Quotes About Hair

On the smooth brown hair was a hat that had been taken from its mother too young.

Hair like steel wool grew far back on his head and gave him a domed brown forehead that might at careless glance seemed a dwelling place for brains.

I did it for you. I took in a pint of bourbon with me. She's a charming middle-aged lady with a face like a bucket of mud and if she has washed her hair since Coolidge's second term, I'll eat my spare tire, rim and all.

the colour of her hair was dusky red, like a fire under control but still dangerous.

She had weedy hair of that vague colour which is neither brown nor blond, that hasn't enough life in it to be ginger, and isn't clean enough to be grey.

Yukiko rolled over. That plain, that simple. Her body was small in its moving. And her hair followed, dreaming her as she moved. A cat, her cat, in bed with her was awakened by her moving, and watched her turn slowly over in bed. When she stopped moving, the cat went back to sleep. It was a black cat and could have been a suburb of her hair.

Her hair dreamt about being very carefully combed in the morning.

He was so fascinated by the long single strand of black hair that he did not overflow his mind with fantasies about it, turning it into a hundred varieties of his imagination.    He just sat there staring at it.    Japanese hair.

Dorrigo glimpsed a complex mud of intimacies normally invisible to the world—the shared sleep, scents, sounds, the habits endearing and frustrating, the pleasures and sadnesses, small and large—the plain mortar that finally renders two as one. Her hair was pulled back

Good evening, Miss Eversea. You've stars in your hair.

Na enxerga, Saraid dormia. Eile fazia o mesmo com os longos cabelos espalhados pela almofada como um rio de chamas escuras. Junto da fogueira, os homens de Pitnochie mantinham-se silenciosos, enrolados nos seus cobertores. Ninguém o ouvia; apenas as sombras.

He had too-long shaggy brown hair that fell into his eyes, which were always half shut. His mouth was always curled into a half smile, like he knew about some big joke that was about to be played on you.

You see, Miss Mina, the air is thick with the spirits of the young sailors and fishermen who died in the sea. They still yearn for the love and touch of beautiful women, young men that they were when they were forced to leave their bodies and earthly pleasure behind. I tell you this to warn you, beauty that you are with your jet-colored hair and your lovely skin more pure and delicious than the top of the cream, and those eyes of yours that stole their green from a sultan's emerald.

his brown hair slicked to one side as if his comb only worked in one direction.

I'm surprised that, with all of his supposed experience with the gentler sex, he doesn't realize that women do not like to be carried in a way that musses their hair and leaves them with unattractively red faces.

The morning sun danced on her hair, transforming the brown to gold and reddish glints. An errant sunbeam angled over her face, dusting her long lashes with light, accentuating the perfection of her nose, her cheekbones, and the beauty of her complexion.

My eyes are brown and my hair is brown. Your eyes are the color of warm chocolate, he said, tilting his head to study her. Your hair isn't brown, but auburn with gold and red threads in it like the finest tapestry.

The higher the hair, the closer to God.

It was a truth universally acknowledged that your mother was the only person in the world who could say, "Your hair looks nice," but what you heard was, "Your hair always looks awful except for this one, brief moment in time.

I had a coconut on the way, which was another first for me. A drink and food all in one. It didn't look like the normal coconuts you win at fairgrounds. There was no hair on it. I don't know if that's how they grow here or if it's that Brazilians hate hair on anything and they've waxed them.

Let's just say, brat, that if the wits beneath your golden hair were any dimmer you would be not a female, but a dandelion

Dark hair fell in a sweep over his forehead. He looked like a man who would write vers libre, as indeed he did.

Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare; And beauty draws us with a single hair.

I think there is a certain fascination with a man's hair.