines get wavy and wiggly, and I feel a lot better about the whole world. When things are all straight and lined up this way I get morbid.

I strongly prefer to keep my hair loose and wavy, leaving it as natural as possible.

It was a five-mile drive. I peeped out of my bedroom window as they came up the path together and my first impression was that they were very alike. They were the same height and had the same wavy grey hair. Later I changed my mind and decided that no two men could be more unlike.

Grey's hair was like his mother's—fair, thick and slightly wavy, prone to disorder unless tightly constrained, which it always would be, if Tom Byrd was given his way.