Quotes About Hair

There was this thing written that I had gone into a candle store, and my hair went up in flames because of all the hair spray. First of all, I never have hair spray in my hair, and I've never even heard of this store, and my hair has never been burned.

I really started getting my body ready when I was a freshman in high school. I had just been skating so much, and just started getting so annoyed with leg hair and arm hair, because I was falling so much when I was learning. So I would get scabs on my legs, and the hair would get caught in it. It just became a nuisance. And from that point on, I continued to shave my arms and legs and tried to stay sleek.

I thought Id be edgy and dye my hair red. And I dyed my hair, like, Jessica Rabbit red. It kind of allowed me to have this whole new confidence and this whole new swagger and this whole new sense of self. It kind of brought out the inner rock star in me. I had never dyed my hair like that, and no one forgot me after that.

I am very impressed with the results (from laser hair removal). Even after the first treatment, there was a huge difference. I save time everyday that would be spent waxing or shaving. Laser hair removal also saves money in the long run. Now I don't have to deal with razor burn or ingrown hairs since the hair does not grow back!

I cut my hair short and it basically changed everything overnight. I was about 18 when I cut my hair off - the little pixie haircut. Nobody had short hair at the time. Literally overnight everything changed. I worked with Steven Meisel within a month and a half and I booked every show. Then I got a Vogue cover - my first Vogue - and that came out a few months later.

My hairstylist taught me a trick for my hair. You section off your hair and put them up in these crazy little knots and then it looks like you curled your hair. It's saved me so much time 'cause on the road you don't have time or plugs to plug your curling iron in.

I mean, that is a mop of real hair. He has hair like a 15-year-old ... and so, I have to acknowledge I am a little envious of his hair.

The stinkiest hair products have got to be any sort of perm, and Nair. In fact, they smell remarkably similar. Do you think that Nair is just a souped-up version of a perm that makes your leg hair super-curl until it falls off? And can anything that smells that bad be good for you?

Benji usually tries to match his hair with his underwear, and you know how he had the pink hair for a while well we caught him in a pink thong one day!

Anyone who knows me knows that I am really into hair. I'm a real girly girl and love doing my hair and experimenting with different styles.

My hair is an aesthetic choice… At the same time, how you wear your hair is a political statement as well.

What my mom failed to understand was that I didn't even want long hair -- I needed long hair. And my desire for protracted, flowing locks had virtually nothing to do with fashion, nor was it a form of protest against the constructions of mainstream society. My motivation was far more philosophical. I wanted to rock.

Roger Maris lost his hair the season he hit sixty-one, I still have all my hair, but when it's over, I'm going home to Mobile and fish for a long time.

I'm Southern. I like big hair and eyeliner. I want my wedding day to be me, so I’ll probably be rocking some big hair and some eyeliner.

But her name was Esmé. She was a girl with long, long, red, red hair. Her mother braided it. The flower shop boy stood behind her and held it in his hand. Her mother cut it off and hung it from a chandelier. She was Queen. Mazishta. Her hair was black and her handmaidens dressed it with pearls and silver pins. Her flesh was golden like the desert. Her flesh was pale like cream. Her eyes were blue. Brown.

He knew that hair couldn't feel; he kissed her hair.

My one main secret I did right after my pageants days, is I only wash my hair once a week. I tell everyone, 'You have to stop washing your hair so much!'

There are stories about winter ghosts found tangled like lice in their lovers' hair. Dead people have no hair themselves, which is how they can be recognized in winter. But in summer, the living and dead may pass each other on the street, and no one knows the difference.

I grew up in a predominantly Caucasian community, and most of my friends had blonde hair and blue eyes. So I was always straightening my hair, wearing colored contacts, and I never tanned, if I could help it.

The creative process is just a process and you can't really separate it from life. Growing your hair is a creative process. Your body is creating hair. Being alive is a creative process. Whether it's growing something in the garden or growing a song, the material accumulates. It's the process of being alive; it's the passage of time. Things change.

One time, many, many years ago, I had the opportunity to dye my hair brunette for a film. And the day I walked out of the hotel where I had it done, I walked out onto the street and realized people looked me in the eye and greeted me good morning. I'd never had that experience before! And I began to notice that a brunette is treated as an affable human being. Later, when I dyed my hair for Lois Riley blonde, and then Alice Ward blonde, people come right up to you, they touch you on the arm, they ask you how you're doing. Men and women both! Blondes have more fun.

Maybe if I have another baby [I will grow my hair], because your hair grows super fast. I'll just grow it out and go natural for a minute.

For all the feminist jabber about women being victimized by fashion, it is men who most suffer from conventions of dress. Every day, a woman can choose from an army of personae, femme to butch, and can cut or curl her hair or adorn herself with a staggering variety of artistic aids. But despite the Sixties experiments in peacock dress, no man can rise in the corporate world today, outside the entertainment industry, with long hair or makeup or purple velvet suits.

I never wash my hair the night before an event - I call it second day hair, and it holds better. Also, the day before, test run your makeup and watch it every couple of hours (see if your mascara is bleeding, or if your lip gloss runs out really quickly). Oh, and for me, shoe-wise, platforms give me the same height that I need, but they're not as taxing on my feet.

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

I remember walking into drugstores when I was younger and seeing all the hair color boxes on the shelves and just being so in awe. Having the control to dye your hair and change your look is such a part of self-expression.

My hair has never been my greatest feature, so that was funny enough unto itself that my hair became so focused on.

I think I am at my best when my hair is short. It's easier to take care of and more of who I am. Women are conditioned to think we need long hair.

I was always told from the hat-makers that you should have your hair up because it shows the hat more. It feels more 'done' when your hair is up.

Hair extensions and wigs are not the same thing. Wigs are for old ladies and drag queens. Extensions are for women who want longer hair. To be safe, never bring it up if you think a woman is wearing either. No good comes of it.

When I first colored my hair, my mother loved it. I got kicked out of school when I was 15, just for my hair.

Yes, you make yourself useful, angel boy. Meanwhile, I’ll be in the bathroom.” William’s jet-black hair was dripping wet and plastered to his face. There was a fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist, displaying muscles that rivaled Paris’s own, and a tattooed treasure map that led to his man junk. Looking at his, you could see the makings of a temper so savage anyone who miraculously survived an encounter with him would end up needing therapy. And diapers. “I’ve got to finish deep conditioning my hair.” Or maybe not so savage.

I've never dyed my hair or even gotten highlights. All the products I need for my hair are at the drugstore!

My hair is pure. It stands for purity because no foreign chemicals or substances has ever touched my hair.

My English teacher has no face. She has uncombed stringy hair that droops on her shoulders. The hair is black from her part to her ears and then neon orange to the frizzy ends. I can't decide if she had pissed off her hairdresser or is morphing into a monarch butterfly. I call her Hairwoman.

Louis-Cesare’s anger suddenly filled the small room like water, and in a heartbeat his eyes went from silver tinged to as solid as two antique coins. I sat frozen, awash in a sea of power. I was beginning to understand why Mircea had wanted him along, only Daddy had failed to mention anything about the hair-trigger temper. I guess he assumed the red hair would clue me in.

I'm very lucky that I have people styling my hair and teaching me how to work with it, but it wasn't always like that. Growing up, I had extremely wavy and thick hair and that can be very overwhelming - you end up with the same ponytail every day.

What I remember most about junior homecoming was my date getting sick afterwards. That kinda sucked. Then, senior year, someone got gum in her hair when we were dancing. She had to get one of the chaperones to take her to the office and cut up her hair. I felt really bad for her, but it worked out fine

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

If you take five white guys and put 'em with five black guys, and let 'em hang around together for about a month, and at the end of the month, you'll notice that the white guys are walking and talking and standing like the black guys do. You'll never see the black guys going, "Oh, golly! We won the big game today, yes sir!" But you'll see guys with red hair named Duffy going, "What's happenin'?"

I also said, men are like curling irons, they never get out of your hair. And they are like government bonds, they take so long to mature.

There are things that you can't do - like writing letters to a part of yourself. To your feet or hair. Or heart.

I hung my fingertips on his waistband, tugging him closer. Patch buried his face in the curve of my shoulder, his hands flexing over my back. He gave a low groan. "I love you," he murmured into my hair. "I'm happier right now than I ever remember being.

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.

First draft: let it run. Turn all the knobs up to 11. Second draft: hell. Cut it down and cut it into shape. Third draft: comb its nose and blow its hair. I usually find that most of the book will have handed itself to me on that first draft.

I have eyes like a bullfrog, a neck like an ostrich and long, limp hair. You just have to be good to survive with that equipment.

I mean, seriously, what lady of taste could resist a shiny green head of hair like mine?

The media create this wonderful illusion-but the amount of airbrushing that goes into those beauty magazines-the hours of hair and makeup! It's impossible to live up to, because it's not real.