Disheveled Quotes

I got out of bed and opened the door. I was still naked, still sweaty and disheveled and glowing from all the love and passion and eating of buttholes. ~ Justin Grimbol

The red light changed the color of her shirt, and her faded jeans, and her face. Her hair was disheveled, her expression intent, and, taken all together, she looked absolutely beautiful to Jim Chee. It would be a lot better, he thought, if friends didn't look like that. ~ Tony Hillerman

Sixteen unseeing stone of disheveled male slammed into her; Robin was knocked off her feet and catapulted backwards, handbag flying, arms windmilling, towards the void beyond the lethal staircase. ~ Robert Galbraith

I stayed indoors most of the time, which kept my skin very white. And my hair was as black as Ilana's. I wore black clothes all the time, just as she did.
When I was in elementary school the other girls had called me a witch, scratched me with their nails, giggled behind their notebooks. But now I was in high school and suddenly everyone wore black and had pale skin and cultivated a disheveled haunted look.
Now I blended in. ~ Judy Budnitz

If Livingston won her, he'd keep Elizabeth in a cage like a gilded bird and never let her blossom into the vibrant person she really was. Nick shook his head in disbelief. How could that man want to clip her wings? Elizabeth had glowed with pride at her achievement. Her blue eyes had sparkled with pleasure. Beneath the dusting of flour, her cheeks had been pink. For the first time she'd been totally relaxed with him. Despite her disheveled appearance, Nick had never seen her look happier, nor more beautiful. ~ Debra Holland

And what a man he is. Tall, but not too tall. Five o'clock shadow. Late twenties, early thirties. Piercing blue eyes. Short, brown hair that juts forward, matching his angular face. He's wearing an untucked, button-down white shirt and dark-grey slacks. He looks disheveled in the best way possible. ~ Samantha Riley

If I did not wear torn pants, orthopedic shoes, frantic disheveled hair, that is to say, if I did not tone down my beauty, people would go mad. Married men would run amuck. ~ Brenda Ueland

Emil stood on the other side, bags under his
eyes, his hair disheveled. I'd never seen him look so
unkempt. He actually seemed depressed. I motioned
for him to come in. When he did, I shut the door and
he followed me to the couches. ~ Angela Corbett

Her brother really was devastatingly handsome in a disheveled, wise-ass sort of way. Females followed him around like he was the Pied Piper of sex. Sydney constantly cautioned him about his choice in women and using protection. After all, he came from wealth. That made him ripe pickings to be some money hungry girl's sugar daddy. Especially since he went through those women like toilet paper. ~ Jenny Lyn

His life was absurd. He went all over the world accepting all kinds of bondage and escaping. He was roped to a chair. He escaped. He was chained to a ladder. He escaped. He was handcuffed, his legs were put in irons, he was tied up in a strait jacket and put in a locked cabinet. He escaped. He escaped from bank vaults, nailed-up barrels, sewn mailbags; he escaped from a zinc-lined Knabe piano case, a giant football, a galvanized iron boiler, a rolltop desk, a sausage skin. His escapes were mystifying because he never damaged or appeared to unlock what he escaped from. The screen was pulled away and there he stood disheveled but triumphant beside the inviolate container that was supposed to have contained him. He waved to the crowd. He escaped from a sealed milk can filled with water. He escaped from a Siberian exile van. From a Chinese torture crucifix. From a Hamburg penitentiary. From an English prison ship. From a Boston jail. He was chained to automobile tires, water wheels, cannon, and he escaped. He dove manacled from a bridge into the Mississippi, the Seine, the Mersey, and came up waving. He hung upside down and strait-jacketed from cranes, biplanes and the tops of buildings. He was dropped into the ocean padlocked in a diving suit fully weighted and not connected to an air supply, and he escaped. He was buried alive in a grave and could not escape, and had to be rescued. Hurriedly, they dug him out. The earth is too heavy, he said gasping. His nails bled. Soil fell f ~ E.L. Doctorow

Afterward she felt seedy and sexy and disheveled and filled with despair. ~ Liane Moriarty

You know how your eyes can deceive you at times
how a group of shapes and shadows can take on a certain form and then shift into another? It wasn't really like that; there was no physical change in him, he was exactly the same as he'd always been. I knew every line of his long body and every curl on his disheveled black head. I'd just never seen him before. you know what I'm trying to say, don't you? The change is in the heart. ~ Elizabeth Peters

It is simple as this: she has a complicated life and her clothes can't help but show it. It is all part of her unique disheveled glamour. ~ Megan Abbott

The flower was delicate and untouched. It possessed the potential to inspire, to serve a purpose. Yet there it lay, helpless on a disheveled plank of timber; somber, drifting, and alone. Nature meant it to live with color, swaying in the breeze and surrounded by life. But it did not uplift. It did not bring cheer as it should, drained of all light it once held. Where was the inspired affection? The friendship? The love? There was none. Darkness condemned the innocent to despair. ~ Christie Anderson

You have friends who actually care about you and speak the language of the inner self. You have avoided them of late. Your soul is as disheveled as your apartment, and until you can clean it up a little you don't want to invite anyone inside. ~ Jay McInerney

The Last Words of My English Grandmother

There were some dirty plates
and a glass of milk
beside her on a small table
near the rank, disheveled bed--

Wrinkled and nearly blind
she lay and snored
rousing with anger in her tones
to cry for food,

Gimme something to eat--
They're starving me--
I'm all right--I won't go
to the hospital. No, no, no

Give me something to eat!
Let me take you
to the hospital, I said
and after you are well

you can do as you please.
She smiled, Yes
you do what you please first
then I can do what I please--

Oh, oh, oh! she cried
as the ambulance men lifted
her to the stretcher--
Is this what you call

making me comfortable?
By now her mind was clear--
Oh you think you're smart
you young people,

she said, but I'll tell you
you don't know anything.
Then we started.
On the way

we passed a long row
of elms. She looked at them
awhile out of
the ambulance window and said,

What are all those
fuzzy looking things out there?
Trees? Well, I'm tired
of them and rolled her head away. ~ William Carlos Williams

Talia was always intimidated by her presence, and always felt she looked hoydenish and disheveled, no matter how carefully she'd prepared herself for confrontations. ~ Mercedes Lackey

When we crumble under the exorbitant weight of conspicuous commodities and the material pressure in a universe of illusion, life may become disheveled and devastated, while our mind has been dumbed down and our willpower crippled. ( "Buying now. Dying later " ) ~ Erik Pevernagie

There is not a single untruth, no -but after ten lines Truth shrieks, she runs distraught and disheveled through her temple's corridors; she does not know herself. 'I can endure lies,' she cries. 'I cannot survive this stifling verisimilitude ~ Thornton Wilder

I remember as a kid not ever wanting to have friends around to my house because it was, for want of a better description, disheveled. ~ Sam Taylor-Johnson

Mr. Rohan," she heard Beatrix ask, "are you going to marry my sister?"
Amelia choked on her tea and set the cup down. She sputtered and coughed into her napkin.
"Hush, Beatrix," Win murmured.
"But she's wearing his ring - "
Poppy clamped her hand over Beatrix's mouth. "Hush!"
"I might," Cam replied. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he continued. "I find your sister a bit lacking in humor. And she doesn't seem particularly obedient. On the other hand - "
One set of French doors flew open, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass. Everyone on the back terrace looked up in startlement, the men rising from their chairs.
"No," came Win's soft cry.
Merripen stood there, having dragged himself from his sickbed. He was bandaged and disheveled, but he looked far from helpless. He looked like a maddened bull, his dark head lowered, his hands clenched into massive fists. And his stare, promising death, was firmly fixed on Cam.
There was no mistaking the bloodlust of a Roma whose kinswoman had been dishonored.
"Oh, God," Amelia muttered.
Cam, who stood beside her chair, glanced down at her questioningly. "Did you say something to him?"
Amelia turned red as she recalled her blood-spotted nightgown and the maid's expression. "It must have been servants' talk."
Cam stared at the enraged giant with resignation. "You may be in luck," he said to Amelia. "It looks as if our betrothal is going to end prematurely." ~ Lisa Kleypas

One of these, bearing the name of Crampton, is an adorable blonde with a shrill voice, a long slender body imprisoned in a shiny brass corset, and supple catlike movements; a smart golden blonde whose extraordinary grace can be quite terrifying when she stiffens her muscles of steel, sends the sweat pouring down her steaming flanks, sets her elegant wheels spinning in their wide circles, and hurtles away, full of life, at the head of an express or a boat-train.
The other, Engerth by name, is a strapping saturnine brunette given to uttering raucous, guttural cries, with a thickset figure encased in armor-plating of cast iron; a monstrous creature with her disheveled mane of black smoke and her six wheels coupled together low down, she gives an indication of her fantastic strength when, with an effort that shakes the very earth, she slowly and deliberately drags along her heavy train of goods-wagons. ~ Joris-Karl Huysmans

Hey,"he said, taking in my disheveled appearance. "Why are you up so early?"
"Oh, I was just, you know, exercising."I jogged in place for a second before realizing that I probably looked like a mental patient. ~ Rachel Hawkins

In the morning, he had to shake her awake. When she saw him leaning over her, shirtless, his dark hair loose and disheveled, her first feeling was one of wonder. She'd dreamed she was asleep atop her feather tick, not the hard ground, and certainly not with a husband. "You're beautiful awake," he said with a knowing smile. "But you're even more beautiful asleep. ~ Laura Frantz

If you aren't feeling better soon, we're going to the doctor's. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe and get you out of there, if it comes to that. He towered over me, his spiky blond hair disheveled from our recent make-out session that now seemed so long ago.
My body shuddered, and not just because of my symptoms. Whatever it takes could mean a lot of things to Drake, including - but not limited to - physical violence and total mind control. The darkness of his paranormal talents scared me and seduced me in equal measure. ~ Kimberly Kinrade

You deserve a lover who wants you disheveled, with everything and all the reasons that wake you up in a haste and the demons that won't let you sleep.
You deserve a lover who makes you feel safe, who can consume this world whole if he walks hand in hand with you; someone who believes that his embraces are a perfect match with your skin.
You deserve a lover who wants to dance with you, who goes to paradise every time he looks into your eyes and never gets tired of studying your expressions.
You deserve a lover who listens when you sing, who supports you when you feel shame and respects your freedom; who flies with you and isn't afraid to fall.
You deserve a lover who takes away the lies and brings you hope, coffee, and poetry. ~ Frida Kahlo

The system - the American one, at least - is a vast and noble experiment. It has been polestar and exemplar for other nations. But from kindergarten until she graduates from college the girl is treated in it exactly like her brothers. She studies the same subjects, becomes proficient at the same sports. Oh, it is a magnificent lore she learns, education for the mind beyond anything Jane Austen or Saint Theresa or even Mrs. Pankhurst ever dreamed. It is truly Utopian. But Utopia was never meant to exist on this disheveled planet. ~ Phyllis McGinley

A certain disheveled preacher in downtown Indianapolis shows them his .22 pistol under his corduroy jacket and asks can't they find a service for normal people, don't they see his flock is demented. ~ Smith Henderson

Luxury means being able to relax and savor the moment, knowing that it doesn't get any better than this.

Feeling that way doesn't require money. It doesn't require the perfect scenery. All that's required is an ability to survey a landscape that is disheveled, that is off-kilter, that is slightly unattractive or unsettling, and say to yourself: this is exactly how it should be. This requires a big shift in perspective: Since your thoughts and feelings can't simply be turned off, you have to train your thoughts and feelings to experience imperfections as acceptable or preferable--even divine.

The sky is gray. A fly lands on you hand. Your cocktail is lukewarm. And still, for some reason, if you slow down and accept reality enough, it starts to feel right. Better than right. You are not comparing reality to some imagined perfect alternative. You are welcoming reality for what it already is.

And what if you have no cocktail, because you're sober now? And what if your neck is aching? Maybe you're running late. Maybe you feel anxious. Still, you pay attention to each little fold, each disappointment, each impatient attempt by mind and body to "fix" what already is. And then surrender to all of it. These details are irreplaceable. They give the moment its value. The chance to soak in this mundane, uneven moment is the purest luxury of all. ~ Heather Havrilesky

Pandora's dress was disheveled, her bodice askew, and her gloves were missing. A few raised red scratches marred the surface of her shoulder. The pins had been pulled from her ruined coiffure during the carriage ride, allowing a profusion of heavy black-coffee locks to fall to her waist in waves and ripples. Her coltish form quivered like a wild creature held in restraints. She gave off a kind of... energy, of... there didn't seem to be a word for it, but Gabriel could feel the irresistible voltage eating up the space between them. Every hair on his body individuated as he was flooded with the hot, humming awareness of her.
Holy hell. ~ Lisa Kleypas

He strolled through the store to the back room.
Leah sat at a desk, staring at a computer screen that displayed a spreadsheet of some sort. "Give me two minutes," she mumbled, her tone distracted, "then I'll be done."
Seth leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. She wore glasses tonight. He had never seen her do so before and wondered if she needed them for reading and close-up work the way many humans did once they reached their forties. The frames were black, reminding him of those that had been popular in the sixties. Her long hair was pulled back in a slightly disheveled bun. The jeans and blazer she'd apparently changed into before going back to work hugged her beautiful figure.
She had, as Sheldon would say, a real sexy-librarian thing going on that heated Seth's blood. The longer he watched her, the more he wanted to touch her, to peel that blazer off, loosen her hair, and -
"Finally," she announced with a sigh. Closing the file, she removed her glasses and spun the chair around to face him. When she looked at him, her eyebrows flew up. "Hi."
"Hello."
She studied him for a moment. "Something on your mind?"
Aside from a deep desire to strip her naked? ~ Dianne Duvall

If you're a disheveled, easily distracted person, it's always scary when someone asks what your plan is for the day. We don't know our plans.
Distracted people make plans in transit. ~ Lisa Smartt

His laughter was a low rumble that vibrated through her as he rolled her beneath him. "I like you like this," he murmured against her lips. "Sleepy and sweaty and disheveled. Sexiest fucking thing in the world. ~ Kit Rocha

The silence was shattered as the bedroom door flew open with a wall-shaking crash. Hermione shrieked and dropped Secrets of the Darkest Art; Crookshanks streaked under the bed, hissing indignantly; Ron jumped off the bed, skidded on a discarded Chocolate Frog wrapper, and smacked his head on the opposite wall; and Harry instinctively dived for his wand before realizing that he was looking up at Mrs. Weasley, whose hair was disheveled and whose face was contorted with rage.
"I'm so sorry to break up this cozy little gathering," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm sure you all need your rest . . . but there are wedding presents stacked in my room that need sorting out and I was under the impression that you had agreed to help."
"Oh yes," said Hermione, looking terrified as she leapt to her feet, sending books flying in every direction, "we will . . . we're sorry . . ."
With an anguished look at Harry and Ron, Hermione hurried out of the room after Mrs. Weasley.
"It's like being a house-elf," complained Ron in an undertone, still massaging his head as he and Harry followed. "Except without the job satisfaction. The sooner this wedding's over, the happier I'll be."
"Yeah," said Harry, "then we'll have nothing to do except find Horcruxes. . . . It'll be like a holiday, won't it?"
Ron started to laugh, but at the sight of the enormous pile of wedding presents waiting for them in Mrs. Weasley's room, stopped quite abruptly. ~ J.K. Rowling

I opened the door with a smile on my face that soon melted when I saw his messy appearance.
The doorframe held him up as he leaned all of his weight against it. Expressionless, bloodshot eyes stared back at me as he lifted his hand and ran it roughly down his unshaved face. His hair was disheveled and there was blood on the front of his shirt. Panic rose up as I took him in. I rushed to him and ran my fingers down his body, as I checked for injuries.

"You're bleeding! Oh my God, Devin! What happened? Are you OK?"

"It's not my blood," he slurred.

I took a better look at his gorgeous face. His unfocused eyes attempted to meet mine and it was then that the smell of liquor reached me.

"You're drunk?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely." He attempted to move toward me and almost fell over.

I wrapped my arms around him and helped him into my apartment. Once we made it to the couch I let him collapse onto the cushion before I went straight to work on his clothes. I removed his blood-stained shirt first and threw it to the side. Quickly checked him over again just to be sure that he wasn't injured somewhere. His skin felt cold and clammy against my fingertips.

His knuckles were busted open, so I went to the bathroom and got a wet towel and the first aid kit. I cleaned his fingers then wrapped them up.

I felt fingers in my hair and looked up to see a very drunk Devin staring back at me.
"You' ~ Tabatha Vargo

There is safety in learning doctrine in gatherings which are sponsored by proper authority. Some members, even some who have made covenants in the temple, are associating with groups of one kind or another which have an element of secrecy about them and which pretend to have some higher source of inspiration concerning the fulfillment of prophecies than do ward or stake leaders or the General Authorities of the Church. Know this: There are counterfeit revelations which, we are warned, "if possible . . . shall deceive the very elect, who are the elect according to the covenant." (JS - M 1:22.) . . .

For the past several years we have watched patterns of reverence and irreverence in the Church. While many are to be highly commended, we are drifting. We have reason to be deeply concerned.

The world grows increasingly noisy. Clothing and grooming and conduct are looser and sloppier and more disheveled. Raucous music, with obscene lyrics blasted through amplifiers while lights flash psychedelic colors, characterizes the drug culture. Variations of these things are gaining wide acceptance and influence over our youth. . . .

This trend to more noise, more excitement, more contention, less restraint, less dignity, less formality is not coincidental nor innocent nor harmless.

The first order issued by a commander mounting a military invasion is the jamming of the channels of communication of those he intends to conquer.

Irreverenc ~ Boyd K. Packer

Anything she might have said died in her throat at the sight of him. His black hair was disheveled, his morning stubble hypnotic, and the rakish way his shirt was undone at the throat and his tie hung in abandoned disarray beneath the collar, was just plain panty-melting.

I'm not wearing any panties. ~ Christina Phillips

Are you a relative of her late husband?" the woman asked.
His eyes widened. "I beg your pardon?"
"It must be so hard for her, pregnant and just widowed," the middle-aged woman continued. "We've all done what we could to make her happy here. Mr. Johnson, the curator, is a widower himself. He's already sweet on her. But you're probably anxious to see Mrs. Peterson. Shall I ring her and let her know you're coming?"
Tate's eyes were blazing. "No," he said with forced politeness. "I want to surprise her!"
He stalked out, leaving the rented vehicle where it was as he trudged through the small layer of snow and glared contemptuously at the cars sliding around in the street as they passed. This little bit of snow was nothing compared to the six-foot snowdrifts on the reservation. Southerners, he considered, must not get much winter precipitation if this little bit of white dust paralyzed traffic!
As for Cecily's mythical dead husband, he considered, going up the walkway to the small brick structure where she lived, he was about to make a startling, resurrected appearance!
He knocked on the door and waited.
There was an irritated murmur beyond the closed door and the sound of a lock being unfastened. The door opened and a wan Cecily looked straight into his eyes.
He managed to get inside the screen door and catch her before she passed out.
She came to on the sofa with Tate sitting beside her, smoothing back her disheveled hair. The nausea c ~ Diana Palmer

She clambered to the shoreline. Numb and shaken, she began to dress. It wasn't easy as she fumbled with slick fingers to put dry clothes over wet skin. She instantly regretted her naked swim. She pulled on her long-sleeved white chemise first.
She faced the forest, away from her rescuer. He quietly splashed to shore. His lifeblood burned into her back. He wasn't far behind, but he stopped. She refused to look at him until she was fully clothed, not out of embarrassment of her nudity, but for what had just happened. He released a groan and mumbled under his breath about wet boots. His voice was not one of her father's soldiers.
When she put the last garment on, her brown wool work kirtle, she squeezed out her sopping hair and swept her hands through the knotty mess. She fastened her belt and tied the lacings up the front of the kirtle. Blood returned to her fingertips, and she regained her composure. Belated awareness struck her, and she leaned down and searched through her bag for her dagger. She spun around.
She gasped as she saw the man sitting on the stone-covered shoreline, his wet boots off. Confusion and the hint of a scowl filled his strong-featured face. She staggered back, caught her heel on a stone, and fell, dropping the dagger. Dirt and pebbles stuck to her wet hands and feet, and she instinctively scrambled away from him.
His glower, iridescent dark blue eyes, and disheveled black hair were not unfamiliar. Staring at her was the man she had se ~ Jean M. Grant

Sweet love, sweet thorn, when lightly to my heart. I took your thrust, whereby I since am slain, And I lie disheveled in the grass apart, A sodden thing bedrenched by tears and rain. ~ Edna St. Vincent Millay

There is nothing so capital as a cup of tea for settling the Disheveled Nerves of Fair Ladies. ~ Joan Bassington-French

Most people show up for work being physically accoutered but mentally disheveled. ~ Eric Butterworth

Women always think in the catastrophic, and when there is a calamity to rectify that might require a unmarried granddaughter, there older women will always act. Their powers of foresight and vigilance might make any disheveled or nubile young haggage ready for the altar in five minutes. ~ Michelle Franklin

Releasing her wrist, he raised his shaking hand and brushed disheveled auburn hair back from her face. Her features were relaxed in sleep. Dirt-smudged. Damp with the tears she had shed for him.
At his touch, she made a sound somewhere in the back of her throat and snuggled closer with a sigh.
He didn't know who she was.
He didn't know who he was.
But in that moment, he loved her for freeing him.
The dog voiced a plaintive whine.
Speech still eluding him, he sent feelings of calm to the loyal animal.
Then, taking the woman's small, pale hand in his, he tucked it against his chest, pressed his forehead to hers, and succumbed to a deep healing sleep. ~ Dianne Duvall

As she felt his fangs against her neck, she was in another world.
There was screaming. A woman was somewhere in agony. Everything was black, and the tormented scream was overwhelming, echoing through the emptiness. After the screaming subsided, there was panting, loud and steady, and it wasn't as dark anymore. There was a room visible now, in a reddish light. A pale man with black hair hovered over a woman dressed in white. She lay on a bed, looking disheveled and sweaty. Her brown-black hair clung to her wet forehead and shoulders. She was covered in blood. The man sat next to her, and held her close to him. He stroked her hair as her chest heaved desperately.
"I love you, my dearest Katerina," he said, cradling her in his strong arms. "Soon, we'll be together forever." Everything faded to black once more, and the woman stopped breathing. All was silent and still. ~ Dawn Bonney

People run away, pull their hair, go off in different directions, nodding their heads and going, "Oh, God." I am slightly disheveled, I think. I'm really pleased that I am, because otherwise I could be in a really, really dull and boring place now, as a musician, at least. ~ Robert Plant

Akos had appeared in my doorway, his short brown hair sticking out in all directions, leaning into the wood.
"What," he said, eyes wide, "is that sound?"
In spite of the current's pain shooting through me, I laughed. I had never seen him this disheveled before. His drawstring pants were twisted halfway around, and his cheek bore the red imprint of creased sheets.
"It's just the start of the Sojourn Festival," I said. "Relax. Untwist your pants."
His cheeks turned faintly pink, and he righted the waistband of his pants.
"Well, how was I supposed to know that?" he replied irritably. "Next time, when something that sounds remarkably like war drums is going to wake me at dawn, could you maybe warn me?"
"You're determined to deprive me of fun."
"That's because apparently, your version of 'fun' is making me believe I'm in mortal peril. ~ Veronica Roth

He looked disheveled and disreputable, like an outlaw on the run. A smile came to his lips, while he stared at her intently. "It seems I can't stay away from you," he said. ~ Lisa Kleypas

In the elevator, he held silent, but she saw him twice look at her blouse. She could feel his gaze, damn it, deep inside herself. And she knew what he was looking at.
Without the binding, her boobs were far too noticeable. The damned buttons gaped and the material strained.
"Enjoying yourself?" she asked with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
If anything, her jibe only made him intensify his study. He stood there, negligence personified, his hands clasped behind his back, his stance casual and relaxed. "I can see the outline of your nipples."
She nearly strangled on her fury. "Go to hell!"
"What are you? C cup? Maybe even a D?"
Oh, God, she did not want to stand here alone with him, closed up in such a small space with his heat and scent invading her lungs. "None of your damn business."
He lifted his hand in front of him, not to touch her, but to imagine it covering her right breast. His face screwed up while he pretended to heft her. "I'd say a full C."
A fine trembling started in her neck and went down her spine. She needed to stay composed to face off with Murray Coburn, but for whatever reason, this man wanted to demolish her control. "I say go kill yourself."
He cracked a smile.
And what that smile did for him . . . She couldn't deny that he was devastatingly handsome. Probably a cutthroat villain, but still gorgeous. That disheveled fair hair and those intense, oddly colored eyes . . . she shivered.
He lifted a brow. "Cold?" ~ Lori Foster

No one wants to learn an instrument, Rachel. It's grueling repetition. And besides, you're too old to start. Concert violinists who learn the traditional way begin when they're six or seven."
Risa can't help but listen to the irritating conversation taking place between the well-dressed woman and her fashionably disheveled teenage daughter.
"It's bad enough they'd be messing in my brain and giving me a NeuroWeave," the girl whines. "But why do I have to have the hands, too? I like my hands!"
The mother laughs. "Honey, you've got your father's stubby, chubby little fingers. Trading up will only do you good in life, and it's common knowledge that a musical NeuroWeave requires muscle memory to complete the brain-body connection."
"There are no muscles in the fingers!" the girl announces triumphantly. "I learned that in school."
The mother gives her a long-suffering sigh.
"Think of them like a pair of gloves, Rachel. Fancy silk gloves, like a princess wears."
Risa can't stand it anymore. Making sure she's low enough so that her face can't be seen, she gets up, and as she walks past them, she says, "You'll have someone else's fingerprints. ~ Neal Shusterman

Even last year I was watching the Celtics and I could see the offense was disheveled. ~ Kenny Anderson

Karou had things to do. Sometimes they took a few hours; other times, she was gone for days and returned weary and disheveled, maybe pale, maybe sunburned, or with a limp, or possibly a bite mark, and once with an unshakable fever that had turned out to be malaria. ~ Laini Taylor

He was charmed out of all reason as he watched her, this sandy, disheveled, storytelling mermaid, who seemed already to belong to him and yet wanted nothing to do with him. His heart worked in strange rhythms, as if it were struggling to adjust to a brand new metronome. What was happening to him? ~ Lisa Kleypas

The roof of the front porch of the house is covered, for some reason, with moss, and also, on one side, with wisteria, which gives the house a sort of raffish Veronica Lake look, a disheveled charm. ~ Renata Adler

No, he was not as handsome as poor Wrotham, whose dark, stormy beauty troubled her dreams a little. Wrotham was a romantic figure, particularly when his black locks were disheveled through his clutching them in despair. ~ Georgette Heyer

Ugh. Why did I have to have so many thoughts? Why couldn't I just be a normal girl and bask in the glow of finally knowing that the boy I wanted wanted me back?
I slipped in the back door,and as I did, one of the maids gave me a quick curtsy. Ah,right. Because I wasn't a normal girl.
I had hoped to get back to my room without seeing anyone else, but I met Cal on the landing. Wonderful.
"Hey," he said, taking in my disheveled appearance. "Why are you up so early?"
"Oh,I was just,you know, exercising." I jogged in place for a second before realizing that I probably looked like a mental patient.
"Okaaay," Cal said slowly, confirming my suspicions. ~ Rachel Hawkins

Taut, merry, nervous, expertly mounted, exquisitely clothed, haughty in their bright youth, the chevaliers of France poured from the disheveled clearing. Sunlit, all that morning, they spanned the glittering woods: diamond on diamond, grey on grey, riches on riches; bough and limb indistinguishable; skirts and meadows sewn in the same silks; skulls in antique fantasy knotted with rhizome and leafy with fern frond. Webs, manes, beards, spun the same smokelike filament; rime flashed; jewels sparked, red and fat, on rosebush and ring. Earth and animals wore the same livery. Jazerained in its berries, the oak tree matched their pearls, and paired their brilliant-sewn housings with low mosses underfoot, freshets winking half-ice in the pile. ~ Dorothy Dunnett

Bright young men of disheveled appearance, often with
sunken glowing eyes, can be seen sitting at computer consoles,
their arms tensed and waiting to fire their fingers, already poised
to strike, at the buttons and keys on which their attention seems
to be riveted as a gambler's on the rolling dice. When not so
transfixed, they often sit at tables strewn with computer printouts
over which they pore like possessed students of a cabbalistic
text. They work until they nearly drop, twenty, thirty hours
at a time. Their food, if they arrange it, is brought to them:
coffee, Cokes, sandwiches. If possible, they sleep on cots near
the printouts. Their rumpled clothes, their unwashed and
unshaven faces, and their uncombed hair all testify that they are
oblivious to their bodies and to the world in which they move.
These are computer bums, compulsive programmers ... ~ Joseph Weizenbaum

Clary hadn't realized quite how disheveled she looked: her coat streaked with dust, her hair snarled from the wind. She tried to smooth it down discreetly and caught Jace's grin in the next mirror. For some reason, due doubtless to a mysterious Shadowhunter magic she didn't have a hope of understanding, his hair looked perfect. ~ Cassandra Clare

I was in love with Philip, but had ongoing proof that romantic love is like a swimming pool. People fall into it and scramble out of it wet and disheveled, usually in one piece but damaged, all the time. ~ Helen Brown

Show dogs and their handlers remind me of Brooke Shields and her mother: an incredibly disheveled person tethered to an impeccably groomed animal. ~ Margo Kaufman

I lied, okay?" He raked his hands through his disheveled hair and took a deep breath, making a visible effort to bring himself under control. "I fucking lied. Of course I would chase you. Of course I would beg you to give us a chance. How am I ... what am I supposed to do when I can't function without you? ~ Alisha Rai

Sebastian opened his mouth to argue, but as he saw Evie drawing closer something changed in his face. It was a response to the anxiety that she couldn't manage to hide. For some reason her concern gently undermined his hostility, and softened him. Looking from one to the other, Cam observed the subtle interplay with astute interest.
"Have you been hurt?" Evie asked, looking over him closely. To her relief, Sebastian appeared disheveled and riled, but free of significant damage.
He shook his head, holding still as she reached up to push back a few damp amber locks that were nearly hanging in his eyes. "I'm fine," he muttered. "Compared to the drubbing I received from Westcliff, this was nothing. ~ Lisa Kleypas