Hair Quotes - Page 68

Poetry ... ... a place for the genuine, Hands that can grasp, eyes that can dilate, hair that can rise

My TWA enabled me to be done at the hair section much earlier than the other girls. I washed my hair and put some conditioner at home before heading to the Armory, where the show took place. The hairstylist basically only had to put some spray so that my TWA would be looking its best. It took the hairstylist literally 10 seconds.

Beauty type or hair styles constantly evolve through time. Hence, a woman shouldn't be reduced to the current trends.

In photos, I don't know who the real me is - it's all pretend, just pretend. There's not much of myself in my work. If I'm looking in the mirror and I'm working, I'm looking at my make-up and my hair. It's not the same as looking at myself.

O wise humanity, terribly wise humanity! How inscrutable is the civilization where men toil and work and worry their hair gray to get a living and forget to play!

My hair's actually really thin, but I just throw some hairspray into it and make sure it's been a couple days dirty, and then it goes the direction that you want it, literally!

In real life I've learned to love not wearing any makeup whatsoever, and I'm super low-maintenance when it comes to my hair.

I have a whole iPod full of exceptionally bad music, truly awful stuff including a disproportionate number of one hit wonders from the early '80s and lots of hair bands. I find it utterly impossible to love a song until I know every single word, so listening to live music or new bands is pretty much out.

No” Daniel cried “ No, no, no” Luce’s heart ached as he tore at his hair, spun in circle and let his wings bloom out to their full size.

The churches weren't going to accept me looking like a street person with long hair and faded jeans. They did not like the music I was recording. And I had no desire to preach the gospel to the converted.

I love seeing my mom and my daughter embrace their natural hair. I'm glad I've embraced it, too.

My agent sent me the script and I loved it. I wondered how they would turn me into a chimp. My agent said it would probably not entail to much time. Just some hair and make-up. I found out that it was not so simple.

It's funny to see my friends going through that middle-age thing about losing their hair. I went through it in college. They all say, "Oh my God, I'm getting old. I'm never getting laid again." Shut up. Yes, you are.

My hair is my everything: my best friend, my mentor, my moral compass.

It is a bad thing to perform menial duties even for the sake of freedom; to fight with pinpricks, instead of with clubs. I have become tired of hypocrisy, stupidity, gross arbitrariness, and of our bowing and scraping, dodging, and hair-splitting over words. Consequently, the government has given me back my freedom.

I think there is a certain fascination with a man's hair.

One of my modeling bookers told me that the most important thing is to try to be vigilant about taking care of yourself. Get sleep, don't be afraid to trim your hair even if you're trying to grow it out, don't bite your fingernails, and stay in shape. A lot of it is in the little things.

Blocking material leads to censorship. That goes for pornography and bestiality, too. If you don't like it, don't look at it... Every time I hear someone say, I want to protect the children, I want to pull my hair out.

Discipline is important as long as you're having a good time. What I always did was I did what I enjoyed, and I think that's why I don't have any grey hairs.

Alas! What boots it with uncessant care To tend the homely slighted Shepherd's trade, And strictly meditate the thankless muse; Were it not better done as others use, To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights, and live laborious days; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with th'abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life.

There are a lot of people walking around with long hair now and some trendy middle class kids in pretty clothes. But nothing changed except that we all dressed up a bit, leaving the same bastards running everything.

It's a small town; everybody eats in the same cafe; everybody gets their hair cut in the same barber shop. That kind of community building, I think, begins to bridge those gaps.

That's why I cut my hair so short. It was getting a little gray.

A girl asked me if she could comb my hair. Nobody can comb my hair, I can’t even comb my hair.

I looked at her, with her hair spilled out on the pillows and the warmth of her body warming mine. And I thought, god-dang, if this ain't a heck of a way to be in bed with a pretty woman. The two of you arguing about murder, and threatening each other, when you're supposed to be in love and you could be doing something pretty nice. And then I thought, well, maybe it ain't so strange after all. Maybe it's like this with most people, everyone doing pretty much the same thing except in a different way. And all the time they're holding heaven in their hands.