Quotes About Hair

Her hair, long, black and flowing, was her great asset, and she liked to wear it over her shoulders

Pretty soon three sleeping bags formed a triangle in the master bedroom. The father was the hypotenuse. The girl asked him to brush out her hair, which he did while the boy ate a tangerine, peeling it up close to his face, inhaling the mist. Then he held each segment to the light to find seeds. In his lap, cat paws fluttered like dreaming eyes. "What

I'm restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again.

I'm restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again

You must be Corrie," I said to the little girl standing on our front steps. She nodded shyly. Corrie was very pretty, with brownish-blonde hair cut straight across her forehead in bangs, and straight around her shoulders below. Her eyes were framed by long, dark lashes. She was small for her age and had no color at all in her cheeks.

Now Rich walks in, a silver pin stuck in his lapel, his hair slicked back in the style of men who seem to be saying, Hey, go blow, my hair is slicked back, and on weekends I know joy.

She must have been French, because she had more hair under her arm than I did. 

ADOWN  (ADO'WN)   prep.Down; towards the ground; from a higher situation towards a lower. In this remembrance Emily ere dayArose, and dress'd herself in rich array;Fresh as the month, and as the morning fair,Adown her shoulders fell her length of hair.Dryd.Fables.

She wasn't any bigger than a minute and had hair like wild gold, and she was always merry as a marriage bell.

I scan the room. Catherine is writing quickly, her light brown hair falling over her face. She is left-handed, and because she writes in pencil her left arm is silver from wrist to elbow.

A teenage girl wearing a loose blue dress is sitting in a wooden chair with her back to me. Her beautiful, dark brown hair is pulled back in a braid that trails all the way down her back, over the chair, and out the window.

I got my hair soaked! This is a heart attack! The earthworms say: You should love me back!

for air, Jonah has a red ball stuck in his hair.

Like some winter animal the moon licks the salt of your hand, Yet still your hair foams violet as a lilac tree From which a small wood-owl calls.

Here and in the European tradition generally, the convention of not painting the hair on a woman's body helps towards the same end. Hair is associated with sexual power, with passion. The woman's sexual passion needs to be minimized so that the spectator may feel that he has the monopoly of such passion.)

Who ever comes to shroud me, do not harmNor question muchThat subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm;The mystery, the sign you must not touch,For 'tis my outward soul,Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone,Will leave this to control,And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.

A bracelet of bright hair about the bone.

Thy sins and hairs may no man equal call, for as thy sins increase, thy hairs do fall.

The meeting points the sacred hair dissever From the fair head, forever, and forever! Then flashed the living lightning from her eyes, And screams of horror rend th' affrighted skies.

Actresses are so spoilt - we have someone who does our hair for us on set, so we don't know how to do it ourselves in real life. I know how to wash my hair and brush my teeth, but that's about it!

Over the years, I have perfected my "just rolled out of bed" style by, more often than not, just rolling out of bed. I've cultivated the look since I've found that ladies like my messy hair—it's an excuse to run their fingers through it. More important, it's yet another component to my whole strategy: nothing works better in a wolf's quest for getting laid than looking like you've just gotten laid.

As a matter of fact I'd had my hair dyed a marvelous shade of pale red so popular with Parisian tarts that season.

one grows to the belief that, while woman's glory is in her hair, man's glory is to defeat some one. And if he can 'defeat with great slaughter' his monument is twice as high as if he had only visited on his brother man a plain undoing.

Your hair looks different," Grisha told Varvara. "Oh? I haven't had it cut." He squinted at her. "I think it grew