Quotes About Hair

I'm more of a short-hair girl; short hair is a lot more low-maintenance than long hair. And when you're in front of camera every day and your hair is being flatironed and blow-dried it's easier to have a weave so you don't damage your own hair.

You know, I just tend to grow my beard out for 'Parks and Rec.' As an actor it's always easier to shave or cut your hair for a role, but it's hard to put fake hair on or grow hair for a role. When you look at pictures of me, the longer my hair is, the longer my facial hair is, that's just the longer I haven't gotten a job.

You say that if we hadn't just gotten married, you would want to marry Miss Arkansas. Even if she can't spell. She can sit on her hair. A lover could climb that hair like a gym rope. It's fairy-tale hair, Rapunzel hair. We saw her practicing for the pageant in the hotel ballroom with two wild pigs, her hair braided into two lassoes.

I find hair things really hard because I can't do my own hair. The only thing I use for my hair is a Tangle Teezer. It's the best thing ever for everyone that has long hair.

Being blonde is definitely a different state of mind. I can't really put my finger on it, but the artifice of being blonde has some incredible sort of sexual connotation. Men really respond to it. I love blonde hair but it really does something different to you. I feel more grounded when I have dark hair, and I feel more ethereal when I have light hair. It's unexplainable. I also feel more Italian when my hair is dark.

I've had long hair, I've had short hair, and I've had in between hair... and its all good.

What's interesting is a man with no facial hair is less intimidating than a man with facial hair, and a man who is bald is more intimidating than a man with hair.

I don’t want long hair, I don’t want short hair, I don’t want hair at all, and I don’t want to be a girl or a boy. I want to be a yellow and orange leaf some little kid picks up and pastes in his scrapbook.

But we live in an age, ladies and gentlemen, where we are keeping morons alive in our gene pools by putting warnings on items that should not require warnings. The hotel I am staying in has a hair dryer, on the cord of the hair dryer there is a warning and this is what it says: “Warning! Do not use in shower!” Ladies and gentlemen if you have a friend who wants to use their hair dryer in the shower, you let them.

I can't live without mousse. When my hair is damp I put it at the roots. When I blow dry my hair it makes it so much bouncier. It gives you shampoo commercial hair and makes your blowout so much better.

Whenever something went wrong when I was young - if I had a pimple or if my hair broke - my mom would say, 'Sister mine, I'm going to make you some soup.' And I really thought the soup would make my pimple go away or my hair stronger.

I do condition my hair with honey and beer. I smell like the bottom of a beer barrel for days afterwards, but it's very good for the hair.

We know what hair smells like when a hot comb hits it. That's a cultural thing. We know what that smells like on Sunday mornings, usually church-related or something. In my house, it was getting ready for church and your sister was getting her hair fried.

Bleaching my hair for Two Moon Junction... my hair was fried and I looked like an idiot.

When I have my Afro and walk down the street, there's no doubt that I'm black. With this [straightened] hair, if I talk about being black on air, viewers write and say, "You're black?!" I feel [straightening your hair] is giving up a sense of your identity. Let's be honest: It's an effort to look Anglo-Saxon.

The man who knelt before her would have sprung from her needles, even down the ghostly flecks of silver in his hair. She had not known before that she wanted all these things, that she preferred dark hair and a slightly cruel expression, that she wishes for tallness, or that a man kneeling might thrill her.

Hair on a man's chest is thought to denote strength. The gorilla is the most powerful of bipeds and has hair on every place on his body except for his chest.

At the time of Holy Communion I sometimes picture my soul under the figure of a little child of three or four years, who at play has got its hair tossed and its clothes soiled. These misfortunes have befallen me in battling with souls. But very soon the Blessed Virgin hastens to my aid: quickly, she takes off my dirty little pinafore, smoothes my hair and adorns it with a pretty ribbon or simply with a little flower... and this suffices to render me pleasing and enables me to sit at the Banquet of Angels without blushing.

I was silver-white by the time I was 35, but having grey hair makes me look washed out. My wife and son have both said that grey hair doesn't suit me because I have a boyish face.

I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to just put my hair under a wig cap and slap on a wig that’s already done. It’s dress up for your hair!

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.

Girls are removing pubic hair before fully having it. They would say I feel cleaner, it's for me, but then they'd say if a boy saw pubic hair down there they'd head for the hills.

I thought you could play ... You've got nothing. Where's the big hair? I brought my scissors today so I could cut the hair. You've got nothing.

On two chairs beneath the bole of the tree and canopied by a living bough there sat, side by side, Celeborn and Galadriel... Very tall they were, and the Lady no less tall than the Lord; and they were grave and beautiful. They were clad wholly in white; and the hair of the Lady was of deep gold, and the hair of the Lord Celeborn was of silver long and bright; but no sign of age was upon them, unless it were in the depths of their eyes; for these were keen as lances in the starlight, and yet profound, the wells of deep memory.

She is standing on my lids And her hair is in my hair She has the colour of my eye She has the body of my hand In my shade she is engulfed As a stone against the sky She will never close her eyes And she does not let me sleep And her dreams in the bright day Make the suns evaporate And me laugh cry and laugh Speak when I have nothing to say

It's not the hair on your head that matters. It's the kind of hair you have inside.

People can graduate from beauty school and know everything about white hair and nothing about African-American hair.

I like having black hair. When I was really young, I wanted to be Asian - Asian hair is beautiful. I also wanted to look like the girl in George Michael's 'Father Figure' video.

I really committed to growing my hair out about a year and a half ago. There's always this awkward moment when you're growing your hair out and it just doesn't look all that great. But if you just power through it then you'll get a pretty good end result.

My wearing my hair in locs on an Oscar red carpet was to showcase them in a positive light, to remind people of color that our hair is good enough.

I am the man who put the hair in hair metal.

People associate long hair with drug use. I wish people associated long hair with something other than drug use, like an extreme longing for cake. And then strangers would see a long haired guy and say, "That guy eats cake!" "He is on bundt cake!" Mothers saying to their daughters, "Don't bring the cake eater over here anymore. He smells like flour. Did you see how excited he got when he found out your birthday was fast approaching?"

But as the scissors snip-snapped through her hair and the razor shaved the rest, she realized with a sudden awful panic that she could no longer recall anything from the past. I cannot remember, she whispered to herself. I cannot remember. She's been shorn of memory as brutally as she'd been shorn of her hair, without permission, without reason... Gone, all gone, she thought again wildly, no longer even sure what was gone, what she was mourning.

Oh, I've got glitter in my hair. That's not all that's in my hair, I'll tell you that. I glue it on every morning, whether I need to or not.

I used to break a lot of clubs. I probably was a little different than your average junior player. I did have a lot longer hair and a lot more brown hair. But my demeanor, you know, really from maybe my second, third year on Tour, has gotten a lot more even keel.

[On Sting] He threw a sucker punch. There's the sucker who threw the punch. Him the the Bart Simpson hair doo.

You're beautiful, every part of you. I love your hair, the way it looks, the way it feels. I love touching it, smelling it. I love the way you wrinkle your nose when you laugh. It makes me laugh, too, every time. And I love watching you eat. Sometimes you can't shovel it in fast enough, but when you get interested in a conversation, you forget there's anything in front of you. God knows, I love making love with you. I can't even talk about that without wanting you. I love your pathetic attachment to those seniors. I love how hard you work.

Because of my compact and muscular body composition, my short hair, and my "Johawk," I have been mistaken for a boy on many occasions. Each time it happens, it feels like I have been punched in the gut. It is extremely discouraging.

I know the pleasure you get from making your films. The intense involvement in every aspect: the acting, the camera, the colors, the costumes, even the hair and makeup. Editing is thrilling. Everything to do with films is absorbing - everything but the money part, the business. But I'm deeply glad I've had that experience.

She felt him tremble with the force of his need. He spoke just beneath her ear, his voice thick with tormented pleasure. "You have to leave, Sara ... because I want to hold you like this until your skin melts into mine. I want you in my bed, the smell of you on my sheets, your hair spread across my pillow. I want to take your innocence. God! I want to ruin you for anyone else.

Son, you can't go around painting yourself black, you hear?" "Why not, Papa?" "Because they'll take you away." "Why?" "Because you shouldn't want to be like black people or Jewish people or anyone who is...not us." "Who are Jewish people?" "You know my oldest customer, Mr. Kaufmann? Where we bought your shoes?" "Yes." "Well, he's Jewish." "I didn't know that. Do you have to pay to be Jewish? Do you need a license?" ..... "...you've got beautiful blond hair and big safe blue eyes. You should be happy with that; is that clear?

There are occasions that I love to be fashionable and enjoy, you know? But the work day of a mother doesn't include a hair making team or any consideration of your shoe.

I love being natural. I never feel more beautiful then after I’ve been to the beach and my hair’s just a crazy mess of salt curls, or when I’ve just been outside all day hiking. I feel like my skin is at its most beautiful during those times, too - so I try not to do a lot.

You realize the bad guy isn't wearing a black cape or easy to spot; he's funny, makes you laugh, and has perfect hair.

I see other black women imitate my style, which is no style at all, but just letting our hair be itself. They call it the Afro Look.

I agree with you about the music of today. It lacks style and emotion. I can't relate to it either, as for grunge music, well that was the death kneel for a lot of the glam metal hair bands of the 80's, so I really do not care for grunge. I miss the 80's as well, it was a truly great decade for music.

I worked at a bunch of other salons, and at one, this girl was going out to do a photo shoot for a women's magazine and brought me along to assist her. I remember going on that shoot and thinking, "God, this is great. It's creative, and you get to work with all of these other creative people." At that point I decided that hair would be my in to fashion and all the things I thought I would enjoy - and did enjoy.

The discovery of a grey hair when you are brushing out your whiskers of a morning—first fallen flake of the coming snows of age—is a disagreeable thing.... So are flying twinges of gout, shortness of breath on the hill-side, the fact that even the moderate use of your friend's wines at dinner upsets you. These things are disagreeable because they tell you that you are no longer young—that you have passed through youth, are now in middle age, and faring onward to the shadows in which, somewhere, a grave is hid.