Hair Quotes
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My worst memory is of my first dance lesson as a 14-year old in Prague. My mother put me in this silver and pink lame dress. My hair was all curled, and it was the first time I wore a garter belt. I felt so out of place!
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I think if I'd have been an actor who didn't care, I'd have less gray hair, and I'd be a lot less tired.
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I love rewriting because that is where and how you discover the story. It's like you have this skeleton, and you get to put flesh on it and hair and clothes and really wonderful jewelry.
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I go into hair and makeup, and I turn into 'Victoria Beckham.'
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I must say also that it's never worked to my disadvantage that I have long, blond hair.
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What is your instigation? You have nothing else to fucking worry about than if I have bleached hair or not? I mean, fuck.
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I ripped off half my hair with a waxing strip, and it didn't grow back for, like, 5 months.
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He came over and ruffled my hair, which is technically assault. I could get on the blower to ChildLine.
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It wasn't cool that I didn't comb my hair and had books and wore glasses. It was never cool be a nerd and tomboy, and these days, it really is. And I'm like, 'You guys have no idea what I went through.' How many times my mother yelled at me to comb my hair.
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My hair has never been my greatest feature, so that was funny enough unto itself that my hair became so focused on.
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He moved to run a hand through her cornrows, then pulled back remembering the one time he's tried that-Connie had lectured him on the Eleventh Commandment: Thou shalt not touch thy black girlfriend's hair. Ever.
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So, I'm going to go over on Angel. Joss is just going to find a way to keep me bleaching my hair, which is fine.
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Along A River-Side, I Know Not Where,I walked one night in mystery of dream;A chill creeps curdling yet beneath my hair,To think what chanced me by the pallid gleamOf a moon-wraith that waned through haunted air.
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I have a job that allows me not to look perfect all the time. I can just go looking the way I look, have my hair just any old type of way.
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A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life.
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People get real comfortable with their features. Nobody gets comfortable with their hair. Hair trauma. It's the universal thing.
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It is foolish to tear one's hair in grief, as though sorrow would be made less by baldness.
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I'm not trying to blow out a camera lens or make the audience's hair go straight back from my sheer volume, sheer energy level.
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The thing about going back to El Paso, it's overwhelming sometimes. I look at the support that I get and the success that I've had, and I can't walk anywhere without being spotted. My hair might be the biggest crime in this situation.
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Time has stopped; time is racing. Lochie's lips are rough yet smooth, hard yet gentle. His fingers are strong: I feel them in my hair and on my neck and down my arms and against my back. And I never want him to let me go.
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Good manners. They're forgotten in America. I think it's bad manners to stand around in public with ripped jeans and your hair in a mess, holding a Starbucks.
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For some reason, I wrote about the bed we slept in when I was a kid. It was a half-acre of misery, that bed, sagging in the middle, red hair sticking out of the mattress, the spring gone and the fleas leaping all over the place.
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I got your strand of hair, I kiss it day and night.
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I am not this hair, I am not this skin, I am the soul that lives within
