Quotes About Hair

I adore my black skin and my kinky hair. The Negro hair is more educated than the white man's hair. Because with Negro hair, where you put it, it stays. It's obedient. The hair of the white, just give one quick movement, and it's out of place. It won't obey. If reincarnation exists I want to come back black.

When I was Elvira, it was probably the phase of my hair getting too high. I thought that if really high hair was good, then really higher hair was even better. So I just started having my hair get higher and higher. In some of the pictures, we had to cut off the picture because it was like Marge Simpson. So that was embarrassing. The wig phase.

I think that everyone wants sexy hair, and when they think of sexy hair they think of volume - they don't think about flat, limp, lifeless hair. But for some women, it's hard to achieve because we're constantly buying these volumizing shampoos [that] leave a residue in your hair.

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

[Donald Trump] puts a miner's hat on.The media, some in it, were concerned - or hoping - that Trump would have helmet hair when he took the helmet off. They were hoping that he had so much hair spray on, that the miner's helmet he was wearing would leave an indentation in his hair. That was actually a subject in some of the stories I read. So the MacGuffin... There's no media. There isn't any news.

For many women, how our hair looks and feels is an everyday part of our lives, whether we always want it to be or not. And ultimately, feeling good about yourself is good for your life and who you are. So if having the best hair you can have means you feel better about your day, then go get that hair. And don't feel guilty about it!

Hey, our hair's the same color," I said, eyeing us side by side in the mirror. Sure is, Girlfriend." Eric grinned at me. "But are you blond all the way down?" Don't you wish you knew?" Yes," he said simply. Well, you'll just have to wonder." I am," he said. "Blond everywhere," I could tell as much from your chest hair." He raised my arm to check my armpit. "You silly women, shaving your body hair," He said, dropping my arm.

I really think that to a lot of people hair is everything. Bad hair takes over everything, it really does. I think if somebody has bad hair it doesn't matter what else is happening.

You know, if I tell the press that I like long blonde hair, the next day there will be girls with long hair wigs outside waiting for me.

I was inspired by Colin Farrell in the fact that he's Irish and has freckles but with black hair. I'm a bunch of different things, Irish Polish, Native American, and French, but I wanted to tap into that Irish side and be freckle-y with black hair, so that's what I did.

Go to a wig store with your girlfriends, never by yourself. You need someone to say, 'Girl that looks good!' You need someone to encourage you to try pieces on. Try to purchase a wig close to your natural hair color as possible, don't come in with brown hair and try to leave as a redhead unless you are fine with that!

My hair had been dyed blonde for Dredd. After Dredd, I was really fried because of the blonde hair dye, and so I cut it into a bob with bangs and that's how it was during Being Flynn.

If I have a bad hair day, I just think, Well, it will be an OK hair day tomorrow. Just put your head down and go. Life is a bit like being on a roller coaster, which is, You get on and there's no stopping along the way. There are some days when you feel like this is pretty tough, and there are the days that are exhilarating, but you just keep on going.

Around the mid-'90s every hair guy who would have been in a hair-metal band got his tattoos and suddenly decided he was alternative. It just became like a thing.

My parents owned a hair salon, so I learned a few tricks there. I can cut people's hair - if they let me.

When Jo's conservative sister Meg says she must turn up her hair now that she is a "young lady," Jo shouts, "I'm not! and if turning up my hair makes me one, I'll wear it in two tails till I'm twenty.... I hate to think I've got to grow up, and be Miss March, and wear long gowns, and look as prim as a China aster! It's bad enough to be a girl anyway, when I like boys' games and work and manners! I can't get over my disappointment in not being a boy; and it's worse than ever now, for I'm dying to go and fight with Papa, and I can only stay at home and knit, like a poky old woman.

The idea was to have a basin inverted on his head and his hair cut to the shape of it. Skill and money were not needed. Then the idea grew that it was more convenient to leave the basin on his head. Stray thoughts were trimmed along with stray hair; brain-vines, tentacles of thought, were not encouraged to wander. Then, in the interests of human economy, the head of adaptable man became a basin of uniform shape—a basin, a crash helmet. Safe at last; no more thought-cuts.

So one day, in a fit of trying to do something different, I just dyed my hair dark brown and got my first role a week later, after which I thought: 'People are closed-minded, man! Like a different hair colour changes everything!'

In a way he made me think of a child doll, with briliant faintly red-brown glass eyes - a doll that had been found in an attic. I wanted to polish him with kisses, clean him up, make him evevn more radiant than he was. "That's what you always want," he said softly... "When you found me under Les Innocents," he said, "you wanted to bathe me with perfume and dress me in velvevt with great embroidered sleeves." "Yes," I said, "and comb your hair, your beautiful russet hair." My tone was angry. "You look good to me, you damnable little devil, good to embrace and good to love.

That was in Crescent City, California, up near the Oregon border. I left soon after. But today I was thinking of that place, of Crescent City, and of how I was trying out a new life there with my wife, and how, in the barber's chair that morning, I had made up my mind to go. I was thinking today about the calm I felt when I closed my eyes and let the barber's fingers move through my hair, the sweetness of those fingers, the hair already starting to grow.

Alex took a silent step closer to the kitchen door and watched unseen as willow spooned instant coffee into a pair of mugs.With another yawn, she scraped her hair off her face and stretched. She looked so entirely human, so drowsy and sleep-rumpled.For a moment, Alex just gazed at her, taking in her long tumble of hair, her wide green eyes and pixieish chin. Fleetingly, he imagined her eyes meeting his, wondering what she'd look like if she smiled

Don't be afraid to be yourself just because you're not like everybody else in class. If you want to dye your hair green and that's what makes you happy, then dye your hair green, no matter what other people might say about it. Not everybody is going to like you - that's the world we live in; that's reality.

The wildlings seemed to think Ygritte a great beauty because of her hair; red hair was rare among the free folk, and those who had it were said to be kissed by fire, which was supposed to be lucky.

People get real comfortable with their features. Nobody gets comfortable with their hair. Hair trauma. It's the universal thing.

I went to go see 'Final Destination' which you have to be 17 and over to see and they're like 'Uh, we need to see your I.D.' Here's the really funny thing is that I actually had done my hair and makeup that day. If I don't do my hair and makeup I can understand it but I had actually made an effort to look older.

I like hair each and every way. I like to give scalp massages - to pull and tug on it. But my favorite style is long, real hair in a dusty blonde-brown color.

The idea of transformation is super-important to me. You can see it in the way I approach things. I have never been a clean-faced, freshly scrubbed hair person. I'm the New York designer who doesn't do that. I think about the hair and makeup almost as much as I think about the clothes because it all has to work.

My hair is way, way long. I've hitchhiked across the country a zillion times. I've ridden in every car. I was never a hippie. It takes more than long hair.

I have six brothers and sisters. We all look totally different: blonde hair, curly hair, green eyes, dark eyes, dark skin, light skin. It's just how it is.

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.

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

I might have been through some changes, but changing the way I look wasn't one of the major ones. To be honest. I'm sick of the whole subject of my hair. I mean, are you just sitting there looking at my hair, or are you looking at me?

By the 1980s, practically no one under 60 in the real civilian world wore hats for anything except weddings, funerals or Ascot. Hats had been in competition with hair, and hair had won. Thirty years before that, Brits of all classes and ages wore hats all the time.

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.

He anxiously touched his hair. "I think my hair gel's frozen.

Actually, I wouldn't know what to do now if I had hair. I'm pretty comfortable being bald. It doesn't bother me. I've never had one girl tell me she didn't want to have sex with me because I didn't have any hair.

Sam Harris made that great analogy. He said, 'If someone was talking into their hair dryer and claiming that they were speaking to God, they would call Bellevue. But, take away the hair dryer, it's just praying.'

I intend to stay on her like hair on soap.

In truth, a mature man who uses hair oil, unless medicinally, that man has probably got a quoggy spot in him somewhere.

Is that a yes?" he asked, pushing his fingers through my hair, fanning it out around my shoulders and searching my face intently. "Please let it be yes," he said with a gravelly edge. "Stay with me tonight. Let me hold you, even if that's all it is. Let me keep you safe.

Oh my god! Would you shut the front door already?! Look at you walking out here with your hair done, nails done, everything did. Whatchu think you fancy, huh? Look, uh, sweetheart, I don't speak Gucci or anything, but I'll give it my best shot.

In the end, punk inevitably burned itself out and acted as a bridge across which the New Romantics could sashay in their chiffon and glossy hair.

I feel like someone after a deluge being asked to describe the way it was before the flood while I'm still plucking seaweed out of my hair.

Oh, dear." She let her head fall back to the pillow. "There it went. I've fallen in love with you now." "Just now?" Chuckling, he came to a sitting position, resting his forearm on one bent knee. "Well, thank God for belated blessings." He ran a hand through his hair. "It's been coming on rather longer than that for me." "What?" She sat bolt upright. "What can you mean? Since when?" "From the first, Amelia. From the very first.

Feminists were psyched that I had armpit hair

I am in Paris. Yes ma'am , I made it back. I came up from Berlin, stopped here ten days, fought a losing battle against my deepest inclinations, pulled myself out by the hair and went to Madrid...Madrid is a lovely enchanting city, and there was almost ready for me a kind of penthouse full of sunlight, a roof garden, and so on. I gave one look at it all, returned to the hotel and went to bed and wept bitterly for eleven hours...Why? Because I had seen Paris and could not endure the thought of being anywhere else.

My best feature is my hair.

What people don't get is that hair is such a big part of our identity.