Quotes About Hair

Not many people know this about me, but I'm a natural blonde. My hair went from light blonde naturally to a darker kind of blonde. My mother dyed my hair dark when I was a child, as I loved the look then. So I'm basically a natural blonde.

It's easiest for me to be blonde because I'm naturally blonde; my roots are light enough that all I have to do is just highlight my hair every few months.

No matter how I cut my hair, when it grows out, it will always grow out into The Bowl. I just naturally have a bowl.

My hair is naturally super curly. But I really don't do so much to it. I just sleep on it and see what happens.

Why do we have to go to Summerwind Abbey tonight? Why couldn't we have waited until I at least combed the sand out of my hair?" She heard the whine in her voice and realized she'd been reduced to petulance. With any luck at all, she'd become a nag and make Jermyn a dreadful wife.

If I really wanted you to love me, I should have presented more of a challenge." She burrowed deeper into a pillow. "My hair is a mess." Mikhail sat on the edge of the bed, took the mass of silk in his hands, and gently began to weave the thick strands into a long, loose braid, "If you presented much more of a challenge, little one, my heart would never be able to take it." He sounded amused.

You didn't buy me jeans. She couldn't resist teasing him. Women do not belong in men's clothing. He was unruffled. Raven stepped into the shower and released the thick braid so she could shampoo her hair. You don't like the way I look in a pair of jeans? His laughter held deep, genuine amusement. That is a loaded question.

he looked at] her hair the color of cinnamon and decided he didn't like cinnamon. It ruined a good piece of toast as far as he was concerned.

There were chopsticks stuck here and there in her hair, as if she were prepared at any minute to deal with an emergency stir-fry.

Now I remember why I hate eating sheep. Horrible, fluffy things that give me hair balls and indigestion. ( Saphira from the Eragon Series)

Katrina stepped out from behind Horst and tossed back her auburn hair like a spray of molten copper.

Eragon shivered. Her tongue was covered with hooked barbs that could strip hair, hide, and meat off a deer with a single swipe.

Wind howled through the night, carrying a scent that would change the world. A tall Shade lifted his head and sniffed the air. He looked human except for his crimson hair and maroon eyes. He blinked in surprise. The message had been correct; they were here. Or was it a trap?

Anand, look at the back of my hands. No hair. The sign of an advanced race, boy. And look at yours. No hair either. But you never know. With some of your mother's bad blood flowing in your veins you could wake up one morning and find yourself hairy like a monkey

hue, his combed-over

She had spears of straw and grass in her hair, not like Ophelia gone mad through contact with Hamlet's madness, but because she had slept in some stable loft.

All around her mouth, tufts of white hair gave her the whiskered appearance of a cat.

Bending over, she brushed her hair for maximum Farrah volume, then sprayed it with enough Aqua Net to stop a bug in flight.

His broad shoulders sloped downward, as if posture were too much to think about with all that was on his mind. His thinning hair was gray and unkempt. He had a broad, flattened nose, like a spatula, and lips as thin as an afterthought. On this hot summer day, he wore a wrinkled white shirt, with sleeves rolled up; a tie hung loosely tied around his fraying collar, and his corduroy pants were in need of laundering.

You're—personally responsible for The entire strip to be washed away Cleansed, as if gallons of, um, rubbing alcohol Flowed through the strip and were set on fire It didn't just singe the hair, it made it straight And then Perry Ellis came along with his broom And his silk And he— He erected a beautiful city A city of stars

I don't think I could live without hair, makeup and styling, let alone be the performer I am. I am a glamour girl through and through. I believe in the glamorous life and I live one.

Stars got tangled in her hair whenever she played in the sky.

But her name was Esmé. She was a girl with long, long, red, red hair. Her mother braided it. The flower shop boy stood behind her and held it in his hand. Her mother cut it off and hung it from a chandelier. She was Queen. Mazishta. Her hair was black and her handmaidens dressed it with pearls and silver pins. Her flesh was golden like the desert. Her flesh was pale like cream. Her eyes were blue. Brown.

The goddess of dreams, she thought, if there were such a person, would wear gossamer and moonlight. No sooner did she think it than she was it. Her skin let off a subtle glow. Her dress floated like evaporating mist, and a corona of stars and fireflies perched on her red-brown hair.