Quotes About Hair

WiÅ›nie byÅ'y wyborne, a Gerda gÅ'odna, wiÄ™c jadÅ'a, uÅ›miechajÄ…c siÄ™ z zadowoleniem, gdy staruszka zÅ'otym grzebieniem czesaÅ'a jej zÅ'ote wÅ'osy. CzesaÅ'a je dÅ'ugo, w dziwnym blasku czerwonych i niebieskich szybek, a Gerda zapomniaÅ'a o Kaju, babce i rodzicach, bo grzebieÅ" byÅ' zaczarowany, staruszka zaÅ› byÅ'a wró?kÄ….

His black-to-gray beard was unruly enough to nest beetle larvae, his hair curled like something out of a bad production of Godspell.

The woman was first. She wore a pumpkin-orange blazer, blue jeans, sneakers, and ball-and-chain earrings. The word that came to mind was husky. Not big really. Husky. Everything was husky—even her hair, a sort of canned-corn yellow. The guy riding in on her fumes was geeky thin with a pointy head and a small, greased shock of black hair. He looked like an upside-down pencil. He spoke first.

The waitresses maneuvered through the boisterous crowd clad in black dresses, bright lipstick, slicked-back hair, and nearly Kabuki whiteface. Guitars hung from around their necks. They were supposed to look like the models in that Robert Palmer "Addicted to Love" video except, well, they were rather, uh, more mature and less attractive. Like the video had been remade with the cast of The Golden Girls.

He passed a hair salon called Snip Away, which sounded more like a vasectomy clinic than a beauty parlor. The Snip Away beauticians were either reformed mall girls or guys named Mario whose fathers were named Sal. Two patrons sat in a window - one getting a perm, the other a bleach job. Who wanted that? Who wanted to sit in a window and have the whole world watch you get your hair done?

My hair is just like five pieces of very soft straw that needs managing. I touch my hair a lot, and that makes it crazy.

If there are nine guys auditioning and they're all gorgeous, I have an advantage, because gorgeous guys are a dime a dozen. But if they need someone else - like a goofy guy with bad hair who is just okay - then that's me. And finally, the other 2 percent who audition are geniuses that I could never touch.

When I was modeling in Japan, I could blend in a little because of my hair, but my roommates with blonde hair got harassed. People would touch their hair and grope them in the subway. Actually, a lot of groping happens in the subway in Japan, but that's probably true of subways everywhere.

I get my highlights touched up with Susan Henry at Shades in Beverly Hills. She developed hypo-allergenic hair color products with no ammonia because she's allergic to others; she's an incredible colorist. She does balayage instead of the foils, and I'll go and she will do my entire head of highlights in an hour.

I used to break a lot of clubs. I probably was a little different than your average junior player. I did have a lot longer hair and a lot more brown hair. But my demeanor, you know, really from maybe my second, third year on Tour, has gotten a lot more even keel.

A lot of people knew at the national tournaments that I was a big puncher. We were known as 'Samson,' the boy with the long hair.

I pay less attention to my hair then probably anybody that I know. I get out of the shower, I towel dry it. I, like, blow it off and then I just run my hands through it and away we go. It's just what it is.

I've ruined a lot of hotel towels. I did a shoot in San Francisco and stayed at the Mandarin Oriental. I must have ruined thousands of dollars worth of towels. I dye my hair once a week. The dye is not temporary. It stains everything. It stains tiles, that's how powerful it is.

My teeth are all right, but they are not American teeth, and my hair is not thick and luscious. Los Angeles is dense with beautiful people, and most of the men who are aspiring actors are 5ft 5in, so I tower above them.

I don't paint the town red. But when I do go out, people always want to touch my hair. It happens every time.

If you hair is dense, you're lucky! All you need is a pair of Precision Tweezers to remove stray hair and a trace of Brow Wiz pencil to perfect and clean up edges.

I guess I've maintained my hair. I'm like a Donald Trump. I have a good, solid head of hair, and that's been my trademark all these years.

I dyed my hair this crazy red to bid for attention. It has become a trademark, and I've got to keep it this way.

My long, blonde hair has been my trademark ever since I started modelling in the Seventies, when I was scouted sunbathing in St Tropez.

Fair maid, white and red, Comb me smooth, and stroke my head; And every hair a sheave shall be, And every sheave a golden tree.

If you're betwixt and between, trust the one with red hair.

Trust the universe and respekt your hair.

I don't trust anyone who does their own hair. I don't think it's natural.

A hair divides what is false and true.