Braids Quotes

As Ephram waited for the pain, he saw Ruby as she used to be, the first time he'd seen her. The sweet little girl with long braids. The kind of pretty it hurt to look at, like candy on a sore tooth. ~ Cynthia Bond

A girl without braids is like a mountain without waterfalls. ~ Roman Payne

She rides the sandworm of space!
She guides through all storms
Into the land of gentle winds.
Though we sleep by the snake's den,
She guards our dreaming sould.
Shunning the desert heat,
She hides us in a cool hollow.
The gleaming of her white teeth
Guides us in the night.
By the braids of her hair
We are lifted to heaven!
Sweet fragrance, flower-scented,
Surrounds us in her presence. ~ Frank Herbert

A girl without braids is like a city without bridges. ~ Roman Payne

I can reveal to you that I wished to die -
For with much weeping she left me
Saying: "Sappho - what suffering is ours!
For it is against my will that I leave you."
In answer, I said: "Go, happily remembering me
For you know what we shared and pursued -
If not, I wish you to see again our [ former joys ] ...
The many braids of rose and violet you [ wreathed ]
Around yourself at my side
And the many garlands of flowers
With which you adorned your soft neck:
With royal oils from [ fresh flowers ]
You anointed [ yourself ]
And on soft beds fulfilled your longing
[ For me ] ... ~ Sappho

You think me cruel."
"No." Magiano hesitates for a long moment. "Maybe a little."
"I'm not branding them because I am cruel," I say calmly. "I'm doing it as a reminder of what they've done to us. To the marked. You're so quick to forget."
"I never forget," Magiano replies. This time, there is a slight sharpness to his tone. His hand hovers near his side, where his childhood wound continues to plague him. "But branding the unmarked with your crest will not make them any more loyal to you."
"It makes them fear me."
"Fear works best with some love," Magiano says. "Show them that you can be terrifying, yet generous." The gold bands in his braids clink. "Let the people love you a little, mi Adelinetta. ~ Marie Lu

War's lips quivered as tears welled in his eyes. He fisted his hands in Fain's braids for comfort. 'It's Vega ... she done threw me out and locked the door. She said she don't want no man around her ever again and that so long as I have a penis, I can't come in anymore. I like my penis, Paka, but I love my sister. Do I really have to choose between them? I mean, I guess I'll choose my sister, but I'd really like to keep them both if I could. ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

I was father to the land. I saved my people. I was... King.

"By... earth," he said, more a movement of the lips than a thing of the throat and air. "By... sky..."

Another breath, and it did hurt a little now. The next was harder. The women leaned over him, the mothers of his children. He blinked once more. His own mother, her black braids swinging as she rocked his hurt away. She was singing to him:

"Manabozho saw some ducks
Hey, hey, heya hey
Said 'Come little brothers, sing and dance';
Hey, hey, heya hey-- ~ S.M. Stirling

Tomorrow I want to get a New York bagel and see how it stacks up against Bodo's." Bodo's Bagels are legendary in Charlottesville; we're very proud of those bagels.
Putting my head on his shoulder, I yawn and say, "I wish we could go to Levain Bakery so I could try their cookie. It's supposed to be like no chocolate chip cookie you've had before. I want to go to Jacques Torres's chocolate shop too. His chocolate chip cookie is the definitive chocolate chip cookie, you know. It's truly legendary…" My eyes drift closed, and Peter pats my hair. I'm starting to fall asleep when I realize he's unraveling the milkmaid braids Kitty pinned on the crown of my head. My eyes fly back open. "Peter!"
"Shh, go back to sleep. I want to practice something."
"You'll never get it back to how she had it."
"Just let me try," he says, collecting bobby pins in the palm of his hand.
When we get to the hotel in New Jersey, despite his best efforts, my braids are lumpy and loose and won't stay pinned. "I'm sending a picture of this to Kitty so she'll see what a bad student you are," I say as I gather up my things.
"No, don't," Peter quickly says, which makes me smile. ~ Jenny Han

A Japanese man festooned with cameras, a nun, a young girl in braids. ~ Anne Tyler

He went to look closely at the painting, which portrayed a parade of fat white geese strolling past the doorway of a cottage.
"Someday I'll be able to afford real art," Garrett said, coming to stand beside him. "In the meantime, we'll have to make do with this."
Ethan's attention was drawn to the tiny initials in the corner of the work: G.G. A slow smile broke over his face. "You painted it?"
"Art class, at boarding school," she admitted. "I wasn't bad at sketching, but the only subject I could manage to paint adequately was geese. At one point I tried to expand my repertoire to ducks, but those earned lower marks, so it was back to geese after that."
Ethan smiled, imagining her as a studious schoolgirl with long braids. The light of a glass-globe parlor lamp slid across the tidy pinned-up weight of her hair, bringing out gleams of red and gold. He'd never seen anything like her skin, fine and powerless, with a faint glow like a blush-colored garden rose.
"What gave you the idea to paint geese in the first place?" he asked.
"There was a goose pond across from the school," Garrett said, staring absently at the picture. "Sometimes I saw Miss Primrose at the front windows, watching with binoculars. One day I dared to ask her what she found so interesting about geese, and she told me they had a capacity for attachment and grief that rivaled humans. They mated for life, she said. If a goose was injured, the gander would stay with her even if the rest ~ Lisa Kleypas

The music, and the banquet, and the wine
The garlands, the rose odors, and the flowers, The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments
The white arms and the raven hair
the braids, And bracelets; swan-like bosoms, and the necklace, An India in itself, yet dazzling not. ~ Lord Byron

Mark Grotjahn's large new paintings abound with torrents of ropy impasto, laid down in thickets, cascading waves, and bundles that swell, braid around, or overlap one another. ~ Jerry Saltz

When a woman grabs my braids and says "How cute!" I crab her breast and say "How cute!" She never touches me again! ~ Russell Means

Sabrina fair
Listen where thou art sitting
Under the glassie, cool, translucent wave,
In twisted braids of Lillies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair,
Listen for dear honour's sake,
Goddess of the silver lake,
Listen and save. ~ John Milton

I'm a black woman who loves hair. I enjoy changing my hair, having fun with it - just hair! I go from braids, to weaves, to wigs, to natural hair. ~ Tasha Smith

I think you might be a bully, Prince Henry."
"Well, in grade school I did enjoy pulling on the girls' braids. But these days I only tug on a woman's hair in a very specific situation." His voice drops lower. "Let me know if you're like a demonstration. ~ Emma Chase

I can't walk away from you. I tried. I can't do it. Even as I was trying, I knew it was stupid. I already knew I wasn't really going anywhere. God, Hope. I care about you. I don't want to walk away." I coil my fingers in between her braids and twists, holding her head to my chest. "I'm broken, too. I think..." I lick my lips and press them into her hair. "I think we can fix each other. ~ Cheryl McIntyre

I went through a real punk stage-I had braids, red hair, pink hair, green hair, I cut it into a Mohawk, the lot. Then about five years ago, I dyed it dark and stayed out of the sun to get pale, because I hated looking like everyone else, all blonde hair and tanned skin. ~ Katie McGrath

I want to believe we can be different, but when I look around the church, at the women comparing the length of their braids, reveling in another woman's punishment, scheming and clawing for every inch of position, I can't help thinking the men might be right. Maybe we're incapable of more. Maybe without the confines placed upon us, we'd rip each other to shreds, like a pack of outskirt dogs. ~ Kim Liggett

When things are serious and either Amy Eleni or I need to beat our personal hysteric, the informal code is to seize your head and twist coils of your hair around your fingers and groan, "I'm not mad! I'm not mad! I don't want to die!" And if you have a friend who knows, then the friend grabs her head too and replies, "There's someone inside of me, and she says I must die!" That way it is stupid, and funny, and serious.

Our hysteric is the revelation that we refuse to be consoled for all this noise, for all this noise and for the attacks on our softnesses, the loss of sensitivity to my scalp with every batch of box braids. Sometimes we cannot see or hear or breathe because of our fright that this is all our bodies will know. We're scared by the happy, hollow disciple that lines our brains and stomachs if we manage to stop after one biscuit. We need some kind of answer. We need to know what that biscuit-tin discipline is, where it comes from. We need to know whether it's a sign that our bones are turning against the rest of us, whether anyone will help us if our bones win out, or whether the people who should help us will say "You look wonderful!" instead. ~ Helen Oyeyemi

Crazy to Love You"

I had to go crazy to love you
Had to go down to the pit
Had to do time in the tower
Now I'm too tired to quit

I had to go crazy to love you
You who were never the one
Whom I chased through the souvenir heartache
My braids and my blouse all undone

Sometimes I'd head for the highway
I'm old and the mirrors don't lie
But crazy has places to hide me
Deeper than saying goodbye

I had to go crazy to love you
Had to let everything fall
Had to be people I hated
Had to be no one at all

Tired of choosing desire
I've been saved by a blessed fatigue
The gates of commitment unwired
And nobody trying to leave

Sometimes I'd head for the highway
I'm old and the mirrors don't lie
But crazy had places to hide me
Deeper than saying goodbye ~ Leonard Cohen

When the Devil was a woman,
When Lilith wound
Her ebony hair in heavy braids,
And framed
Her pale features all 'round
With Botticelli's tangled thoughts,
When she, smiling softly,
Ringed all her slim fingers
In golden bands with brilliant stones,
When she leafed through Villiers
And loved Huysmans,
When she fathomed Maeterlinck's silence
And bathed her Soul
In Gabriel d'Annunzio's colors,
She even laughed
And as she laughed,
The little princess of serpents sprang
Out of her mouth.
Then the most beautiful of she-devils
Sought after the serpent,
She seized the Queen of Serpents
With her ringed finger,
So that she wound and hissed
Hissed, hissed
And spit venom.
In a heavy copper vase;
Damp earth,
Black damp earth
She scattered upon it.
Lightly her great hands caressed
This heavy copper vase
All around,
Her pale lips lightly sang
Her ancient curse.
Like a children's rhyme her curses chimed,
Soft and languid
Languid as the kisses,
That the damp earth drank
From her mouth,
But life arose in the vase,
And tempted by her languid kisses,
And tempted by those sweet tones,
From the black earth slowly there crept,
Orchids -
When the most beloved
Adorns her pale features before the mirror
All 'round with Botticelli's a ~ Hanns Heinz Ewers

As she fled fast through sun and shade The happy winds upon her play'd, Blowing the ringlet from the braid. ~ Alfred Lord Tennyson

The Father wears natural-fiber clothing that he scrubs and starches before re-ruffling in an approximation of ancient Jerusalem chic. Every morning the Father braids his long hair, smoothing the split ends with beeswax. He coats his skin with a homebrewed sunscreen. He takes a spoonful of ground flaxseed and a spoonful of turmeric powder in his nightly goat's milk. He self-administers a coffee colonic on the fifteenth of each month. On the sixteenth, he reports any visions experienced during the purge. And every now and then, he loses control, drinking nothing but Canadian whiskey for three days. The ~ Samantha Hunt

Yes. I'm going to talk to her. Maybe." Kristoff huffed. "You, Bulda, Grand Pabbie... you act like this is so easy! They may be so-called love experts, but they've never left the valley."
Sven snorted.
"Hi," Anna interrupted, feeling funny. She was suddenly very aware of how she looked, and how he did, too. Kristoff had on a bright blue dress shirt and clean pants. She was wearing a green dress under a flour-and-icing-covered apron. Her braids, which she'd had in for two days, needed refreshing. "Were you looking for me? I mean, not actually looking, but you're here, so maybe... you're hungry?"
He immediately blushed. "What? Yes. I mean, no. I..." He pressed a bunch of carrots into her hands. "I just wanted to give you what I owed you."
"Oh." Anna looked down. "You didn't have to bring me back- oof!"
Sven had bumped into Anna, sending her flying into Kristoff's arms. The two tumbled backward, falling onto several stacks of flour Anna's parents hadn't had a chance to bring into the shop yet.
"This is awkward," Anna said, struggling to get up. 'Not because you're awkward. Because we're... I'm... awkward." She stood up. "You're gorgeous. Wait, what? ~ Jen Calonita

Cam held her closer. "Marry me, Amelia. You're what I want. You're my fate." One hand slid to the back of her head, gripping the braids and ribbons to keep her mouth upturned. "Say yes." He nibbled at her lips, licked at them, opened them. He kissed her until she writhed in his arms, her pulse racing. "Say it, Amelia, and save me from ever having to spend a night with another woman. I'll sleep indoors. I'll get a haircut. God help me, I think I'd even carry a pocket watch if it pleased you. ~ Lisa Kleypas

A nook person finds the dog at the party; drinks wine from a mug; sits on the floor and braids carpet tassels only to become self-conscious and unbraid them. ~ Durga Chew-Bose

In my college days, I went wild with my hair. I dyed it every color in the book and, quite naturally, my hair would break off from all the damage. When our hair breaks off, of course, there's only one thing to do - braid it up. I wore braids for a while and would always feel like I just never knew what to do with my hair. ~ Kimberly Elise

So I went to sleep thinking of her, of the curve of her back in a light cotton dress, of her hair twisted up into its crown of braids, of her, leaping from the zenith of the plastic swing set and clearing the sandbox, turning a neat lap around the whole of Eastwood, California, while I stood there, trapped in the dreariness of it all, numbly watching. ~ Robyn Schneider

He didn't object as she took up a place at the head of the tub and dumped some of the tonic into his short hair. The sweet, night-filled scent of jasmine floated up, caressing and kissing her. Even Rowan breathed it in as she scrubbed the tonic into his scalp. "I could still probably braid this," she mused. "Very teensy-tiny braids, so - " He growled, but leaned back against the tub, his eyes closed. "You're no better than a house cat," she said, massaging his head. He let out a low noise in his throat that might have very well have been a purr.

Washing his hair was intimate-a privilege she doubted he'd ever allowed many people; something she'd never done for anyone else. But lines had always been blurred for them, and neither of them had particularly cared. He'd seen every inch of her several times, and she'd seen most of him. They'd shared a bed for months. On top of that, they were carranam. He'd let her inside his power, past his inner barriers, to where half a thought from her could have shattered his mind. So washing his hair, touching him... it was an intimacy, but it was essential, too. ~ Sarah J. Maas

Peeta, you said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?

Oh, let's see. I guess the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair...it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up."

Your father? Why?"

He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner.'"

What? You're making that up!"

No, true story. And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings...even the birds stop to listen. ~ Suzanne Collins

He promised all those things men promise when they are far away and can feel the phone lines stretching too tight, the wires and cables rapidly unraveling from their braids, snapping, recoiling, collapsing the poles along the way. ~ Salvador Plascencia

I miss my hair, but I feel like going out there with some fake braids wouldn't be right. I want to be the most genuine performer I can be. ~ Sharon Jones

We'll tell the nurses she's a new student with an interest in nursing. They'll be charmed.'
Tess flips her braids over her should. 'I am particularly adorable today. ~ Jessica Spotswood

She wears the braid every day and always, by lunchtime, the curls and ringlets of her thick mane have managed to escape in rebellious little tendrils. But she refuses to surrender to that hair of hers, and every morning, it goes back into the braid. ~ Gayle Forman

What kind of old friend are we talking about here? The kind that braids your hair or the kind that pulls your hair when he's inside you? ~ Jessica Ingro

Eyes, golden-brown curls and crimson cheeks. She laughed too much to please her father's congregation and had shocked old Mrs. Taylor, the disconsolate spouse of several departed husbands, by saucily declaring - in the church-porch at that - "The world ISN'T a vale of tears, Mrs. Taylor. It's a world of laughter." Little dreamy Una was not given to laughter. Her braids of straight, dead-black hair betrayed no lawless kinks, and her almond-shaped, dark-blue eyes had something wistful and sorrowful in them. Her mouth had a trick of falling open over her tiny white teeth, and a shy, meditative smile occasionally crept over her small face. She was much more sensitive to public opinion than Faith, and had an uneasy consciousness that there was something askew in their way of living. She longed to put it right, but did not know how. Now and then she dusted the furniture - but it was so seldom she could find the duster because it was never in the same place twice. And when ~ L.M. Montgomery

I knew we wouldn't be friends. Lilly looked like what Mum called a sprite: a puny head, too-big black eyes, bee-size mouth and two black braids that hung long over skinny-boned shoulders. She looked tricky. She looked like she bit. ~ Billie Livingston

However, in broad brushstrokes, we might say this: You're a pattern in spacetime. A mathematical pattern. Specifically, you're a braid in spacetime-indeed one of the most elaborate braids known. ~ Max Tegmark

My eyes went straight to a soft woman who sat facing the wrong way at the bar top. Soft, because I knew if I were to touch her skin, it would feel like a peach, the kind of woman you could almost smell from inside the building. Instead of facing Andy, she had her back to him, keeping an eye on the door. That must be her. Her hair was exquisite. She was really the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. A golden crown of braids and curls complimented her sun-kissed skin. Her dress draped perfectly over her body, and in that moment, I needed her more than I needed air. ~ Chelsie Shakespeare

I glance at Magiano. "Ready?" I ask.
He winks. Rain soaks us both now, coming down in sheets, and water drips from his high knot of braids. "Always ready for you, my love. ~ Marie Lu

It's too hot for me to bother with wearing my hair down in the summer. I'd rather pin it up in braids, or throw it in a top knot so I don't have to think about it the rest of the day. ~ Mia Moretti

Having Black hair is unique in that Black women change up styles a lot. You can walk down one street block in New York City and see 10 different hairstyles that Black women are wearing: straight curls, short cuts, braids - we really run the gamut. ~ Queen Latifah

Sometimes life begins like a bad dream and ends up like a kid's fairytale. The kind our
grandmothers used to tell us about sitting next to a fireplace, with their white braids shining under
the fire's light. They knew that even in an era like ours, there is nothing wrong with dreaming.. ~ Georgia Kakalopoulou

Listen where thou art sitting
Under the glassie, cool, translucent wave,
In twisted braids of Lillies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair, ~ John Milton

She has so much pride that, even if I'm weary of her, of her fighting ways, her gauntlet-tossing, I can't say there isn't something else that beams in me. An old ember licked to fresh fire again. Beth, the old Beth, before high school, before Ben Trammel, all the boys and self-sorrow, the divorce and the adderall and the suspensions.

That Beth at the bike racks, third grade, her braids dangling, her chin up, fists knotted around a pair of dull scissors, peeling into Brady Carr's tire. Brady Carr, who shoved me off the spinabout, tearing a long strip of skin from my ankle to my knee.

Tugging the rubber from his tire, her fingernails ripped red, she looked up at me, grinning wide, front-teeth gapped and wild heroic.

How could you ever forget that? ~ Megan Abbott

When you write ,it's like braiding your hair. Taking a handful of coarse unruly strands and attempting to bring then unity. ~ Edwidge Danticat

Pretty, mysterious girl with braids … The depiction thrilled her. To be seen, to be described - it was as if the plain girl she always saw in the mirror might be magically transformed by the simple act of being observed by others. Pretty? Mysterious? What else might Clara be? ~ Kathleen O'Dell

And that voice. Malick would never say so, because the circumstance that had wrought it had been...rather terrible, but Fen's rough-raspy voice really did things for him. Really did things for him. It kind of made up for the missing braids. Which he also wouldn't say out loud. ~ Carole Cummings

her dangling braids the color of rain. ~ Lucille Clifton

Come on, Princess," he called to the bench, and Carlotta bounced up. She was wide like the rest of them, but no man could fairly say she was too wide. The most that could be said was that she did not have much further to go before she would have to start squeezing it in and strapping it up, which she clearly did not do now. She let it hang where it was, and it did very nicely by itself. As she passed among the boys they looked her over with unconcealed envy, as though they knew she had something they didn't have but were not quite sure what it was. One thing was certain, she got more exercise than they did.

The next to be noticed were her braids, they hung forward over her terrain, ignoring as much as possible her contours, like two shiny black meridianal lines demarking her longitudes as far down as the equator. It was not hard to imagine oneself spending a long lifetime on that bare little island alone, with no plan or ambition, too overcome with the heat to continue on south to the pole, far less return to the continents. Nothing productive could ever be accomplished there, but there would be comfort such as few men have known, there would be torpor. The body swelled with such thoughts, the mind shrank from them, and the longing eyes traveled finally up north, to where those meridians came together at a point above a bland white area vaguely charted, with few landmarks, no doubt sparsely inhabited. There the imagination halted. ~ Douglas Woolf

I don't think I've ever seen you without braids. I thought your hair just grew that way. ~ Maureen Johnson

A paradisiacal lagoon lay below them. The water was an unbelievable, unreal turquoise, its surface so still that every feature of the bottom could be admired in magnified detail: colorful pebbles, bright red kelp, fish as pretty and colorful as the jungle birds. A waterfall on the far side fell softly from a height of at least twenty feet. A triple rainbow graced its frothy bottom. Large boulders stuck out of the water at seemingly random intervals, black and sun-warmed and extremely inviting, like they had been placed there on purpose by some ancient giant.
And on these were the mermaids.
Wendy gasped at their beauty.
Their tails were all colors of the rainbow, somehow managing not to look tawdry or clownish. Deep royal blue, glittery emerald green, coral red, anemone purple. Slick and wet and as beautifully real as the salmon Wendy's father had once caught on holiday in Scotland. Shining and voluptuously alive.
The mermaids were rather scandalously naked except for a few who wore carefully placed shells and starfish, although their hair did afford some measure of decorum as it trailed down their torsos. Their locks were long and thick and sinuous and mostly the same shades as their tails. Some had very tightly coiled curls, some had braids. Some had decorated their tresses with limpets and bright hibiscus flowers.
Their "human" skins were familiar tones: dark brown to pale white, pink and beige and golden and everything in between. Their eyes were a ~ Liz Braswell

Seventh grade. Eleven years old. A bookworm-misfit with long black braids, childish white socks, pointy pink glasses, and no courage for flirting. It's doesn't take long to learn that I'm ridiculous. ~ Margarita Engle

I especially treasured my glimpses of Mother, Queen Cleopatra VII. She sat on a golden throne, looking as resplendent as one of the giant marble statues guarding the tombs of the Old Ones. Diamonds twinkled in a jungle of black braids on her ceremonial wig. She wore a diadem with three rearing snakes and a golden broad collar, shining with lapis lazuli, carnelian, and emeralds, over her golden, form-fitting pleated gown. In one hand, she held a golden ankh of life, while the other clasped the striped crook and flail of her divine rulership. Her stillness radiated power, like a lioness pausing before the pounce. It left me breathless with awe. ~ Vicky Alvear Shecter

Flowers, cold from the dew,
And autumn's approaching breath,
I pluck for the warm, luxuriant braids,
Which haven't faded yet.
In their nights, fragrantly resinous,
Entwined with delightful mystery,
They will breathe in her springlike
Extraordinary beauty.
But in a whirlwind of sound and fire,
From her shing head they will flutter
And fall-and before her
They will die, faintly fragrant still.
And, impelled by faithful longing,
My obedient gaze will feast upon them-
With a reverent hand,
Love will gather their rotting remains. ~ Anna Akhmatova

When Indian women begin the search for an Indian man, they carry a huge list of qualifications. He has to have a job. He has to be kind, intelligent, and funny. He has to dance and sing. He should know how to iron his own clothes. Braids would be nice. But as the screwed-up Indian men stagger through their lives, Indian women are forced to amend their list of qualifications. Eventually, Indian men need only to have their own teeth to get snagged. ~ Sherman Alexie

Disguised in a handlebar mustache with a ten gallon hat hanging low against his brow, Loki moseyed into Odin's party, despite the fact that he wasn't invited. Being dressed like Juan Valdez in a room full of people dawning Viking braids and pointy horned hats, however, tended to call attention to oneself. Odin's wife, Frigg, noticed Loki the moment that he stepped through the door, "What the Hel are you doing here? You weren't invited. ~ Dylan Callens

Voshak's hair, a pale blond braid, which he bleached, was his trademark. It made him memorable. That's how the slavers operated. They adopted costumes and personas, trying to make themselves larger-than-life and hoping to inspire fear. They counted on that fear. One could fight a man, but nobody could fight a nightmare. ~ Ilona Andrews

I know I look like a piece of sausage to those lions. A sausage with braids. ~ Cody Lundin

I begin to want things I've never wanted before: braids, a dressing-gown, a purse of my own. Something is unfolding, being revealed to me. I see that there's a whole world of girls and their doings that has been unknown to me, and that I can be part of it without making any effort at all. I don't have to keep up with anyone, run as fast, aim as well, make loud explosive noises, decode messages, die on cue. I don't have to think about whether I've done these things well, as well as a boy. All I have to do is sit on the floor and cut frying pans out of the Eaton's Catalogue with embroidery scissors, and say I've done it badly. Partly this is a relief. ~ Margaret Atwood

The woman who emerged had to be eight feet tall. Her hair was every shade of purple, piled in buns and hanging in braids, and all of it sprinkled with gems like stars. ~ Brenda Cooper

Before AIM, Indians were dispirited, defeated, and culturally dissolving. People were ashamed to be Indian. You didn't see the young people wearing braids or chokers or ribbon shirts in those days. Hell, I didn't wear 'em. People didn't Sun Dance, they didn't Sweat, they were losing their languages. Then there was that spark at Alcatraz, and we took off. Man, we took a ride across this country. We put Indians and Indian rights smack dab in the middle of the public consciousness for the first time since the so-called Indian wars. ~ Russell Means

Going to come…. I need…. You need to…."
"Come for me, you hot fucker!" Marshell ordered.
He dropped down over me and sealed his mouth over mine in a scorching kiss, then jerked back. I tilted my head a little to the left, and he struck. Sharp pain exploded as he sunk his fangs into me, and then it faded.
Pleasure quickly overrode everything else. I felt him suck, heard him swallow, and then he growled as he came inside me. I lost control and came too, shooting all over my stomach. Finally he stopped taking my blood and withdrew his fangs.
He danced his tongue over my skin, and I assumed he was closing the holes. Panting, he leaned back so we could make eye contact. His braids covered both of our faces, and we stared at each other until he finally softened and slipped out.
"Wow," I whispered.
"Please tell me that's a good wow," Marshell said.
I lifted my hand and traced his jaw. "Absolutely. It was as good as good can get, and yes, we will definitely be doing this again. Thank you for making it special."
The relief on his face touched me.
"Always."
With a sigh, he eased down next to me and pulled me against his body. He wrapped his arm around me. I lay there, enjoying the moment. We'd mated. He was mine, and I was his - no matter what the future held ~ M.A. Church

The nights were long, like the braids of a pretty girl, and the days were short, like a girl's sense. ("The North") ~ Yevgeny Zamyatin

Daddy, you would say, look at my braids. Look at the worst bug bite ever. Look at my handstand, my eggroll dive, my finger painting. Look at my splinter, my spelling list, my somersault, the toad I found. Look at the present I made you, the grade I got, the acceptance letter. Look at the diploma, the ultrasound, your granddaughter. I couldn't possibly remember all the things you've asked me to look at. I just remember that you asked. ~ Jodi Picoult

So I might have to marry Alec when I'm grown," Illia was prattling across to Seregil. "I hope that won't hurt your feelings too much."
Seregil slapped a hand over his heart like a troubadour in a mural. "Ah, fair maiden, I shall slay a thousand evil dragons for you, and lay their steaming black livers at your dainty feet, if only you will restore me to your favor."
"Livers!" Illia buried her face against Alec's shoulder with an outraged giggle.
"You wouldn't bring me livers, would you, Alec?"
"Of course not," Alec scoffed. "What a disgusting present. I'd bring you the eyeballs for a necklace, and all their scaly pointed tongues to tie your braids with. ~ Lynn Flewelling

It looked like she held a basketful of woven gold.
Arin leap down the stairs. He strode up to his cousin and seized her arm.
"Arin!"
"What did you do?"
Sarsine jerked away. "What she wanted. Pull yourself together."
But Arin only saw Kestrel as she had been last night before the ball. How her hair had been a spill of low light over his palms. He had threaded desire into those braids, had wanted her to sense it even as he dreaded that she would. He had met her eyes in the mirror, and didn't know, couldn't tell her feelings. He only knew the fire of his own.
"It's just hair," Sarsine said. "It will grow back."
"Yes," said Arin, "but no everything does. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Quincenañera

My dolls have been put away like dead
children in a chest I will carry
with me when I marry.
I reach under my skirt to feel
a satin slip bought for this day. It is soft
as the inside of my thighs. My hair
has been nailed back with my mother's
black hairpins to my skull. Her hands
stretched my eyes open as she twisted
braids into a tight circle at the nape
of my neck. I am to wash my own clothes
and sheets from this day on, as if
the fluids of my body were poison, as if
the little trickle of blood I believe
travels from my heart to the world were
shameful. Is not the blood of saints and
men in battle beautiful? Do Christ's hands
not bleed into your eyes from His cross?
At night I hear myself growing and wake
to find my hands drifting of their own will
to soothe skin stretched tight
over my bones.
I am wound like the guts of a clock,
waiting for each hour to release me. ~ Judith Ortiz Cofer

A rustle of wings and a hawk feather drifts down to me. Snatching it from the air, I look up into the trees, but nothing's there. So I tuck the feather into my hair.

"What are you doing?"

My stomach leaps into my throat, and I jump up, stumbling backward, and fall on my butt in the middle of the path. In the tree above me, a teenage boy perches on a branch. He's dressed in traditional deerskin breeches, a talon necklace around his neck, but rather than moccasins, his feet are bare. He is shirtless, and lean muscles cord his body.

His intense eyes capture my attention. They're like golden fathomless pools. I could get lost in them.

"Don't your feet get hurt, walking barefoot on the forest floor?" I ask.

"I rarely walk." He drops down in front of me. His face is so close that I take a step back and thump into a tree. He leans toward me and sniffs. "You smell different. What are you?"

"I'm a girl." I can't take my gaze from his.

"No, humans stink. You smell…" He sniffs my hair and grins. "You smell good."

"Is there a reason that you're invading my space? I have somewhere to be." My voice cracks.

He tugs one of my braids and winks at me. My pulse quickens, and my breath catches in my throat. His eyes study me with intensity, and he leans closer. Is he going to kiss me? ~ Rita J. Webb

He sat in the other chair, taking advantage of the opportunity to take another good look at her. Her fawn-colored hair was sun-streaked from long days spent outdoors. Now it was done up copperhead style, the multiple braids decorated with beads and feathers. One braid per kill - wasn't that the rule? ~ Cinda Williams Chima

No child is an island. They come from families. They are the newest braids in that cord of humanity, and it is right and beautiful that they should know something of what their parents and grandparents value, while at the same time having access to the classic works of human imagination that we all own in common. Contemporary culture will take care of itself. It's lively and loud and most children's lives are full of it. When parents read long-beloved classics with them and share stories that convey what we want them to know about the world, we can help them discover powerful narratives and pictures they will never find on PBS Kids or Instagram. ~ Meghan Cox Gurdon

But Arin saw Kestrel as she had been last night before the ball. How her hair had been a spill of low light over his palms. He had threaded desire into the braids, had wanted her to sense it even as he dreaded that she would. He had met her eyes in the mirror and didn't know, couldn't tell, her feelings. He only knew the fire of his own. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Shit."
Remi leaned back and stared at me. "There you are."
I remembered it all, and I was horrified. This was not how I wanted our first time to be. "Remi. I… I…. Are you okay?"
"I'm perfectly fine. You were very careful and gentle with me." Remi brushed a few of my braids back. "Besides, I'm not the one who was stabbed in the chest. Are you okay now?"
"Better. I'm better, but not okay. I need human blood."
"I'm glad you're - " Remi gulped, shivered, and then the tears started.
He wrapped his trembling arms around me. He didn't yell or scream, but his body shook violently as he silently cried. Such control. It pained me, him hurting. Even a silver knife to the chest didn't hurt this bad.
I wanted to do something, make it better somehow. I ran my hands up and down his back, wishing he hadn't seen this. No one should have to deal with what he had to, and so soon in our relationship too.
"Hey. Hey, now. I'm okay. Seriously I'm going to be fine."
Remi burrowed closer. "I thought… I thought…. I was terrified I'd lost you. I'd just found you and, and…." Remi grasped my shirt. "I thought you were dead, and… and…. Gods! I'm so glad you're not."
I laughed slightly as I held him. The torrent of tears didn't last long. "I'm glad I'm not dead too."
Remi sniffled and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "Jeez, I sound unhinged. ~ M.A. Church

You looked strange climbing in the tree like that."
Tiger Lily pulled her braids between her fingers, her sudden self-consciousness feeling foreign and strange to her.
"I didn't do it to look nice," she said.
"But you do care."
Tiger Lily studied the tree and decided if she did care, she would now choose not to. "I don't," she said.
"All girls do," he added, pushing the point.
"You must not know many girls."
"I know a million," Peter said, dark and serious. There was a long awkward silence, but if Peter regretted his words, I couldn't tell. ~ Jodi Lynn Anderson

And with that, we resume our trek.

It takes an annoyingly long time to get to the palace. I mean, the walk is scenic and all, the forest lush with life, the ground sprinkled with glittering pools and rippling creeks, and blah, blah, blah - lots of pretty shit. But it's still a stupidly long walk, and now that Des and I have five billion guards hemming us in, our conversation is next to non-existent.

To be fair, I have been entertained. Des has spent most of the last hour plaiting one guard's hair into at least fifty braids (he hasn't yet noticed) and moving branches into another guard's way.

"Mother fucking trees," the fairy mutters under his breath. "I swear they're moving in my way."

"Lay off the spirits, Sythus," another says. ~ Laura Thalassa

And she knew her defiance in escaping his grasp, even temporarily, had shown Jasu the depth of her strength. In the months afterward, though he behaved awkwardly, he had allowed her the time and space she needed. It was the first genuine show of respect he had made toward her in their four years of marriage. Jasu's parents made no such concession, their latent disappointment growing into relentless criticism of her for failing to bear a son.Kavita walks outside and spreads her mat on the rough stone steps, where she sits facing the rising sun in the east
She lights the small ghee-soaked diya and thin stick of incense, and then closes her eyes in prayer. The wisp of fragrant smoke slowly circles its way up into the air and around her. She breathes deeply and thinks, as always, of the baby girls she has lost. She rings the small silver bell and chants softly. She sees their faces and their small bodies, she hears their cries and feels their tiny fingers wrap around hers. And always, she hears the sound of Usha's desperate cry echoing behind the closed doors of the orphanage. She allows herself to get lost in the depths of her grief. After she has chanted and sung and wept for some time, she tries to envision the babies at peace, wherever they are. She pictures Usha as a little girl, her hair wound in two braids, each tied with a white ribbon. The image of the girl in her mind is perfectly clear: smiling, running, and playing with children, eating her meals and sleeping alo ~ Shilpi Somaya Gowda

How could he convey to someone who'd never even met her the way she always smelled like rain, or how his stomach knotted up every time he saw her shake loose her hair from its braid? How could he describe how it felt when she finished his sentences, turnec the mug they were sharing so that her mouth landed where his had been? How did he explain the way they could be in a locker room, or underwater, or in the piney woods of Maine, bus as long as Em was with him, he was at home? ~ Jodi Picoult

You look like a black American was his ultimate compliment, which he told her when she wore a nice dress, or when her hair was done in large braids. ~ Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Be bigger presence at work. Race up ladder (joyfully, w/smile on face), get raise. Get in best shape of life, start dressing nicer. Learn guitar? Make point of noticing beauty of world? Why not educate self re. birds, flowers, trees, constellations, become true citizen of natural world, walk around neighborhood w/kids, patiently teaching kids names of birds, flowers, etc. etc.? Why not take kids to Europe? Kids have never been. Have never, in Alps, had hot chocolate in mountain café, served by kindly white- haired innkeeper, who finds them so sophisticated/friendly relative to usual snotty/rich American kids (who always ignore his pretty but crippled daughter w/braids) that he shows them secret hiking path to incredible glade, kids frolic in glade, sit with crippled pretty girl on grass, later say it was most beautiful day of their lives, keep in touch with crippled girl via email, we arrange surgery here for her, surgeon so touched he agrees to do surgery for free, she is on front page of our paper, we are on front page of their paper in Alps? Ha ha. ~ George Saunders

Later, she said, "I have to take my braids out for my interviews and relax my hair. Kemi told me that I shouldn't wear braids to the interview. If you have braids, they will think you are unprofessional." "So there are no doctors with braided hair in America?" Ifemelu asked. "I have told you what they told me. You are in a country that is not your own. You do what you have to do if you want to succeed. ~ Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

ROSEMARY
Beauty and Beauty's son and rosemary -
Venus and Love, her son, to speak plainly -
born of the sea supposedly, at Christmas each, in company,
braids a garland of festivity.
Not always rosemary - since the flight to Egypt, blooming differently.
With lancelike leaf, green but silver underneath,
its flowers - white originally -
turned blue. The herb of memory,
imitating the blue robe of Mary,
is not too legendary
to flower both as symbol and as pungency.
Springing from stones beside the sea,
the height of Christ when thirty-three -
it feeds on dew and to the bee
"hath a dumb language"; is in reality
a kind of Christmas-tree. ~ Marianne Moore

A wave formed, swelling around Ariel's body. It lifted her up higher and higher- or maybe she herself was growing: it was hard to tell. She held the trident aloft. Storm clouds raced to her from all directions like a lost school of cichlid babies flicking to their father's mouth for protection. Lightning coursed through the sky and danced between the trident's tines.
Ariel sang a song of rage.
Notes rose and fell discordantly, her voice screeching at times like a banshee from the far north.
She sang, and the wind sang with her. It whipped her hair out of its braids and pulled tresses into tentacles that billowed around her head. She sang of the unfairness of Eric's fate and her own, of her father's torture as a polyp, even of Scuttle's mortal life, slowly but visibly slipping away.
Mostly she sang about Ursula.
She sang about everyone whose lives had been touched and destroyed by evil like coral being killed and bleached, like dead spots in the ocean from algae blooms, like scale rot. She sang about what she would do to anyone who threatened those she loved and protected.
And then, with her final note, she made a quick thrust as if to throw the trident toward the boats in the bay, pulling it back at the last moment.
A clap louder than thunder echoed across the ocean. A wave even larger than the one she rode roared up from the depths of the open sea. It smashed through and around her, leaving her hair and body white with foam. She grinned fie ~ Liz Braswell

As Prairie Flower faced the rising sun and braided her hair,White Eagle strolled by. He had glanced her way many times. Today he stopped. "Howling Wolf did not come to check on his ponies this morning."
"He sleeps."
White Eagle smirked. He reached up to touch one of her braids. "If I had such a beautiful woman in my tepee, I would not sleep while she braids her own hair." He walked on without a backward glance. But Prairie Flower thought of him often that day.Each time his face appeared in her mind, she tried to force it away,but Howling Wolf's insolent smile was often replaced by the handsome face of White Eagle. ~ Stephanie Grace Whitson

All of the patterns we've discussed of course exist in four dimensions rather than three, and the metaphors about braids, cables and trees, shouldn't be taken too literally. The key point is simply that you can be an unchanging pattern in spacetime-the specific details of this pattern are less important for the points we're making. This pattern is part of the mathematical structure that is our Universe, and the relations between different parts of the pattern are encoded in mathematical equations. As we saw in Chapter 8, Everett's quantum mechanics endows you with an even more interesting-but no less mathematical-structure, since a single you (the tree trunk) can split into many branches, each feeling that they're the one and only you
we'll return to this later. ~ Max Tegmark

Young she was and yet not so. The braids of her dark hair were touched by no frost; her white arms and clear face were flawless and smooth, and the light of stars was in her bright eyes, grey as a cloudless night; yet queenly she looked, and thought and knowledge were in her glance, as of one who has known many things that the years bring. ~ J.R.R. Tolkien

She told him ... how her heart had fairly skipped a beat when she'd seen him standing in the middle of the road dressed as a true Highland warrior.
"If I hadna been in love wi' you already, I'd have fallen in love wi' you then."
He grinned, his whiskery face unbearably bonnie even with its cuts and bruises. "So you like the sight of me in a pladdie, aye?"
"Aye
and wi' braids in your hair." She leaned down and kissed him. "But I think red paint looks silly. ~ Pamela Clare

I room with Louisa. Louisa is older and her hair is like a red-and-gold noisy ocean down her back. There's so much of it, she can't even keep it in with braids or buns or scrunchies. Her hair smells like strawberries; she smells better than any girl I've ever known. I could breathe her in forever.

My first night here, when she lifted her blouse to change for bed, in the moment before that crazy hair fell over her body like a protective cape, I saw them, all of them, and I sucked my breath in hard.

She said, "Don't be scared, little one."

I wasn't scared. I'd just never seen a girl with skin like mine. ~ Kathleen Glasgow

In two easy strides, I reach her, weave my arms around her waist and lift her feet off the ground. My angel is so light she practically floats. "Isaiah! You're crazy!"
"Insane," I answer.
She rests her forehead against mine and braids her hands tightly on my neck. "That was close. He almost got you in the end."
I love the sensation of her body against mine. Tonight, I'm going to kiss her again and, if she'll let me, I'll explore a little further. "Were you doubting me?"
She smiles when she notices the lightness in my voice. "Never."
That's right, angel. I'll never let you down. ~ Katie McGarry

You look…exactly the same."
Gulp. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? "I do?" I get up on my tiptoes. "I think I've grown at least an inch since eighth grade." And my boobs are at least a little bigger. Not much. Not that I want John to notice--I'm just saying.
"No, you look…just like how I remembered you." John Ambrose reaches out, and I think he's trying to hug me but he's only trying to take my bag from me, and there's a brief but strange dance that mortifies me but he doesn't seem to notice. "So thanks for inviting me."
"Thanks for coming."
"Do you want me to take this stuff up for you?"
"Sure," I say.
John takes the bag from me and looks inside. "Oh, wow. All of our old snacks! Why don't you climb up first and I'll pass it to you." So that's what I do: I scramble up the ladder and he climbs up behind me. I'm crouched, arms outstretched, waiting for him to pass me the bag.
But when he gets halfway up the ladder, he stops and looks up at me and says, "You still wear your hair in fancy braids."
I touch my side braid. Of all the things to remember about me. Back then, Margot was the one who braided my hair. "You think it looks fancy?"
"Yeah. Like…expensive bread."
I burst out laughing. "Bread!"
"Yeah. Or…Rapunzel."
I get down on my stomach, wriggle over to the edge, and pretend like I'm letting down my hair for him to climb. He climbs up to the top of the ladder and passes me the bag, which I take, and then he grin ~ Jenny Han

My eyes widened as I took in Rafe and Prest. Rafe seemed fine, but Prest. . . "Prest, you shaved your head!" Those long black braids were gone. Prest's bald head gleamed in the light.

He shrugged and ran a hand over his baldness. "Easier to shave." He flashed me a smile. "It grows back.

"Eventually," Rafe added. "Until then, I will need to protect my eyes from the glare. ~ Elizabeth Vaughan

The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance...
our long way home.
I was always yours to have.
You were always mine.
We have loved each other in and out of time.

When the first stone looked up at the blazing sun
and the first tree struggled up from the forest floor
I had always loved you more.
You freed your braids...
gave your hair to the breeze.
It hummed like a hive of honey bees.
I reached in the mass for the sweet honey comb there....
Mmmm...God how I love your hair.

You saw me bludgeoned by circumstance.
Lost, injured, hurt by chance.
I screamed to the heavens....loudly screamed....
Trying to change our nightmares into dreams...
The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance our long way home.

I was always yours to have.
You were always mine.
We have loved each other in and out
in and out
in and out
of time. ~ Maya Angelou

Nonetheless, when it finally ended and the hairdressers left and Tess insisted upon pulling her to the mirror, Fire saw, and understood, that everyone had done the job well. The dress, deep shimmering purple and utterly simple in design, was so beautifully-cut and so clingy and well-fitting that Fire felt slightly naked. And her hair. She couldn't follow what they'd done with her hair, braids thin as threads in some places, looped and wound through the thick sections that fell over her shoulders and down her back, but she saw that the end result was a controlled wildness that was magnificent against her face, her body, and the dress. She turned to measure the effect on her guard - all twenty of them, for all had roles to play in tonight's proceedings, and all were awaiting her orders. Twenty jaws hung slack with astonishment - even Musa's, Mila's, and Neel's. Fire touched their minds, and was pleased, and then angry, to find them open as the glass roofs in July.

'Take hold of yourselves,' she snapped. 'It's a disguise, remember? This isn't going to work if the people meant to help me can't keep their heads.'

'It will work, Lady Granddaughter.' Tess handed Fire two knives in ankle holsters. 'You'll get what you want from whomever you want. Tonight King Nash would give you the Winged River as a present, if you asked for it. Dells, child - Prince Brigan would give you his best warhorse. ~ Kristin Cashore

My natural hair is short and naturally grows to frame my face. So that's my favorite. I also like tree-braids. They're easy, fast, there's not much pulling on your hair, and they are very lightweight. ~ Erica Ash

One year, I was a go-go girl for Halloween, and I got all this glitter eye shadow, my hair was poufy with braids, I was wearing all these different colors and fake eyelashes that went all the way up to my eyebrows. I totally enjoy the whole Halloween feel. ~ Olivia Holt

Peeta," I say lightly. "You said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?"
"Oh, let's see. I guess the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair... it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up," Peeta says.
"Your father? Why?" I ask.
"He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,'" Peeta says.
"What? You're making that up!" I exclaim.
"No, true story," Peeta says. "And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings... even the birds stop to listen.'"
"That's true. They do. I mean, they did," I say. I'm stunned and surprisingly moved, thinking of the baker telling this to Peeta. It strikes me that my own reluctance to sing, my own dismissal of music might not really be that I think it's a waste of time. It might be because it reminds me too much of my father.
"So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent," Peeta says.
"Oh, please," I say, laughing.
"No, it happened. And right when your song ended, I knew - just like your mother - I was a goner," Peeta says. "Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to ta ~ Suzanne Collins

He was grateful for Piper. He needed a friend, and he was glad she'd started losing the Aphrodite blessing. The makeup was fading. Her hair was slowly going back to its old choppy style with the little braids down the sides. It made her look more real, and as far as Jason was concerned, more beautiful. ~ Rick Riordan