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.
My hair isn’t turning gray. It’s actually silver, and it’s going up in value, so you’d better buy it before the currency is completely devalued.
You should've told me Tess," I murmured against her hair. "You helped me find my humanness but you took it away with your lies.
Everyone wants a Christmas tree. If you had a Christmas tree Santa would bring you stuff! Like hair curlers and slut shoes.
How come they get to be gray-haired and still in love with each other, while Lilly tears out what's left of my heart and dumps it into her Jill-The-Ripper shredder?
The colour grey is an unemotional colour, neutral, on the fence and neither here, nor there. Tis why old people’s hair turns grey . . . betwixt life and death.
You can't keep the birds of sadness from flying over your head, but you can keep them from nesting in your hair.
The cat hair floated in the air like a sound vibration, and I plucked it like a guitar string. Sometimes I can be so musical I’m like a living love song.
I shaved off a few seconds from my morning routine by not shaving off my facial hair. I’m growing a handlebar mustache for charity—and for something to hang on to while I ride my unicycle.
Here's my tip: Have your production hire the best hair stylists on the planet to do your films and commercials, then casually hint about how great it would be to get a trim during lunch break.
I was, like, a total cliched '80s child. I had Barbies, obviously, as well as My Little Ponies and Cabbage Patch Kids, but I used to destroy them. I used to draw all over their faces and cut off their hair.
I am inspired by anything beautiful. Sometime it's a pair of eyes or flowing gorgeous hair, other times it's the sky or a sunset. I've been inspired by supple skin or the texture of a soft shirt.
I got kicked out of a club for sticking up for my sister. And I got into a fight that was basically hair pulling and rolling around on the gym floor. The fights make me sound like a hell-raiser, but I'm not proud of them.
The rhetoric on the Hill is getting very heated and it's getting quite dangerous. The gun is at the head of the American economy and Congress is holding it and its got a hair trigger. We've got to pay our bills.
My father-in-law has ear hair like a wolverine. It fans out from the auricles, wafting from the ridge lines like cilia, like gray feathered plumage.
Ron was always my favorite character, because I feel like I relate to him, like we've both got red hair, we both like sweets, we've both got lots of brothers and sisters.
This is a very superficial job. I sit in a chair for two hours and get hair and makeup done and talk about myself in interviews. That's a very vain thing to do. And I do get caught up in it sometimes.
My hair is naturally curly, and in the 80's, even though I experimented with different lengths, I generally wore it curly. Since then, I've learned how to use a blow dryer and flat iron.
