Quotes About Hair

The hair is part of my image, part of my persona. And the hair is no accident: I have to gel it vertical every single morning.

I have very short hair. It's the only cute haircut I think I've ever had.

Backstage at the Victoria's Secret show is pure madness. Big personalities, big hair, and tons of press.

I initially started making videos about my hair because I was struggling to style it and didn't know where to find help. Similarly, I started creating comedy content and doing characters and talking about things that were important to me because I didn't find a place to do that in the career that I wanted as an actress.

My hair videos are usually styling videos answering people's questions about natural hair.

Oftentimes people say to me, 'Oh I didn't know you could do so much with locs until I saw your videos or I saw photos of you at events.' So whenever I hear that people have been really inspired to experiment with their hair or their look because of me, it's very flattering and really cool.

When I was a young actor in Vienna, already my hair was falling out at a rapid rate. I went to a doctor, who said hair was like grass: if you mow it, then it grows back stronger. So I went to Brittany, where nobody knew me, and I shaved my head. When it grew back - only the fringes!

He loved the colors of her, pink and mauve and ivory, all washed in light. The glistening tumble of her hair held the colors of autumn: chestnut, maple, russet, umber.

A girl stood before the dressing table, pulling a brush through her long dark hair. The sight filled McKenna with a rush of pleasure. Lady Aline Marsden... the older daughter of the Earl of Westcliff. She was warm, high-spirited, and beautiful in all ways.

Do you have a distaste for the Irish?" Jack asked, staring steadily into her eyes. "Oh, no," she said dazedly. "I was just thinking... that must be why your hair is so black and your eyes so blue." "A chuisle mo chroi," he murmured, stroking the curls back from her round face. "What does that mean?" "Someday. I'll tell you. Someday.

He undressed before her, dropping his shirt to reveal a tautly muscled torso and a chest covered with with black hair. His big-framed body was clearly built for power rather than elegance. Yet there was something innately graceful about the long lines of muscle and sinew, and the heavy breadth of his shoulders. He was a man who made a woman feel safe, and at the same time, deliciously overpowered.

There MacRae was, disheveled and hatless, but breathtakingly handsome. To her pleased surprise, his hair had been cut and shaped to his head in short layers of amber and gold. He had the cool, sensual allure of a lost angel painted by Cabanel.

Although the garment was beautifully designed and well made, the color, a dark velvet that captured the intense tones of a ripe plum or black cherries, would prove a jarring clash with her hair. She added ruefully, "Not with this carrot top. I'll look a fright.

One of the great joys in life is having ones hair brushed.

Bathing Checkers was a strenuous occupation and not to be lightly undertaken. Checkers hated being bathed, partly because he couldn't see where he was going afterward. No one knew what kind of dog Checkers actually was. He had a mass of black hair, and when he was bathed, it was impossible to tell one end of him from another until one end bit you.

My love's hair is autumn hair, there the sun ripens. My fingers harvest the dark vegetable of her body. In the morning I remove it from my tongue and sleep again.

Hair spills through my dreams, sprouts from my stomach, thickens my heart, and tangles the brain. Hair ties the tongue dumb. Hair ascends the tree. of my childhood -- the willow I climbed one bare foot and hand at a time, feeling the knuckles of the gnarled tree, hearing my father plead from his window, Don't fall!

Sometimes my love is melancholy and I hold her head in my hands. Sometimes I recall our hair grows after death. Then, I must grab handfuls of her hair, and, I tell you, there are apples, walnuts, ships sailing, ships docking, and men taking off their boots, their hearts breaking, not knowing which they love more, the water, or their women's hair, sprouting from the head, rushing toward the feet.

Opportunity may only knock once, but temptation'll knock down the damn door and drag you out by the hair.

My hair was so overprocessed that after it was shampooed, it was like a dry brillo pad. I'd almost say it was the texture of pubic hair, but pubic hair is softer and has more body.

He didn't see anything. She rolled to her feet. I was in your bed! We could have scarred him for life! Grace, we weren't doing anything. Well, I wasn't. You were snoring. I don't-- She smoothed her dress down and searched out her sandals, shoving her feet into them. She glanced at herself in the mirror over his dresser and groaned. Hair, wild. Lips, swollen. Face, flushed. Nipples, hard. Dammit! She clapped her hands over them. It's like they're broken!

My hair had grown out long and shaggy—not in that sexy-young-rock-star kind of way but in that time-to-take-Rover-to-the-groomer kind of way.

She looked up at me with a polite smile, her dark hair long and appealing...I liked the smile. Maybe I didn't look like a beaten-up bum. Maybe on me it just looked ruggedly determined. I'm sorry, sir, she said, but the addiction counseling center is on twenty-six. Sigh.

We didn't have time to get you an actual haircut, she said. Seriously, did you do it yourself? Maybe without a mirror? I put a hand up to my head self-consciously and said, I had some help from the General. And, hey, I didn't say anything about your man-shoes. They're steel-toed, she said calmly. In case I need to plant them in anyone's ass as a result of him calling them man-shoes. And seriously, you let Toot help you with your hair?