True beauty is not related to what color your hair is or what color your eyes are. True beauty is about who you are as a human being, your principles, your moral compass.
That young man with the long, auburn hair and the impudent face - that young man was not really a poet; but surely he was a poem.
I had only four hairs worth shaving, but I managed to inflict five cuts attempting to remove them.
Dry snow coming down in the hills. Magpies hair-triggered and thuggish in worn trees. A wall has started to fall in you, it will take years to land.
His eyes were eggs of unstable crystal, vibrating with a frequency whose name was rain and the sound of trains, suddenly sprouting a humming forest of hair-fine glass spines.
Hey, our hair's the same color," I said, eying us side by side in the mirror. "Sure is, girlfriend." Eric grinned at me.
At this moment, all I'm thinking about is what I'd give up for the chance to kiss her or to run my fingers through her dark hair.
So, we skipped Annabel, and discussed condoms. I said I liked the orange ones, and we ended our talk in laughter.
First Pallas and now you,” the gray-haired man said, shaking his head at Nick. “It’s like I’m running a goddamn dating service around here.
Like a statue, I’m hairless. Also like a statue, I have hair. Let’s make love like a dandelion goes bald in the breeze.
He cries. 'Please! I don't want to die.' I lean over. My hair smothers him. 'Then you should never have been born,' I say.
As a man, I instantly became aware of the gold in her hair, her height measured against mine, and how easily she'd fit in my arms. ~Ren
Pretty doll," rasped the dark haired vampire as he went about behind her, and she could feel his ravenous hunger practically radiating off him.
She wasn't any bigger than a minute and had hair like wild gold, and she was always merry as a marriage bell.
She was an extraordinary person too! Would you believe it, she cut her hair short, and used to go about in men’s boots in bad weather
[Lily] "Petunia's hair is too curly to braid," She said conversationally. Oliver wasn't sure why, but that was what finally made him blush.
Work hard or don’t work hard, either way your hair will turn gray. I should let you be alone while you die, slowly.
Love is like a blanket: it will keep you warm, but it might also suffocate you. Also, it's probably covered with cat hair—love, I mean.
We want to believe that this life is longer than it is, but in the grand scheme of the universe our existence equals the amount of time it takes a warm breeze to blow through your hair on a spring day.
I want to buy “A Touch of Gray,” because I’d look more distinguished with a touch of gray in my hair. Also, geriatrics make better lovers.
I’m getting gray hair in all sorts of crazy places. Like all over my carpet. It’s like I live in a nursing home, except without all the sex.
