Quotes About Hair

To sculpt a head of hair with scissors is an art form. It's in pursuit of art.

The female vampire leaped from the plank and landed beside us. She was dressed in a white shirt and beige pants. She had long, dark hair, tied behind her back. She wasn't especially pretty — she had a hard, weathered face — but after so much time spent staring at ugly, scarred vampires, she looked like a movie star to me.

Headbangers' are people who like heavy-metal music, which is performed by skinny men with huge hair who stomp around the stage, striking their instruments and shrieking angrily, apparently because somebody has stolen all their shirts.

It's big, but isn't it beautiful?" Kathy asked. "Yes, like you!" he joked. "Watch it," she said. "I can lose this weight, but you're never growing that hair back.

Some things never change," said Abby wearily. "Boys never grow up, they just get bigger with more hair and people start calling them men.

turned back around before she could focus on him. It was at this moment that the black-robed Judge Christian Abernathy stepped into the courtroom. He was old, bespectacled, and frail, and his white hair, what was left of

But what of Lenore, of Lenore's hair? Here is hair that is clearly within and of itself every color—blond and red and jet-black-blue and honeynut—but which effects an outward optical compromise with possibility that consists of appearing simply dull brown, save for brief teasing glimpses out of the corner of one's eye.

The excessively but not necessarily lycanthropically hirsute

I must to the barber's, mounsieur; for methinks I am     marvellous hairy about the face; and I am such a tender ass, if     my hair do but tickle me I must scratch.

Not a soul But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd Some tricks of desperation; all but mariners Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel; Then all afire with me the King's son Ferdinand With hair up staring ( then like reeds, not hair) Was the first man that leap'd; cried Hell is empty, And all the devils are here.

My hair was famous before I was.

He sat in the other chair, taking advantage of the opportunity to take another good look at her. Her fawn-colored hair was sun-streaked from long days spent outdoors. Now it was done up copperhead style, the multiple braids decorated with beads and feathers. One braid per kill—wasn't that the rule?

Etiam capillus unus habet umbrau. Even one hair has a shadow.

role of Amidala, Queen of Naboo, the Bad Hair Planet,

Thomas Cromwell is now a little over forty years old. He is a man of strong build, not tall. Various expressions are available to his face, and one is readable: an expression of stifled amusement. His hair is dark, heavy and waving, and his small eyes, which are of very strong sight, light up in conversation:

Priests tell you that temptation slides into sin and you cannot put a hair between. But surely that is not true. Surely not. There is a room to be crossed and buttons to be undone. You don't sleepwalk into it. You don't fornicate inadvertently.

I'm one of those people who thinks that changing one's hair is the only part of the body that you can change at will.

Such beautiful scarlet hair....Why don't we call you 'Erza Scarlet'? It's the color of your hair, that way, I won't forget it!" -Jellal Fernandes

I remembered... It was the colour of your hair. Farewell...Erza. ~I'm Jellal Fernandez. What about you, Erza?(I'm Erza. Just Erza.) Well, that's kind of sad. Ohh!(Hey...What are you doing?!)It's such a pretty scarlet colour...I know! We'll give you the last name of Scarlet!(Erza...Scarlet) It's the colour of you hair! Nobody will ever forget that!~(Jellal...)

on the lawn one late summer day, her pale hair tangled because she'd cry if anyone tried to brush it, spinning around and around until she got so dizzy she fell in a pile of bare feet and dandelions and sundress.

Did you know that bone china had real bones in it?" Poppy said, tapping a porcelain cheek. "Her clay was made from human bones. Little-girl bones. That hair threaded through the scalp is the little girl's hair. And the body of the doll is filled with her leftover ashes.

It's hard to look at Barron now, but I do. He's smirking. His black hair and black suit make him into a shadow, as if I conjured some dark mirror of myself.

Have you ridden before?' he asks me, and I return him the look he deserves. ... 'No? And yet you would look so well with your hair whipping behind you.' Oak says. 'Wild as the Folk of old.

I hate you," I whisper before he can speak. He tilts my face to his. "Say it again," he says as the imps comb my hair and place the ugly, stinking crown on my head.