Quotes About Black hair

She was thin, but not too small. Maybe five and a half feet tall, from what he could tell. She looked like she could be fifteen or sixteen years old, and her hair was tar black. But the thing that had really stood out to him was her skin: pale, white as pearls.

Before the war, most of the hospital nurses in the city had been nuns but they had fled to Franco-occupied territory and the wards were now staffed by the prostitutes of Madrid—their hair growing out black because the city's supply of peroxide was needed as antiseptic for the wounded.

Sometimes the action in our descriptions is present but hidden, and a slight rewording is all it takes to bring the motion into view. For instance, "Her hair was black and curly " can become "Her black hair curled in ringlets around her cheeks.

Rafe told everyone he was from Texas. That was bull. I'd dated a summer guy from Texas, and Rafe's drawl was all wrong. His last name suggested he was Latino, and he kind of looked it, but his high cheekbones and amber eyes said Native to me. He was a little taller than Daniel, lean, with black hair that hung just past the collar of his leather jacket. Worn blue jeans and low motorcycle boots completed the image: American Teen Rebel.

And she patted her sleek black bob and followed the lure of the music inside.

A stray strand of Ivy's black hair was hitting my face as I rode behind her.

He slipped the small leather case that had started all the trouble into his coat pocket, ran a comb through his thick black hair, and stared into the blue Macrae eyes. He wasn't used to seeing uncertainty there, but he saw it tonight. "Come on, laddie. Time to face up to your future and find out if she'll have you." The

As it grew closer, they could see that it was a woman arms outstretched, long black hair billowing behind as she spiralled toward them.

I stared at her black hair. It was shiny like the promises in magazines.

He was wearing a very sharp dark suit, blinding-white shirt and royal-blue tie. It brought out the sheen in his black hair, which had finally been trimmed, and his magnificent blue eyes glittered. "Whoa,

His new stepsister, Darcy, stood in the door that went down to the second floor. Her hair was black and knotted and stringy, and, no surprise, she was wearing one of her dozens of princess dresses. This one had been pink and spangled at one point. Now it looked like something a zombie would wear to a fancy dress party.

His features had the fine precision of sculpture. His hair was black and straight, swept back. The suntan of his skin intensified the startling color of his eyes: they were a pure, clear blue. His face was open, its rapid changes of expression reflecting whatever he felt, as if he had nothing to hide. The blue eyes were still and changeless, never giving a hint of what he thought.

Oh, Lady Maccon, I am unreservedly in love with her. That black hair, that sweet disposition, those capital hats.

In his handsomeness, the long black hair on his shoulders, his clothes fashionable, everything about him hinting at a paragon, he distressed Doro, for he was beyond him. In rank, in person, in all things. Such a being was not to be managed. Particularly now it had assumed this ghastly self-defeating strength.

But she wasn't a little girl, she was a beautiful woman, tall and lovely, with tresses of black hair that curved like cupped hands around her face.

The two cousins, Perdina and Voile, emerged from their sanctuary, dressed in white, their black hair loose like curtains around their pale, narrow faces.

The living miracle lying across the room on a rug of black hair, this pale, porcelain miracle, as delicate as spun glass, as tough as steel, was a potential Goddess. And to be used for what? To partake in coldblooded, passionless experiences, without magick or reverence or love. It sickened him.

Suddenly she saw a flickering light ahead, near the grove. Curious, she drew closer. A veiled figure with black hair and wearing a glowing white gown confronted her. The next instant Helen was struck on the back of her head and fell unconscious

Her short straight oily hair, a lustrous black, sat like a cropped wig about her pale rather waxen Jewish face.

He sat down on the edge of Lucie's bed—and immediately leaped back up, blushing. Lucie took her hands off her hips, amused. "A ghost with a sense of propriety. That is funny." He looked at her darkly. He really did have a most arresting face, she thought. His black hair and green eyes made a wintry contrast against his pale skin. As a writer, one had to pay attention to these things. Descriptions were very important.

He [Mr. Snagsby] is a mild, bald, timid man with a shining head and a scrubby clump of black hair sticking out at the back. He tends to meekness and obesity.

I only seem to attract losers, cute losers, but I've just never been able To resist that lethal combination of black hair and green eyes.

One time he showed me a picture of the band. It was the picture from the CD box. One of the musicians in the picture, he had a lot of hair. It was black with tight curls and it sat on the top of his head like a heavy weight and it went right down the back of his neck to his shoulders. I understand fashion in your language, but this hair did not look like fashion, I am telling you, it looked like a punishment.

When the first reedy snore escaped the Mad Prophet's lips, Asandir's forbidding manner softened. His fingers smoothed black hair from a profile all too familiar, and his smile widened with amusement. 'So, our Prophet thinks you a servant, does he?