Quotes
Quotes about Hair
The hair she means to have is gold, Her eyes are blue, she's twelve weeks old, Plump are her fists and pinky. She fluttered down in lucky hour From some blue deep in yon sky bower-- I call her "Little Dinky."
The farmer's daughter hath soft brown hair (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) And I met with a ballad, I can't say where, That wholly consisted of lines like these.
Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth; Her eyebrow's shape was like the aerial bow, Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth, Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow, As if her veins ran lightning.
Cats sleep Anywhere, Any table, Any chair, Top of piano, Window-ledge, In the middle, On the edge.
If a child annoys you, quiet him by brushing his hair. If this doesn't work, use the other side of the brush on the other end of the child.
Always design a thing by considering it in its next larger contextâa chair in a room, a room in a house, a house in an environment, an environment in a city plan. - "Time", July 2, 1956.
You cannot prevent the birds of sorrow from flying over your head, but you can prevent them from building nests in your hair.
Corruption is a tree, whose branches are Of an immeasurable length: they spread Ev'rywhere; and the dew that drops from thence Hath infected some chairs and stools of authority.
He was in Logic, a great critic, Profoundly skill'd in Analytic; He could distinguish, and divide A hair 'twixt south and south-west side.
You may wear your virtues as a crown, As you walk through life serenely, And grace your simple rustic gown With a beauty more than queenly. Though only one for you shall care, One only speak your praises; And you never wear in your shining hair, A richer flower than daisies.
Such pains, such pleasures now alike are o'er, And beaus and etiquette shall soon exist no more At their speed behold advancing Modern men and women dancing; Step and dress alike express Above, below from heel to toe, Male and female awkwardness. Without a hoop, without a ruffle, One eternal jig and shuffle, Where's the air and where's the gait? Where's the feather in the hat? Where the frizzed toupee? and where Oh! where's the powder for the hair?
Incens'd with indignation Satan stood Unterrified, and like a comet burn'd, That fires the length of Ophiucus huge In th' artic sky, and from his horrid hair Shakes pestilence and war.
The discontented man finds no easy chair.
There was an ape in the days that were earlier, Centuries passed and his hair became curlier; Centuries more gave a thumb to his wrist-- Then he was a Man and a Positivist.
I admire people who are suited to the contemplative life. They can sit inside themselves like honey in a jar and just be. It's wonderful to have someone like that around, you always feel you can count on them. You can go away and come back, you can change your mind and your hairdo and your politics, and when you get through doing all these upsetting things, you look around and there they are, just the way they were, just being.
Experience is a comb that life gives you after you lose your hair.
The music, and the banquet, and the wine-- The garlands, the rose odors, and the flowers, The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments-- The white arms and the raven hair--the braids, And bracelets; swan-like bosoms, and the necklace, An India in itself, yet dazzling not.
We sometimes think that we hate flattery, but we only hate the manner in which it is done. [Fr., On croit quelquefoir hair la flatterie; maid on ne hait que a maniere de flatter.]
The happy bells shall ring Marguerite; The summer birds shall sing Marguerite; You smile but you shall wear Orange blossoms in your hair, Marguerite.
A beau is one who arranges his curled locks gracefully, who ever smells of balm, and cinnamon; who hums the songs of the Nile, and Cadiz; who throws his sleek arms into various attitudes; who idles away the whole day among the chair of the ladies, and is ever whispering into some one's ear; who reads little billets- doux from this quarter and that, and writes them in return; who avoids ruffling his dress by contact with his neighbour's sleeve, who knows with whom everybody is in love; who flutters from feast to feast, who can recount exactly the pedigree of Hirpinus. What do you tell me? is this a beau, Cotilus? Then a beau, Cotilus, is a very trifling thing.
The friendship between me and you I will not compare to a chair; for that the rains might rust, or the falling tree might break. - George Bancroft,
The Ethiop gods have Ethiop lips, Bronze cheeks, and woolly hair; The Grecian gods are like the Greeks, As keen-eyed, cold and fair.
Goths are sort of like mimes with long hair and trenchcoats. Neat.
Too bad that all the people who know how to run the country are busy driving taxicabs and cutting hair.
Gray hair is God's graffiti.
