Quotes About Hair

Hey, our hair's the same color," I said, eying us side by side in the mirror. "Sure is, girlfriend." Eric grinned at me.

Hair is vitally personal to children. They weep vigorously when it is cut for the first time; no matter how it grows, bushy, straight or curly, they feel they are being shorn of a part of their personality.

The waves lengthen on the beach; Your hair on your back of an Angel. (Les vagues s'allongent sur la plage; Tes cheveux sur ton dos d'ange)

The waves s' lengthen on the beach; Your hair on your back of an Angel. (Les vagues s'allongent sur la plage; Tes cheveux sur ton dos d'ange. )

A year or two younger than his eminently practical friend, Mr. Bounderby looked older; his seven or eight and forty might have had the seven or eight added to it again, without surprising anybody. He had not much hair. One might have fancied he had talked it off; and that what was left, all standing up in disorder, was in that condition from being constantly blown about by his windy boastfulness.

To this it must be added, that life in a wig is to a large class of people much more terrifying and impressive than life with its own head of hair …

The emphasis was helped by the speaker's hair, which bristled on the skirts of his bald head, a plantation of firs to keep the wind from its shining surface, all covered with knobs, like the crust of a plum pie, as if the head had scarcely warehouse-room for the hard facts stored inside.

John Jarndyce] rubbed his head so constantly that not a single hair upon it ever rested in its right place

His message perplexed his mind to that degree that he was fain, several times, to take off his hat to scratch his head. Except on the crown, which was raggedly bald, he had stiff, black hair, standing jaggedly all over it, and growing down hill almost to his broad, blunt nose. It was so like Smith's work, so much more like the top of a strongly spiked wall than a head of hair, that the best of players at leap-frog might have declined him, as the most dangerous man in the world to go over.

I am a collector of notes upon subjects that have diversity — such as deviations from concentricity in the lunar crater Copernicus, and a sudden appearance of purple Englishmen — stationary meteor-radiants, and a reported growth of hair on the bald head of a mummy — and 'Did the girl swallow the octopus?

Life is an endless struggle full of frustrations and challenges, but eventually you find a hair stylist you like.

I moustache you a question, but I'll shave it for later.

Sais-je où s'en iront tes cheveux Crépus comme mer qui moutonne Sais-je où s'en iront tes cheveux Et tes mains feuilles de l'automne Que jonchent aussi nos aveux

Del Toro wearing sculpted and molded gelatin makeup, including fake hair and acrylic dentures and gums.

I get mad too quickly, and I whine a lot. My hair has it's own mind. and, I get certifiably crazy when I've got PMS.

Every morning, therefore, uncle Charles repaired to his outhouse but not before he had greased and brushed scrupulously his back hair and brushed and put on his tall hat.

Stephen looked coldly on the oblong skull beneath him overgrown with tangled twine-coloured hair.

A light wind passed his brow, fanning softly his fair uncombed hair and stirring silver points of anxiety in his eyes.

Her hair smelled like the Caribbean.

Her hair, which was a coppery red, and her eyes, which were light blue like her mother's, were all the more vivid by contrast with the scramble of freckles and sunburn which formed her complexion.

What hair she had looked like scrambled eggs in string form, in wild clumps and in single strands, giving her the appearance of a wired, harried, ancient, terrified professor.

So there you have it, the extent of my charms: brown hair and eyes like unbarfed chocolate. I'm a lucky girl. -Max

Fang! Come Back! I started pulling his hair. Shaking his head and shoulders. Hard. Wake up! Snap out of it! You stupid jerk! I am going to kill you if you die on me!

I love you, i love your smile your snarl your grin, your face when your sleeping.I love your hair streaming behind you as we fly, with the sunlight making it shine, if it doesn't have too much mud or blood in it, I love seeing your wings spreading out, white and brown and tan and speckled, and the tiny downy feathers right at the top of your shoulders. I love your eyes, whether they're cold or calculating or suspicious or laughing or warm, like when you look at me.