Let…it…go,” he whispers, his voice a fierce, harsh sound in my hair. “No. No!” The last word is screamed. “You have to. You can’t bleed it out. You can’t keep pretending, drinking it down.
Tell them there are no holes for your fingers in the masks of men. Tell them how could you ever even hope to love what you can't grab onto.
I had no contacts in, no make-up on, my hair was a frizzy state, my bum was on show for the whole world to see and, for the I also happened to be hanging upside-down from a tree.
Any curly-haired boy can write windswept ballads. You have to crush people's heads. That's the only way to make those fuckers listen.
Truly, Mallow yearned to know everything. Curiosity was part of her, like her short blond hair and bitten fingernails.
New hair, new clothes-the classic relationship break-up makeover," Jake said. Delaney stared at him for a beat. In a way, he was right. She breaking up with Sam. He just didn't know it.
Really?" Claire said, and couldn't help but smile. "That's what creeps you out. Waxing. You can take on vampires and draug and killers, but you're afraid of a little chest-hair pulling?
Shit, this woman's scary. I'm glad my manager's the short one with the wispy hair and the shaking hands. Milo knows how to get stuff done, but he's about as terrifying as a goldfish.
A cool breeze stirred my hair at that moment, as the night wind began to come down from the hills, but it felt like a breath from another world.
Papa!” she whispered. “I have no eyes!” He patted the girl’s hair. She’d fallen into his trap. “With a smile like that,” Hans Hubermann said, “you don’t need eyes.
I think that each woman, whatever age, needs to recognize something good in her body. Someone has beautiful legs, someone has beautiful hair, someone else has beautiful decolletage or a beautiful waist or beautiful hands. Everyone has something great...
Fighting with tangles, fighting with curls, the poor barber yanked, the poor barber pulled, until with one last effort (and to the wonder of us all) a GINORMOUS Polar Bear landed on the floor.
At the bottom of the stairs, I caught sight of a tall Sentinel with brown hair pulled into a low ponytail. Solos. As far as I recalled, I hadn't threatened him with bodily harm - at least not to his face.
Stay on my six, he said, nuzzling the hair at her ear and breathing deeply the sweet scent of her. You remember what that is, right? It's your ass.
His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad, His hair is as dark as a blackboard. I wish he was mine, he's really divine, The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.
Hey!” I said, indignation filling me. “I’m immortal! Doesn’t that mean I won’t get saggy boobs and gray hair? Because if it doesn’t mean that, I want a refund—
I would have asked you to let down your hair" turning to regard her with a grin, his teeth a slash of white in his blackened face. "But it is not quite long enough anymore.
The leaves are orange, her hair is orange, and my mood is blue. That reminds me, I really do need to make some more coffee.
He had sky eyes and sun hair and all the women loved him. And all I had was an empty coffee cup, full of sleepy hope.
What if just you and I hung out, like last summer?" Nick sat up and began twirling a lock of my wet hair around his finger. "Josh never needs to know.
No, women like you don't write. They carve onion sculptures and potato statues. They sit in dark corners and braid their hair in new shapes and twists in order to control the stiffness, the unruliness, the rebelliousness.
