Quotes About Hair

I brush it, brush it after every practice and stuff, just because it gets tangled. It's just all natural, let it grow, let it be, let it be real.

Nowadays there's the taping of the boobs. The tanning has become pretty intense with these young ladies. The hair extensions have become very serious... But I hate it when pageant girls get a bad rap, because they really are intelligent women. They're ambitious women; they're driven; they're educated.

I wake up in the morning, it takes me a half hour to find my glasses, just so I can look for my teeth, to tell my wife to find my hair.

Her wild hair hangs down like dead weeds and she's wearing a dress that looks like she took it off a Disney princess, tossed it in a grain thresher, and got an ape to sew it back together.

My concern today is not with the length of a person's hair but with his conduct. (On campus radicals)

On nights when Gloria stayed up late enough to see Rachel come dreamily home she was always unsettled by the girl's appearance: clothes crushed and hair awry, eyes dazed and mouth swollen, with the lipstick eaten away. Love was often said to be torment, but Rachel could make it seem like punishment as well.

We need to get inside. I think my hair gel's frozen.

He anxiously touched his hair. "I think my hair gel's frozen.

You don't know your father, do you?" I shook my head. "No. All I know is he must have had wicked cool hair." Dimitri glanced up, and his eyes swept me. "Yes. He must have.

A pesar del frío, brillaba el sol, y sus rayos alumbraron de fondo su cabello. El podría haber sido un ángel, pensé. • capítulo 13

Shakespeare, daddy." "Was he brainy?" "Very, daddy." "He had masses of hair, did he?" "He was bald, daddy." To which the father had snapped, "If you can't talk sense then shut up.

Good strong hair,' he was fond of saying, 'means there's a good strong brain underneath.' 'Like Shakespeare,' Matilda had once said to him. 'Like who?' 'Shakespeare, Daddy.' 'Was he brainy?' 'Very, Daddy.' 'He had masses of hair, did he?' 'He was bald, Daddy.

Matilda said nothing. She simply sat there admiring the wonderful effect of her own handiwork. Mr Wormwood's fine crop of black hair was now a dirty silver, the colour this time of a tightrope-walker's tights that had not been washed for the entire circus season.

Mr. Twit was one of these very hairy-faced men. The whole of his face except for his forehead, his eyes and his nose, was covered with thick hair. The stuff even sprouted in revolting tufts out of his nostrils and ear-holes.

Trotter estaba allí con la bolsita en la mano y mirando al anciano. –Y ahora –dijo el anciano–, lo único que tienes que hacer es esto: agarra una jarra grande de agua y mete en ella todas esas cosas verdes. Después, muy lentamente y uno a uno, añade diez pelos de tu cabeza. ¡Eso les gusta!

Oh my gawd dad, what've you done to your hair?" the son shouted.

her hair. But fantasy

The light shone down on his plump face, reflected from his rimless glasses, bathed the pinkness of his scalp beneath the thinning sandy hair as he bent his head to resume reading.

Martin nodded, his head snapping up and down. He was wearing baggy gray sweatpants and no shirt. His torso was soft and undeveloped and covered with a thick growth of fine hair. He squinted against the bright morning sun. "Yeah, sure. What do you want?

The clerk was a thin guy in his early twenties with limp hair and a spray of zits on his chin. His eyes were lifeless and dull, like a daydreaming cow.

Krista Morales had a heart-shaped face, golden skin, and a smile that dimpled her right cheek. Her eyes were deep chocolate, and her hair glistened with the deep black sheen of a crow's wing in the sun. I smiled at the picture, then handed it back. "Pretty.

Larkin pushed the accelerator and felt the wind lift her hair. She bore south on Vine, then east on Wilshire, laughing as her eyes grew wet. Light poles flicked past; red or green, it didn't matter and she didn't care. Honking horns were lost in the rush. Her long hair, the color of pennies, whipped and lashed. She closed her eyes, held them closed, kept them shut even longer, then popped them wide and laughed that she still flew straight and true—

A short, slight gentleman was standing in the living room. He had wavy marcelled hair and he was wearing a brown summer-weight suit that had probably been new twenty years ago. His hair was more gray than not, and his skin was the color of fine cocoa parchment. He was holding a small bouquet of zinnias. I made him for his late sixties, but I could've been off five years either way.

Bud Orso was in his early forties, with a chubby scoutmaster's face topped by a crown of short black hair. He was waiting when Scott stepped off the elevator, which Scott had not expected. "Bud