And only now, when he was gray-haired, had he fallen in love properly, thoroughly, for the first time in his life.
I shaved my pubic hair, glued it on a wig, and declared it art. No museum was willing to exhibit it. I should have sprinkled cheddar cheese on top and called it An Ode To Love.
Do you know the best way to get your body heat back?" Ethan asked her as he looked her in the eyes and stroked her glossy brown hair. “The way to warm up is to lie next to another person. Naked.
I've been praying to Jesus and the Holy Ghost for and I have also mentioned that it would help if I did not have frizzy hair.
I say, you look smashing this evening," Zayne strode over to her, took her arm, and began helping her up the walk, "That is a lovely gown, and what is the color of the hair you're currently sporting?
I curled my lip at the sight of sizzling human hair and skin clinging to my demon flesh. Damn, I’d have given anything to be back in Boston, sipping chai tea latte." ~ Muse, Ties That Bind, #5 The Veil Series.
I threw back my head, my hair falling about me like a great red curtain, and cried out. My eyes felt hot and burned with tears as my body trembled with the passion for blood.
I like the word clandestine. It feels medieval. Sometimes I think of words as being alive. If clandestine were alive, it would be a pale little girl with hair the color of fall leaves and a dress as white as the moon.
I like the way you've let your hair go curly," he finally said. "Suits your personality. Lots of energy, not much control, sexy as hell," Joe Morelli to Stephanie Plum
I love the smell of my mother’s hair after she washes it. I love the feel of the scratchy stubble on my father’s face before he shaves. But I’ve never been able to tell them.
You know a lot about math," I said. You know a lot about math? What type of statement was that? Right along the lines of "Hey, you have hair and it's red and curly." Real smooth.
The longer I lived, the longer it would be until I saw him alive again, until I could taste his new lips and run my fingers through his new hair. We could be young and beautiful again . . .
He was in my hair, my eyes, my fingers, my heart. I day-dreamed about what he was doing, thinking, seeing, smelling, feeling. I could not eat for thoughts of him.
Come here, baby." And with my words, Echo leaned into me soft, pliant, broken. "You're not alone," I whispered into her hair as I cradled her in my arms. "You're not alone, because you have me."
I’m covered in fish hair! I have a dwarf shaped like a suitcase that I carry everywhere. Women tell me I love too deeply. Wrong! I love too widely.
I wash my hair with strawberry jelly, because my favorite thing to eat for breakfast is lunch. It’s never too late to love someone, but sometimes it is too early.
I collect hair. I keep most of it on my floor, but my most valuable patches I display on the bodies of a few cats I have roaming my house like walking art displays that meow.
The way my vacuum cleaner sucks up cat hair, I shouldn’t have been surprised when it huffed up my mustache. But I was surprised it sucked out all the love and romance in our relationship.
To forgive is Godly. To begrudge is manly. I don’t even have any chest hair, so you know where I stand.
There was something pathetic about the rejected wife bravely pulling herself together, joining a tennis club, doing a photography course, cutting her hair, venturing timidly back out onto the single scene.
I’m going to put you on the ground, now, Willa.” He clutches a fistful of my hair and whispers hotly against my ear. “Then I’m going to get between your thighs and fuck you. I told you this was inevitable, didn’t I?
