Angry Hair Quotes

I drank some too-hot coffee and scowled at him, annoyed although I couldn't remember why. The light from the lounge was leaking in, highlighting his spiky blond hair. I decided that must be it.
"You really hate my hair, don't you?" he asked, a smile flickering over his lips so fast I might have imagined it.
"Yeah"
"Why?"
I reached out to touch it, and was surprised as always to find it mostly soft. Just a little stiff in places from whatever product he used on it. It felt weird, imagining Pritkin having anything in his hair but sweat. But he must have; nobody's did that all on its own.
"It's like ... angry hair," I said, trying to pat it down and failing miserably.
He caught my wrist. "Most people would say that suits me."
"I'm not most people."
"I know. ~ Karen Chance

No matter what you tell me - " his lips curved into a sexy smile " - I'll still want you."


"But you'll at least understand why it's a bad idea."


He tipped his head back under the water. "Oh, Doc…" He ran his hands through his hair and met her eyes again. "I'm the king of bad ideas. ~ Lisa Kessler

In the mirror I'm something from a 2AM movie about Catholic Schoolgirl vampires. Revenge-black hair, short and sharp; a face that says she'll pull you to the dark side and you'll love every second of it. ~ Hannah Capin

I belong to Bridegrooms Anonymous. Whenever I feel like getting married, they send over a lady in a housecoat and hair curlers to burn my toast for me. ~ Dick Martin

I was always awake!" interrupted Faith. "I was always angry! ~ Frances Hardinge

He splayed his fingers in her hair and stared at her for a few moments. "I'm giving in to the need to do what I wanted the minute I saw ye exit the Land Rover with the Scottish gales blowing about yer golden hair."
"What?"
"I'm going to kiss ye. ~ Vonnie Davis

Her face was not young, but it was simple; it was not fresh, but it was mild. She had large eyes which were not bright, and a great deal of hair which was not 'dressed,' and long fine hands which were
possibly
not clean. ~ Henry James

Think of the great spirits of the last 50 years: Ghandi killed, not by a Pakistani Muslim, but one of his own Hindus, who hated him because he wanted India for the Muslims, the Sikhs, for everybody; Sadat, killed by the organization that Mr. bin Laden's No. 2 heads now, not by an Israeli, but by an Egyptian. My friend Yitzhak Rabin
after a lifetime defending Israel, killed
not by a Palestinian terrorist, but an angry Israeli because he wanted to lay down arms and take up peace ... Fanatics are defined by their hatreds; free people by their humanity. ~ William J. Clinton

The thing that attracted me to my husband was his pride. I'll never forget the first time I saw him, standing up on a hill, his hair blowing in the breeze - and he too proud to run and get it. ~ Jean Carroll

When Vanity kissed Vanity, a hundred happy Junes ago, he pondered o'er her breathlessly, and, that all men might ever know, he rhymed her eyes with life and death:
"Thru Time I'll save my love!" he said ... yet Beauty vanished with his breath, and, with her lovers, she was dead ...
-Ever his wit and not her eyes, ever his art and not her hair:
"Who'd learn a trick in rhyme, be wise and pause before his sonnet there" ... So all my words, however true, might sing you to a thousandth June, and no one ever know that you were Beauty for an afternoon. ~ F Scott Fitzgerald

Sometimes you have to recycle celebrities to make them interesting, and they can be even better the second time around. Case in point: the fabulous and talented Miss Joey Heatherton, star of stage, screen, Vegas and mattress commercials. Close your eyes and imagine what it would be like to wake up one day and be Joey Heatherton. On July 8, 1985, it must not have felt so hot. Joey, goddess, was detained in the U.S. passport office at Rockefeller Center for allegedly becoming abusive at not receiving special treatment in the passport line. Supposedly, she threw a tantrum, grabbed passport-office clerk, Mary Polik, tore her hair out and smashed her head against the Formica counter. Oh, well, nobody's perfect. ~ John Waters

The bottom half of the page had descended into a doodle of a tiny man giving the middle finger to a giant, angry eagle with razor-sharp talons. Beneath it, the caption: To Mock a Killing Bird. ~ Seth Grahame-Smith

I'd love to have time to do my hair, honestly. I'd love to be Victoria Beckham just for one day - to look that good. But I can't. ~ Pink

Mimbrates are the bravest people in the world
probably because they don't have brains enough to be afraid of anything. Garion's friend Mandorallen is totally convinced that he's invincible."
"He is," Ce'Nedra said in automatic defense of her knight. "I saw him kill a lion once with his bare hands."
" ... I heard him suggest to Barak and Hettar once that the three of them attack an entire Tolnedran legion."
"Perhaps he was joking."
"Mimbrate knights don't know how to joke," Silk told him.
"I will not sit here and listen to you people insult my knight," Ce'Nedra said hotly.
"We'renot insulting hi, Ce'Nedra," Silk told her. "We're describing him. He's so noble he makes my hair hurt."
"Nobility is an alien concept to a Drasnian, I suppose," she noted.
"Not alien, Ce'Nedra. Incomprehensible. ~ David Eddings

Her long beautiful red hair wasn't what got me to stare. It was her beautiful heart that I heard beating when I thought no one was there. Her hugs wasn't what got me to stay, it was the thought of me being alone again and I was afraid. She completes me more than she knows. I admire her more than I show, they say true love is hard to find but, I don't believe that because once I saw her in my dreams, I knew she was mines. I've waited for this day for so long and she never knew it, I plan to give her the world. Lord please don't let me blow it. ~ N.I.

I couldn't lose her. I wouldn't. Just the thought of never being able to touch her again made me crazy. Crazier than losing all my friends. Crazier than being the least popular guy in school. Crazier than having Amma perpetually angry at me. Losing her was the worst thing I could imagine. Like I was falling, but this time I would definitely hit the ground. ~ Kami Garcia

His hair was dark as the shadows of twilight. ~ J.R.R. Tolkien

It was the Gypsy, the boy with the eyes of a hungry panther. He had removed his coat and waistcoat... and his necktie as well... so that his upper half was covered only in a thin white shirt that had been tucked loosely into the waist of his close-fitting trousers. The sight of him elicited the same reaction Daisy had felt upstairs- a swift sting in her chest followed by the rapid pumping of her heart. Paralyzed by the realization that she was alone in the room with him, Daisy watched with unblinking eyes as he approached her slowly.
She had never seen any living being who had been fashioned with such dark exotic beauty... his skin the color of raw clover honey, the light hazel of his eyes framed with heavy black lashes, his thick obsidian hair tumbled over his forehead. ~ Lisa Kleypas

He smirked and that was it. I propelled myself forward and into his arms, our mouths instantly locking in a frenzied kiss, my hands grasping his collar, his shirt, his hair, his anything. ~ Jennifer DeLucy

I fight the same way as my dad! I've picked that up from him. We both get angry really fast and very intensely, and then get over it very quickly. You need to be good at apologising if you fight like that. ~ Tove Lo

My interest in comics was scribbled over with a revived, energized passion for clothes, records, and music. I'd wandered in late to the punk party in 1978, when it was already over and the Sex Pistols were history.

I'd kept my distance during the first flush of the new paradigm, when the walls of the sixth-form common room shed their suburban-surreal Roger Dean Yes album covers and grew a fresh new skin of Sex Pistols pictures, Blondie pinups, Buzzcocks collages, Clash radical chic. As a committed outsider, I refused to jump on the bandwagon of this new musical fad,
which I'd written off as some kind of Nazi thing after seeing a photograph of Sid Vicious sporting a swastika armband. I hated the boys who'd cut their long hair and binned their crappy prog albums in an attempt to join in. I hated pretty much everybody without discrimination, in one way or another, and punk rockers were just something else to add to the shit list.

But as we all know, it's zealots who make the best converts. One Thursday night, I was sprawled on the settee with Top of the Pops on the telly when Poly Styrene and her band X-Ray Spex turned up to play their latest single: an exhilarating sherbet storm of raw punk psychedelia entitled "The Day the World Turned Day-Glo" By the time the last incandescent chorus played out, I was a punk. I had always been a punk. I would always be a punk. Punk brought it all together in one place for me: Michael Moorcock's Jerry Cornelius nov ~ Grant Morrison

She could hardly believe it, not after ten years, but they were finally making out on her couch. And Holy Mother of God, Bryce Ryder could kiss!
He was slow and lazy with his kisses, but masterful. His tongue and fingers were thrusting forward and back, in and out, mimicking sex, winding her up so tight until she was rubbing her p#ssy against his hand while clutching his hair. More . . . she had to have more. ~ Sophie Renwick

The footsteps behind her stopped. A warm brush of fingertips traveled up her arms as a firm chest pressed against her back. Daniel. She could sense his glow without even turning. She closed her eyes. His arms wrapped around her waist and his soft lips swept across her neck, stopping just below her ear.
"I found you," he whispered.
She turned slowly in his arms. The sight of him took her breath away. He was still her Daniel, of course, but his skin was the color of rich hot chocolate,and his wavy black hair was cropped very short. He wore only a short linen loincloth,leather sandals, and a silver choker around his neck. His deep-set violet eyes swept over her, happy.
He and Layla were deeply in love.
She rested her cheek on his chest and counted the beats of his heart. Would this be the last time she did this,the last time he held her against his heart? She was about to do the right thing-the good thing for Daniel. But still it pained her to think about it. She loved him! If this journey had taught her anything, it was how much she truly loved Daniel Grigori. It hardly seemed fair that she was forced to make this decision.
Yet here she was.
In ancient Egypt.
With Daniel. For the very last time. She was about to set him free. ~ Lauren Kate

She stared up into gold eyes. Bearded jaw. Sandy brown hair. And a face that said, Clint Eastwood is my father ~ Ronie Kendig

Bring her back,hell,Grant thought, dragging a hand through his hair. He'd beg,plead,grovel, whatever it took to make her give him another chance. It was her fault, he decided with a quick switch back to fury. Her fault, that he was acting like a maniac. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep in over two weeks.And the solitude he'd always prized was threatening to smother him.If he didn't find her soon, he'd lose what was left of his mind. ~ Nora Roberts

Try not to laugh. To the girl with golden hair and beauty with no compare. Wait for me at midnight. Sit at your window, in your lovely pink chair and wait, my sweet. I'll find you there. C ~ J.B. Hartnett

My age makes all my wrinkles and gray hair make sense. ~ Tig Notaro

On the field, you have to be aggressive; you're thinking how to get the better of a situation. It's not that I don't laugh on the field. In fact, I think it's very important to laugh, especially when you are angry and aggressive, to just take the tension away, make the moment go away. ~ Yuvraj Singh

These human eyes seemed weak to me at first," said Eskar, still staring away from me, scratching her short black hair. "They detect fewer colors and have terrible resolution, but they see things dragon eyes cannot. They can see beyond surfaces. I don't understand how that's possible, but it happened incrementally as I traveled with Orma: I began to see the inside of him. His questioning and gentle nature. His conviction. I'd glimpse it in something as incongruous as his hand holding a teacup, or his eyes when he spoke of you. ~ Rachel Hartman

There are a lot of people walking around with long hair now and some trendy middle class kids in pretty clothes. But nothing changed except that we all dressed up a bit, leaving the same bastards running everything. ~ John Lennon

Librarians were like guardian angels, with graying hair and beady eyes, magnified through reading glasses, and always read to recommend new literary windows to gaze through. ~ Ellen Hopkins

An angry man opens his mouth and shuts his eyes. ~ Cato The Elder

Carma,
Here are the Pants and a little sketch I made of Leo. From memory, not from life. (And no, I'm not thinging of him day and night. God.)
Funny hair, huh?
He did not realize I was in his class. I think I'm making a big impression around here.
Love you,
Len ~ Ann Brashares

As fog moved to the mainland I heard a flock of birds fly over. They sounded like a dress rustling, a dress being unfastened and dropping to the floor. Fog came unpinned like hair. On the beach cliffs, great colonies of datura - jimson weed - with their white trumpet flowers, looked like brass bands. ~ Gretel Ehrlich

He knew that hair couldn't feel; he kissed her hair. ~ Leonard Cohen

My family, although it keeps its hair, turns gray early - a business asset but a social handicap. ~ Mary Roberts Rinehart

I enjoy getting people angry and getting underneath their skin, especially people who don't think. ~ Jello Biafra

It was as if a tiny crack had opened somewhere in him and was growing, tearing him to pieces. If he had simply been angry, I might have found a way to calm him, but I had no idea how to put him back together once he came apart. ~ Yoko Ogawa

Edward Lasco was on the screened porch of his rented house in a comfortable but not elegant older section of the town where he'd lived for the past fifteen years when his wife, Elise, who six months before had left him and moved to a nearby city to work in a psychiatric hospital, came around the side of the house and stood beside the screen looking in. She had on a business outfit - natural linen suit, knee-high boots, dark glasses with at least three distinguishable colors tiered top to bottom in the lenses - and she carried a slick briefcase, thin and shiny. Her hair was shorter than he'd seen it, styled in a peculiar way so that it seemed it spots to jerk away from her head, to say, "I'm hair, boy, and you'd better believe it." Edward had come outside with a one-pint carton of skim milk and a ninety-nine-cookie package of Oreos and a just-received issue of InfoWorld, and he was entirely content with the prospect of eating his cookies and drinking his milk and reading his magazine, but when he saw Elise he was filled with a sudden, very unpleasant sense that he didn't want to see her. It'd been a good two and a half months since he'd talked to her, and there she was looking like an earnest TV art director's version of the modern businesswoman; it made him feel that his life was fucked, and this was before she'd said a word. ~ Frederick Barthelme

Your anger will cool into hardened passionate insight if you wait a day. Most of the things that make me angry I let them sit. The heat that remains will be sufficient. The stuff that evaporates is the stuff that would have simply offended or made it histrionic. ~ Keith Olbermann

Being angry with you, almost made me want you even more. ~ S.C. Stephens

Saturday evening, on a quiet lazy afternoon, I went to watch a bullfight in Las Ventas, one of Madrid's most famous bullrings. I went there out of curiosity. I had long been haunted by the image of the matador with its custom made torero suit, embroidered with golden threads, looking spectacular in his "suit of light" or traje de luces as they call it in Spain. I was curious to see the dance of death unfold in front of me, to test my humanity in the midst of blood and gold, and to see in which state my soul will come out of the arena, whether it will be shaken and stirred, furious and angry, or a little bit aware of the life embedded in every death. Being an avid fan of Hemingway, and a proponent of his famous sentence "About morals, I know only that what is moral is what you feel good after and what is immoral is what you feel bad after," I went there willingly to test myself. I had heard atrocities about bullfighting yet I had this immense desire to be part of what I partially had an inclination to call a bloody piece of cultural experience. As I sat there, in front of the empty arena, I felt a grandiose feeling of belonging to something bigger than anything I experienced during my stay in Spain. Few minutes and I'll be witnessing a painting being carefully drawn in front of me, few minutes and I will be part of an art form deeply entrenched in the Spanish cultural heritage: the art of defying death. But to sit there, and to watch the bull enter the arena… To watch one bull ~ Malak El Halabi