Quotes About Hair

What did the cat look like?" "I don't know. He was a little thing. Tiny. Lion…I think. You know, the breed with all the hair." "Tiny. Right. The world is filled with tiny lion males.

She uses that shampoo," he sighed. "What shampoo?" "The one with honey in it." Ric's eyes crossed. "Oh, my God." "She was sitting in that tree, her leg bleeding out, and all I could think about was how good her hair smelled.

I used to experiment all the time with my hair color.

Hair that looks like it's been naturally sun-bleached makes you seem youthful, like you spend a lot of time outdoors. And that appeals to most people.

I'll be gray by the time I'm 30, but I like my hair. It looks shiny. I like the way it looks when those highlights are picked up on camera.

And age was just a trait, like the color of your hair, or the amount of freckles on your skin.

And Meredith says that reminds her of a Camus novel, the one about the plague, and she tells the story of it, the tale holding you in thrall, and she ends her version with a line you'll write down in your notebook, the place where the atheist doctor hollers at a priest: All your certainties aren't worth one strand of a woman's hair.

Our hair is as much as 14 percent L-cysteine, an amino acid commonly used to make meat flavorings and to elasticize dough in commercial baking. How commonly? Enough to merit debate among scholars of Jewish dietary law, or kashrut. "Human hair, while not particularly appetizing, is Kosher

Oh, the ongoing love affair between hair and mouths. Hair always goes for the mouth. The mouth opens, and hair says, I'm going in! I'm going in! like a manic cave diver.

I don't think I've ever seen you without braids. I thought your hair just grew that way.

David had looked so beautiful that morning. The light came down on one side of his face and he seemed to glow. His dark hair fell in finger-length curls that flopped rakishly across his forehead. He had eyebrows that had natural peaks, raised in constant amusement. His nose was long and fine. His worn T-shirts pulled against his frame, revealing muscled arms. . . .

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.

reserved spot near the door to the Medical Arts building when he saw Annie dash down the steps. Her hair was loose, a long tangle of waves and curls that glinted gold and red in the fierce autumn sunshine. The look on her face – Jesus, he could live to be two hundred and never forget the look on her face as she darted past him. She glowed from within. There was no other way to say it. She had always been beautiful to him but

My "Kentucky NCAA Champions" shirt was by now so bloodstained, you would think I had worn it to a North Carolina game. Also, I had feathers sticking to my hair.

Brace d'inverno, I capelli tuoi, Dove il mio cuore brucia.

A celebrity is any well-known TV or movie star who looks like he spends more than two hours working on his hair.

I actually love my natural hair when it's in a twist out and it's been slept on for five days and revived by the steam of the shower.

And you should never cut your hair 'cos I love the way you flick it off your shoulders

The other dry shampoo I was using was wet feeling but I love Prive's smell and how light and airy my hair feels afterwards!

I love a strong brow and ChapStick with glowing skin and messy hair. I'm a minimalist at heart.

I love my hair. But I don't even remember my original color because I started bleaching it so young. I was, like, 11.

In a way the philosopher and the barber are of the same guild; the barber cuts hair and the philosopher splits hairs.

Mucho, señora, daría Por tender sobre tu espalda Tu cabellera bravía, Tu cabellera de gualda: Despacio la tendería, Callado la besaría. Por sobre la oreja fina Baja lujoso el cabello, Lo mismo que una cortina Que se levanta hacia el cuello. La oreja es obra divina De porcelana de China. Mucho, señora, te diera Por desenredar el nudo De tu roja cabellera Sobre tu cuello desnudo: Muy despacio la esparciera, Hilo por hilo la abriera

None could see her without pity, unless he had a felon's heart; she was so tightly bound. The tears ran down her face and fell upon her grey gown where ran a little thread of gold, and a thread of gold was twined into her hair.