Quotes About Head

I could hear my dogs barking. Worse I could hear bleating. Joyful goat chuckles of freedom. "The goats!" I clutched my head, an absurdly melodramatic reaction suited to this farce. "The goats were in the tree!" "The... Wait, what?

She was young and small, with a fine small head, its modeling emphasized by a short boyish haircut. She had on a dark business suit which her body filled the way grapes fill their skins.

I think a writer is not an ideal husband. . . . Writers tend to get off into their own heads and not notice the people that they're living with, or they get irritable with the people that they're living with when the people insist on being noticed.

You could go through a whole lifetime in your head dreaming of another life, instead of living your own. Steve

My head is bursting with the joy of the unknown. My heart is expanding a thousand fold.

Helpless I lie. And around me the feet of thy watchers tread. There is a rumour and a radiance of wings above my head, An intolerable radiance of wings....

They had applied their doubts to the very head that had introduced doubt as a tool for advancing knowledge. And in the end they gave the head a nod.

Clement, shook his head in amusement. "I did that exactly forty seconds

There is a lot of warmth in an old cognac, a lot of sun. It will go to one's head calmly, without hurry.

All stories are about wolves. All worth repeating, that is. Anything else is sentimental drivel. All of them? Sure, he says. Think about it. There's escaping from the wolves, fighting the wolves, capturing the wolves, taming the wolves. Being thrown to the wolves, or throwing others to the wolves so the wolves will eat them instead of you. Running with the wolf pack. Turning into a wolf. Best of all, turning into the head wolf. No other decent stories exist.

I don't even close my eyes. Out there or inside my head, it's an equal darkness. Or light.

A hot wind was blowing around my head, the strands of my hair lifting and swirling in it, like ink spilled in water.

otherwise, one of you, most likely the man, would go wandering off on a trajectory of his own, taking his addictive body with him and leaving you with bad withdrawal, which you could counteract by exercise. If you didn't work it out it was because one of you had the wrong attitude. Everything that went on in your life was thought to be due to some positive or negative power emanating from inside your head.

History (that list of ballooning wishes, flukes, bent times, plunges and mistakes clutched like parachutes) is rolling itself up in your head at one end unrolling at the other.

All stories are about wolves. All worth repeating, that is. Anything else is sentimental drivel. All of them? Sure, he says. Think about it. There's escaping from the wolves, fighting the wolves, capturing the wolves, taming the wolves. Being thrown to the wolves, or throwing others to the wolves so the wolves will eat them instead of you. Running with the wolf pack. Turning into a wolf. Best of all, turning into the head wolf. No other decent stories exist. I

Four angels standing round my bed, Two to feet and two to head; One to watch and one to pray, And two to carry my soul away.

Everyone believed him of course, but you always knew with Salome that if anyone's head was going to roll it wouldn't be hers.

Love comes in waves like the ocean, a sickness which goes on & on, a hollow cave in the head, filling & pounding

cocked his head. "And who is this?" As if he did not know. "Guess," said Tigellinus. He scrutinized me. "Can it be—is it Apollo himself, come to select a new team of horses to

God's nightgown!" said Scarlett to herself in indignation, using Gerald's favorite oath. "He looks as if—as if he knew what I looked like without my shimmy," and, tossing her head, she went up the steps. In the

I believe the ability to think is blessed. If you can think about a situation, you can deal with it. The big struggle is to keep your head clear enough to think.

I did a film a long time ago with a shaved head and I had the ugliest looking head in the world.

What is sublime? / the artist said. / I haven't time / to be well read. / To be sub lime / I'll place, instead, / green citrus fruit / upon my head.

If you are not an idealist by the time you are twenty you have no heart, but if you are still an idealist by the time you are thirty, you don't have a head.