Quotes About Hair

Acting is all about big hair and funny props... All the great actors knew it. Olivier knew it, Brando knew it.

The shape of her head and the turn of her neck and bust were peculiarly noble, and the long golden-brown hair that floated like a cloud around it, the deep spiritual gravity of her violet blue eyes, shaded by heavy fringes of golden brown

It looked like his ponytail had revolted against him," said Bramble.

I could croak with no warning, and the only tragedy anyone would experience would be showing up on the last day of my estate sale simply to discover that all remaining items had copious amounts of dog hair on them.

She approached with her tail up in the air and waving slowly back and forth. The fringe of hair

but it's far too late for us; ring, hair, letters, photographs--all traces of our love will be scattered then, like an anagram...

There are many mysteries I have never solved, and the hair of my chaperone is perhaps my most curious unsolved case.

Her hair came first, a wild tangle as if several heads of hair were having a wrestling match, and the rest of her followed, frowning and tall. There are many mysteries I have never solved, and the hair of my chaperone is perhaps my most curious unsolved case.

Cualquiera que conociese a Violet se hubiera dado cuenta de que estaba pensando intensamente, porque llevaba la larga melena recogida con una cinta para que no se le metiera en los ojos. Violet tenía el don de inventar y construir extraños aparatos, y su cerebro se veía inundado a menudo con imágenes de poleas, palancas y herramientas, y ella no quería que algo tan trivial como su cabello la distrajese.

She said, 'I'll make tea; I'd like a cup myself.' She was very close to me, standing in front of the mirror. She glanced at her reflection as she straightened her hair and smoothed her rumpled nightdress. It was thin, almost transparent, and the light was shining through it. 'Come here, duchess,' I said. 'I don't feel like tea just yet.

His profusion of long lank yellow hair hung heavily across his head like a Shrove Tuesday mishap.

For my most gracious master still called me redhead, though my hair was already churchyard-coloured.

She constantly piles up her hair with her hands and then lets it fall. She laughs, but there is no sound. It's all in silence - she is made out of yesterdays.

Not keep a journal! How are your absent cousins to understand the tenor of your life in Bath without one? How are the civilities and compliments of every day to be related as they ought to be, unless noted down every evening in a journal? How are your various dresses to be remembered, and the particular state of your complexion, and curl of your hair to be described in all their diversities, without having constant recourse to a journal?

Hey, Lula said to Ranger's man.You want to watch it? I just had my hair done. I don't need plaster in it. Next time just shoot a hole is this punk-ass loser, will you?

I got out of the tub and had to squelch a scream when I saw my reflection in the vanity mirror. My hair looked like it had taken 2000 volts and been spray starched

Princeton isn't actually part of New Jersey. It's a small island of wealth and intellectual eccentricity floating in the Sea of Central Megalopolis. It's an honest-to-god town awash in the land of the strip mall. Hair is smaller, heels are shorter, asses are tighter in Princeton.

Ranger was in his usual black—a perfectly tailored black suit, and a black dress shirt open at the neck. The Glock at the small of his back was also black. Ranger's body is perfect. His hair is very dark brown. Cut short. His eyes are dark brown and intense. His skin is the color of hot chocolate, the lucky result of his Latino ancestry. His earbud matched his skin tone and was barely detectable.

I get my hair done first, and then Margie and I go shoot a hundred rounds," Grandma said. "I wouldn't be telling you this, but pretty soon I imagine I'll have my own house and lots of money for ammo, and I'll be able to shoot every day if I want.

I took a shower and spent some time on my hair, doing the blow-drying thing, adding some gel and some spray. When I was done I looked like Cher on a bad day. Still, Cher on a bad day wasn't all that bad. I was down to my last clean pair of spandex shorts. I tugged on a matching sports bra that doubled as a halter top and slid a big, loose, purple T-shirt with a large, droopy neck over my head. I laced up my hightop Reeboks, crunched down my white socks, and felt pretty cool.

Grass don't grow on a busy street," Grandma said. "Better to be smart than to have hair.

so I pulled the scrunchie off my ponytail.

It's because my regular girl, Shanesha, left the salon and when I went in just now, I had to get my hair done by the new girl, Amy. I just don't think anyone named Amy could understand my hair needs.

he hasn't cut his hair in at least ten years. For all I know that was also the last time he washed it.