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."
Humans are part of nature, and nature is one great big wood chipper. Sooner or later, everything shoots out the other end in a spray of blood, bones, and hair.
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?
I'm glad you're better," he said. His mouth sounded like it was almost in my hair, just above my my ear. "When I saw you fall..." "You thought, 'Wow, she's a loser.
I love a boy with sun-kissed hair, With ocean storms in his bright blue eyes, I love a boy who drinks my tears when I cry.
Maya wrapped one leg around him, writhing against him as she threaded her fingers through his hair and held him to her, urging him on. "Never stop touching me that way," Maya rasped.
He was almost twenty and Ree knew most girls would call him handsome or dreamy or some such. Sandy hair, blue eyes, put together strong, with bright teeth and one of those smiles.
What have you done to your hair?” Mom’s broken voice said, pinning me back to this tiny hospital room. “Holy shit!” Icka patted her head as if searching. “You think the nurse stole it? She looked shady.
He meticulously tries to get every hair in place. He tilts his head to look at himself from different angles, like there's some magic perspective in the mirror that could change the dimensions of his face' -Olivia/Via thinking
Captain Midlands: "I met the real you once." John (Lennon) the Skrull: "You're meeting the real me now." Captain Midlands: "I told him to get his bleedin' hair cut.
I can tell you that, you know, when I went to my first movie premiere, it was my own movie, and I wore the best jeans I had and my favorite top. You know, I made sure my hair had some wave in it because I braided it the night before myself.
under his dripping hair, he was as white as parchment, his hands clenched at his sides so tightly that they were shaking. It seemed clear that some terrible turmoil was ripping him apart from the inside out.
Hither came Conan, the Cimmerian, black-haired, sullen-eyed, sword in hand, a thief, a reaver, a slayer, with gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirth, to tread the jeweled thrones of the Earth under his sandaled feet.
Can I brush your hair?” she asked as she led the way, her disposition doing a 180 on a dime. Kids. Can’t live with ’em. Can’t eat ’em for lunch.
