Hair Up Quotes

I said, "I want to wear something funny and cool. Marjorie, could I wear your sparkly baseball hat?"

The three of us looked at Marjorie.

Now I remember thinking that her answer could change everything back to the way it was; Dad could find a job and stop praying all the time and Mom could be happy and call Marjorie shellfish again and show us funny videos she found on YouTube, and we all could eat more than just spaghetti at dinner and, most important, Marjorie could be normal again. Everything would be okay if Marjorie would only say yes to me wearing the sparkly sequined baseball hat, the one she'd made in art class a few years ago.

The longer we watched Marjorie and waited for her response, the more the temperature in the room dropped and I knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

She stopped twisting her spaghetti around her fingers. She opened her mouth, and vomit slowly oozed out onto her spaghetti plate.

Dad: "Jesus!"

Mom: "Honey, are you okay?" She jumped out of her seat and went over to Marjorie, stood behind her, and held her hair up.

Marjorie didn't react to either parent, and she didn't make any sounds. She wasn't retching or convulsing involuntarily like one normally does when throwing up. It just poured out of her as though her mouth was an opened faucet. The vomit was as green as spring grass, and the masticated pasta looked weirdly dry, with a consistency of mashed-up dog food. ~ Paul Tremblay

Communication is very important between us at all times." He bent his head as he lifted the hair from the back of her neck. "For instance, I find your neck incredibly sexy. You look both vulnerable and sensual with your hair up. With it down, you look wild and beautiful. Just as sensual, but in a completely different way. ~ Christine Feehan

It's obvious which one you are,' Jimmy Hailler tells me as we walk through Hyde Park. 'If it's so obvious why can't I see it.' 'Because you live in your own world and can't see anything.' 'Then which one am I?' 'You're all four. You're constantly bitching things under your breath, you come across bloody stupid because you don't speak, on a particular angle in that uniform on an overcast day with your hair up, you've got that stocky butch thing happening, plus you're pashing other girl's boyfriends which makes you a slut. ~ Melina Marchetta

Maggie Botwin.

Prim, quiet lady, like an upright piano, seeming taller than she was because of the way she sat, rose and walked, and the way she held her hands in her lap and the way she coifed her hair up on top of her head, in some fashion out of World War I.

I had once heard her on a radio show describe herself as a snake charmer.

All that film whistling through her hands, sliding through her fingers, undulant and swift.

All that time passing, but to pass and repass again.

It was no different, she said, than life itself.

The future rushed at you. You had a single instant, as it flashed by, to change it into an amiable, recognizable, and decent past. Instant by instant, tomorrow blinked in your grasp. If you did not seize without holding, shape without breaking, that continuity of moments, you left nothing behind. Your object, her object, all of our objects, was to mold and print ourselves on those single fits of future that, in the touching, aged into swiftly into vanishing yesterdays. ~ Ray Bradbury

Working Nine to Five Wet, cold, miserable, Monday morning. I had toast for breakfast, no bananas. I think my mum is taking out her revenge on Steve's behalf by withholding the purchase of bananas. I stood by the sink sipping my morning tea watching the rain wash down the kitchen window. Damn, I noticed that an eye had fallen off one of my bunny slippers. I decided to wear the blue pencil skirt with a white blouse to work and to tie my hair up as best I could. The journey was short and uneventful, no desperate people throwing themselves in ~ Betty Byers

I've always loved wild people, and Sixteen-String Jack Rann reminds so much of my mate, Dave Brotherton, that it's uncanny. Not that Dave was ever a highwayman – although he may well have been in a past life – but like Jack he was born with a wild hair up his arse, and that's all there is to it. He has a savage charisma about him that radiates out of the chaos of his life. His energy comes at you from all directions and watching Dave, when he's on form, is like trying to keep your eyes on the pattern the sun makes as it bounces off the waves at dusk ~ Karl Wiggins

You look beautiful tonight. I like your hair up."
"Thank you."
"I can't wait to yank it down later. ~ Vi Keeland

You look beautiful, ma'am," Ernestine said, delighted with the results of her work. She had drawn Phoebe's hair up into a coil of neatly pinned rolls and curls, winding a velvet ribbon around the base. A few loose curls had been allowed to dangle down the back of her head, which felt a bit strange: she wasn't accustomed to leaving any loose pieces in her usual hairstyles. Ernestine had finished the arrangement by pinning a small, fresh pink rose on the right side of the coil.
The new coiffure was very flattering, but the formal gown had turned out to be far less inconspicuous than Phoebe had expected. It was the pale beige of unbleached linen or natural wool, but the silk had been infused with exceptionally fine metallic threads of gold and silver, giving the fabric a pearly luster. A garland of peonies, roses, and delicate green silk leaves trimmed the deeply scooped neckline, while another flower garland caught up the gossamer-thin silk and tulle layers of the skirts at one side. ~ Lisa Kleypas

Put your hair up, Min. The secret ingredient is not your hair. ~ Daniel Handler

Before she could say anything more, Sabella swung around at the sound of Noah's Harley purring to life behind the garage.
God. He was dressed in snug jeans and riding chaps. A snug dark T-shirt covered his upper body, conformed to it. And he was riding her way.
"Is there anything sexier than a man in riding chaps riding a Harley?" Kira asked behind her. "It makes a woman simply want to melt."
And Sabella was melting. She watched as he pulled around the side of the garage then took the gravel road that led to the back of the house. The sound of the Harley purred closer, throbbing, building the excitement inside her.
"I think it's time for me to leave," Kira said with a light laugh. "Don't bother to see me out."
Sabella didn't. She listened as the Harley drew into the graveled lot behind the house and moved to the back door. She opened it, stepping out on the back deck as he swung his legs over the cycle and strode toward her.
That long-legged lean walk. It made her mouth water. Made her heart throb in her throat as hunger began to race through her.
"The spa treated you well," he announced as he paused at the bottom of the steps and stared back at her. "Feel like messing your hair up and going out this evening? We could have dinner in town. Ride around a little bit."
She hadn't ridden on a motorcycle since she was a teenager. She glanced at the cycle, then back to Noah.
"I'd need to change clothes."
His gaze flickered over her s ~ Lora Leigh

How about some perfume?" Carol asked, moving toward her with the bottle. She touched Therese's forehead with her fingers, at the hairline where she had kissed her that day.

"You remind me of the woman I once saw," Therese said, "somewhere off Lexington. Not you but the light. She was combing her hair up." Therese stopped, but Carol waited for her to go on. Carol always waited, and she could never say exactly what she wanted to say. "Early one morning when I was on the way to work, and I remember it was starting to rain, she floundered on. "I saw her in a window." She really could not go on, about standing there for perhaps three or four minutes, wishing with an intensity that drained her strength that she knew the woman, that she might be welcome if she went to the house and knocked on the door, wishing she could do that instead of going on to her job at the Pelican Press.

"My little orphan," Carol said.

Therese smiled. There was nothing dismal, no sting in the word when Carol said it. ~ Patricia Highsmith

You were wearing your hair up like that the day we left for Harbor Springs," he said, his deep voice pitched seductively low. "I like it."
"In that case," Lauren said lightly, "I'll start wearing it down."
He grinned. "So that's the way we're going to play it,is it?"
"Play what?"
"This little game we started yesterday."
"I am not playing your game," she said with quiet firmness. "I do not want the prize. ~ Judith McNaught

She had her hair up in a ponytail, exposing a delicate neck.
I wanted to bite it. Then lick it to make it better. Then suck on it ... hard ... just so she'd know how hungry I was. ~ Sawyer Bennett

When I went to prom, I wore my hair down. But I love the idea of a long dress with your hair up. It's just gorgeous. ~ Bethany Mota

You were twisting your wet hair up into a ponytail, and then you saw us, and you smiled ... "
"Then why didn't you-"
"Because you were smiling for him. And I would have had to have been an idiot to get in between that. ~ Mandy Hubbard

You know, I found a gray hair the other day. I almost broke the sound barrier rushing to the pharmacy to get some dye. Beth snorted. Oh please! You're a blonde-no one can see gray hair up there. Now, you get one down under, and then you can panic. ~ Jenn McKinlay

I can be whatever. I can wear shoes or don't wear shoes. I can tie my hair up or wear it down. It doesn't matter. ~ Joss Stone

I make jokes about it, but it's the truth that I kind of patterned my look after the town tramp. I didn't know what she was, just this woman who was blond and piled her hair up, wore high heels and tight skirts, and, boy, she was the prettiest thing I'd ever seen. Momma used to say, "Aw, she's just trash," and I thought, That's what I want to be when I grow up. Trash. ~ Dolly Parton

Don't be silly." I turned to my suitcase, pulling out my pajamas. "I'm just going to go change . . ." He coughed down at his own suitcase, open on a chair in the corner of the room. "Of course." I changed, washed my face, put my hair up, pulled my hair back down, put it up again. Moisturized. I brushed my teeth, used the loo, washed my hands, moisturized again. Brushed my teeth again. I stalled. And then, stepping out, I let him past me to do the same routine, realizing as he walked into the loo that he had only a pair of shorts in his hand. He slept shirtless. Fuck me sideways. However, when he finally came out of the restroom, Jensen was still wearing his T-shirt, to my enormous dismay. "I thought you slept shirtless." What. What did I just say? He looked up at me in surprise. "I mean, I usually do, but . . . ~ Christina Lauren

Wow." Sin said, her high-heeled boots clacking on the floor as she approached. " I didn't expect a party or anything, but I figured you might be able to handle a hi."
"I'm serious" , he gritted. "Get out."
"Well, you know what ?" She tied her hair up in a knot. "I would, except that you fucking bonded me to you or something, and I need to borrow your dick for a minute. ~ Larissa Ione

By age seven, I used to comb my hair for performances, just pull my hair up into a bun. Granted, it wasn't a very intricate hairstyle. Still, to be that responsible and disciplined at age seven is unusual. ~ Janet Jackson

She dreamed about knights in armour and glorious quests, and sometimes in these dreams she was a knight and sometimes she was a lovely lady who watched a particular knight and hoped that, when he won the tournament, it would be she to who he came, and stooped on bended knee, and ... and sometimes she dreamed that she was a lady who tied her hair up and pulled a helmet down over it and over her face, and won the tournament herself, and everyone watching said, Who is that strange knight? For I have never seen his like. After her mother fell ill and she no longer had time to read, she still dreamed ... ~ Robin McKinley

When you look at the amount of medication that has been administered to children today, it stands the hair up on your arms. Because this is the way that they are helping children manage their emotions. ~ Goldie Hawn

Nick grinned, swooping in for another kiss and then leaning back and scruffing his hair up. "Harriet Manners, I'm about to give you six stamps. Then I'm going to write something on a piece of paper and put it in an envelope with your address on it."
"OK …" "Then I'm going to put the envelope on the floor and spin us as fast as I can. As soon as either of us manage to stick a stamp on it, I'm going to race to the postbox and post it unless you can catch me first. If you win, you can read it."
Nick was obviously faster than me, but he didn't know where the nearest postbox was. "Deal," I agreed, yawning and rubbing my eyes.
"But why six stamps?"
"Just wait and see."
A few seconds later, I understood.
As we spun in circles with our hands stretched out, one of my stamps got stuck to the ground at least a metre away from the envelope. Another ended up on a daisy. A third somehow got stuck to the roundabout.
One of Nick's ended up on his nose.
And every time we both missed, we laughed harder and harder and our kisses got dizzier and dizzier until the whole world was a giggling, kissing, spinning blur.
Finally, when we both had one stamp left, I stopped giggling. I had to win this.
So I swallowed, wiped my eyes and took a few deep breaths.
Then I reached out my hand.
"Too late!" Nick yelled as I opened my eyes again. "Got it, Manners!" And he jumped off the still-spinning roundabout with the envelope held high over ~ Holly Smale

To those who hadn't been around Violet long, nothing would have seemed unusual, but those who knew her well knew that when she tied her hair up in a ribbon to keep it out of her eyes, it meant that the gears and levers of her inventing brain were whirring at top speed. ~ Lemony Snicket

I sit on the couch watching her arrange
her long red hair before my bedroom
mirror.
she pulls her hair up and
piles it on top of her head-
she lets her eyes look at
my eyes-
then she drops her hair and
lets it fall down in front of her face.
we go to bed and I hold her
speechlessly from the back
my arm around her neck
I touch her wrists and hands
feel up to
her elbows
no further. ~ Charles Bukowski

We finally made our way to the front of the line, where a young bouncer snapped an underage wristband on me and gave me an appraising look, eyes scanning my waist-length hair before raising the velvet rope. I rushed under it with Jay on my heels.
"For real, Anna, don't let me stand in the way of all these dudes tonight." Jay laughed behind me, raising his voice as we entered the already packed room, music thumping. I knew I should have put my hair up before we came, but Jay's sister, Jana had insisted on my keeping it down. I pulled my hair over my shoulder and wound it into a rope with my finger, looking around at the tightly packed crowd and wincing slightly at the noise and blasts of emotion.
"They only think they like me because they don't know me," I said.
Jay shook his head. "I hate when you say things like that."
"Like what? That I'm especially special?"
I was trying to make a joke, using the term us Southerners fondly called people who "weren't right" but anger burst gray from Jay's chest, surprising me, then fizzled away.
"Don't talk about yourself that way. You're just...shy."
I was weird and we both knew it. But I didn't like to upset him, and it felt ridiculous having a serious conversation at the top of our lungs.
Jay pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the screen as it vibrated in his hand. He grinned and handed it to me. Patti.
"Hello?" I stuck a finger in my other ear so I could hear.
"I'm just chec ~ Wendy Higgins

If you can't change your surroundings, change your hair color. ~ Brittany Murphy

Someone once told me to always
live for the little things
in life.
Live for 5am sunrises and 5pm sunsets
where you'll see colours in the sky that
don't usually belong.
Live for road trips and bike rides
with music in your ears and
the wind in your hair.
Live for days when you're surrounded
by your favourite people who make you realise
that the world is not a
cold, harsh place.
Live for the little things because
they will make you realise that
this is what life is about,
this is what it means to be
alive. ~ A.Y.

After that, a strange thing happened: Amy couldn't stop her expectations from rising. She imagined herself transformed and beautiful, like Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink, with her homemade dress and mysterious lace boots. She pictured her hair in an upsweep of loose curls. In the fantasy, her prom face looked like the one she only wore asleep, loose and relaxed. She imagined a photographer asking her to smile and, for the first time in her life, being able to do it. ~ Cammie McGovern

Where are you going?"
He looked over his shoulder at me. "If I stay, you won't get any sleep."
"Stay," I said. "I promise to keep my hands to myself." Lie - such an outright lie.
He gave me a half smile that told me he knew it, too, but nestled down, tugging me into his arms. I wrapped an arm around his waist and rested my head in the hollow of his shoulder.
He idly stroked my hair. I didn't want to sleep - didn't want to lose a minute with him - but an immense exhaustion was pulling me away from consciousness, until all I knew was the touch of his fingers in my hair and the sounds of his breathing. ~ Sarah J. Maas

Dirt makes a man look masculine. Let your hair blow in the wind, and all that. It's OK. All you have to do is look neat when you have to look neat. ~ Hedy Lamarr

She was flighty and poor, a French studies major who quoted Simone de Beauvoir. She wiped her runny nose on her coat sleeve when it was snowing, stuck her head out of car windows the way dogs do, the wind fireworking her hair. That woman was gone now. Not that it was her fault. Vast fortunes did that to people. It took them to the cleaners, cruelly starched and steam-pressed them so all their raw edges, all the dirt and hunger and guileless laughter, were ironed out. Few survived real money. ~ Marisha Pessl

I'd consider it profession enough to have streaky bleached hair, to wear a green scarf, to spill spicy teas, to walk (slightly) unevenly on high heels. What more is there to give to the world than that? I realize this sentiment of mine is currently considered appalling, but these days I find the popularity of ideas even more meaningless than ever before. ~ Rivka Galchen

I'm going to kill David Lapinski!" America announced, shaking snow out of her hair as she approached.
"Direct hit!" Shepley laughed. America shot him a warning glare and his laugh turned into a nervous chuckle. "I mean ... what an asshole. ~ Jamie McGuire

The following "Rules for Female Teachers" were posted by the school board of one town in Massachusetts: Do not get married. Do not leave town at any time without permission of the school board. Do not keep company with men. Be home between the hours of 8 P.M. and 6 A.M. Do not loiter downtown in ice cream stores. Do not smoke. Do not get into a carriage with any man except your father or brother. Do not dress in bright colors. Do not dye your hair. Do not wear any dress more than two inches above the ankle. ~ Howard Zinn

You okay?" he says, touching my cheek. His hand cradles the side of my head, his long fingers slipping through my hair. He smiles and holds my head in place as he kisses me. Heat spreads through me slowly.And fear, buzzing like an alarm in my chest.
His lips still on mine,he pushes the jacket from my shoulders.I flinch when I hear it drop,and push him back,my eyes burning. I don't know why I feel this way. I didn't feel like this when he kissed me on the train.I press my palms to my face,covering my eyes.
"What? What's wrong?"
I shake my head.
"Don't tell me it's nothing." His voice is cold.He grabs my arm. "Hey. Look at me."
I take my hands from my face and lift my eyes to his.The hurt in his eyes and the anger in his clenched jaw surprise me.
"Sometimes I wonder," I say,as calmly as I can, "what's in it for you. This...whatever it is."
"What's in it for me," he repeats. He steps back,shaking his head. "You're an idiot,Tris."
"I am not an idiot," I say. "Which is why I know that it's a little weird that,of all the girls you could have chosen,you chose me.So if you're just looking for...um,you know...that..."
"What? Sex?" He scowls at me. "You know, if that was all I wanted, you probably wouldn't be the first person I would go to."
I feel like he just punched me in the stomach. Of course I'm not the first person he would go to-not the first, not the prettiest,not desirable. I press my hands to my abdomen and look away, fightin ~ Veronica Roth

Women not only bear the brunt of the equation of beauty with youth, we perpetuate it - every time we dye our hair to cover the gray or lie about our age, not to mention have plastic surgery to cover the signs of aging. ~ Ashton Applewhite

Bill looks different without a suit. He was wearing his old graduate school T-shirt. Which was Brown. The school. Not the color. His girlfriend was wearing sandals and a nice flowered dress. She even had hair under her arms. No kidding! ~ Stephen Chbosky

Bring me the moon and the stars, Ram,' said Sita, draped in a red sari, playing with her hair tied to a red ribbon.
'No, my dear, I'll bring the sun for you,' said Ram fondly, gazing at her beauty under the moonlight.
'No, dear, it's too hot, it will burn my hands,' said Sita quickly, brimming with love.
'Don't worry, dear, I'll gift the sun to you on a rainy day. ~ Deepak Rana

As he pushes aside a piece of my hair, tucking it behind my ear, he seductively whispers, "Dahlia, I want you. I want to kiss you, touch you, make you come over and over again. I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you ~ Kim Karr

The door burst open. Murphy came through it, her eyes living flames of azure blue, her hair a golden coronet around her. She held a blazing sword in her hand and she shone so bright and beautiful and terrifying in her anger that it was hard to see. The Sight, I realized, dimly. I was seeing her for who she was. ~ Jim Butcher

Every man wishes to be king. Her hair snapped about her, buzzing. ~ Kay Kenyon

I brought you a ring." It was made of warm, smooth wood. "What does it do?" I asked. "It keeps secrets," she said. I held it to my ear. Auri shook her head seriously, her hair swirling around her. "It doesn't tell them, it keeps them." She stepped close to me and took the ring, sliding it onto my finger. "It's quite enough to have a secret," she chided me gently. "Anything more would be greedy." "It fits," I said, somewhat surprised. "They're your secrets," she said, as if explaining something to a child. "Who else would it fit? ~ Patrick Rothfuss

He was a horrid-looking fellow. Fat as a pig he was, and his face was the colour of cottage cheese. His collar was unbuttoned and his silk tie was spotted with egg stain. His stomach stuck out like a sagging pillow and his little thin legs fell away under it to end in torn felt slippers. He was all bristly blond jowls, tiny puffy hands and long blond curly hair, like some monstrous baby swelled to man size. ~ Brian Moore

The dinner bell rings, and everyone trots off, Frederick coming in last with his taffy-colored hair and wounded eyes, bootlaces trailing. Werner washes Frederick's mess tin for him; he shares homework answers, shoe polish, sweets from Dr. Hauptmann; they run next to each other during field exercises. A brass pin weighs lightly on each of their lapels; one hundred and fourteen hobnailed boots spark against pebbles on the trail. The castle with its towers and battlements looms below them like some misty vision of foregone glory. Werner's blood gallops through his ventricles, his thoughts on Hauptmann's transceiver, on solder, fuses, batteries, antennas; his boot and Frederick's touch the ground at the exact same moment. ~ Anthony Doerr

Ah, the trainer with the hands," one of them said. She was very pretty, thick dark hair and even darker eyes. She had a nice body, but it was easy to see she had been having babies. "Lucas talks about you fondly."

Kacey smiled. "Yeah, his shoulder's been giving him shit lately," she said, figuring this must be Fallon, Lucas's wife.

"Yeah, and if you didn't keep him from birching about it, I might have to try and kick your ass. But seeing that he is happy, and you are also a good six inches taller than me and have abs and arms that could squash small children, I'm gonna just say, hey! It's nice to meet you!" she said and everyone laughed as they shook hands. ~ Toni Aleo

As you watch the Gary Condit interview, three words come to mind: stiff, unbending and impenetrable. And that's just his hair. ~ David Letterman

I would dye my hair every week. I wanted to be a really goth teenager. ~ Sarah Michelle Gellar

In the variety of the tone of her words, moods, hugs, kisses, brushes of the lips, and this night the upside-down kiss over the back of the chair with her dark eyes heavy hanging and her blushing cheeks full of sweet blood and sudden tenderness brooding like a hawk over the boy over the back, holding the chair on both sides, just an instant, the startling sudden sweet fall of her hair over my face and the soft downward brush of her lips, a moment's penetration of sweet lip flesh, a moment's drowned in thinking and kissing in it and praying and hoping and in the mouth of life when life is young to burn cool skin eye-blinking joy - I held her captured upside down, also for just a second, and savored the kiss which first had surprised me like a blind man's bluff so I didn't know really who was kissing me for the very first instant but now I knew and knew everything more than ever, as, grace-wise, she descended to me from the upper dark where I'd thought only cold could be and with all her heavy lips and breast in my neck and on my head and sudden fragrance of the night brought with her from the porch, of some 5 & 10 cheap perfumes of herself the little hungry scent of perspiration warm in her flesh like presciousness. ~ Jack Kerouac

She was a thin, sickly, bony child, like an eft, with fine hair like sunlit smoke. ~ A.S. Byatt

Without returning...
O my feelings
In this gathering darkness of spring,
And against my koto
My tangled, tangled hair. ~ Akiko Yosano

There is so little to remember of anyone - an anecdote, a conversation at a table. But every memory is turned over and over again, every word, however chance, written in the heart in the hope that memory will fulfill itself, and become flesh, and that the wanderers will find a way home, and the perished, whose lack we always feel, will step through the door finally and stroke our hair with dreaming habitual fondness not having meant to keep us waiting long. ~ Marilynne Robinson

When I got into the music industry, I wasn't focused on being the most famous artist or even getting a major record deal. It was just to make music on my own terms or create my own image, do my own hair, do my own makeup. ~ Janelle Monae

In all outward aspects he remained patient and mild now, not caring even to speak against heretics; he knew that he was likely to die soon enough, but the prospect of death was not an unwelcome one ( ... ). More retained his hair shirt as he dwelled in his chamber, and is reported to have whipped himself for penitence; he fasted on the appointed days, sang hymns and prayed both day and night. ~ Peter Ackroyd

He had been feathering kisses into my hair, causing goose bumps on the back of my neck. ~ Katie McGarry

I have this lock of hair that keeps falling across my forehead. It drives me mad. ~ William Boyd

Then he slid his hand into my hair and pulled me closer, and when he kissed me, my heart hurt from happiness, if such a thing was possible. "I missed you," I whispered against his mouth. ~ Kristan Higgins

A thing that has always baffled me about women is that they will saturate themselves with a pint of perfume, a pound of sachet powder, an evil-smelling lip rouge, a peculiar-smelling hair ointment and a half-dozen varieties of body oils, and then have the effrontery to complain of the aroma of a fine dollar cigar. ~ Groucho Marx

The doubts, strong as they were, were rousing more than hesitation. Her eyes drifted closed, fingertips sliding over the silk and lace panties she wore.
Larry could never know how many times they'd been pulled aside in a rush of unbridled lust, how the side had been carefully stitched after they'd been ripped from her in a bar bathroom a few years ago by a man whose name she didn't even know. She found her fingers at the seam, her breath shallow and shaking as she remembered the way his rough, callused fingers felt inside her, the ache of his teeth at her shoulder, the sound of his growling moans as he gripped her hair and plunged deep into her throat. She could still smell the whiskey on his breath, the stifling cloud of smoke that permeated every part of the hole-in-the-wall bar ~ Alaria Thorne

I meant what I said. I don't ever want anyone else but you, Jess."
"I don't want anyone else either. Only you."
Shane's fingers threaded into his hair. He pulled Jesse's head back and kissed him again, slow and tender and sweet.
"I want to tell the guys," Shane whispered against Jesse's lips. It wasn't the first time he'd mentioned it. "I wanna be with you for real, Jess, out in the open. We shouldn't have to hide."
Jesse closed his eyes. He wanted that too. He was just so nervous about what Nicky and Dre would think, what their parents would think. As much as he wanted it - to be out and proud and tell everyone that Shane was his - he just wasn't ready to take that last step. The thought of it was too scary. "Give me some time, okay? I just…I need a little more time."
He felt Shane's nod. "Okay. But soon, Jess. I'm tired of pretending."
"I know. I promise, Shane. Soon."
He fell asleep to the sound of Shane's heartbeat in his ear. They had the rest of their lives. Shane had said so before. They both wanted the same thing. A few more weeks couldn't cause any harm.
Soon. ~ Piper Vaughn

Stephen was alluring in that languid, stay-out-all-night kind of way: a musician with long, unkempt hair, a skinny smoker's frame, and an encyclopedic knowledge of music. But his eyes, trusting and honest, have always been his most attractive trait. Those eyes, with nothing to hide, made me feel as if I had dated him forever. ~ Susannah Cahalan

I envied women with signature hair-dos, signature perfumes, signature sign-offs. Novelists who tell Vogue Magazine: "I can't live without my Smythson notebook, Pomegranate Noir cologne by Jo Malone and Frette sheets". In the grip of madness, materialism begins to look like an admirable belief system. ~ Emma Forrest

But now, at the table, behind the fall of the tablecloth, behind the sheath of skin, hanging head downwards between cliffs of bone, was the baby, its arms all but clasped about its neck, its face aslant upon its arms, hair painted upon its skull, closed, secret eyes, a diver poised in albumen, ancient and epic, shot with delicate spasms, as old as Pharaoh in its tomb. ~ Enid Bagnold

I wanted to absorb every moment of this night. I knew it was special. I wanted to keep it locked away inside me forever just the way it was. When I closed my eyes to sleep, I thought of how he'd glowed like a jewel in the light of the campfire. The way the flames carved him against the darkness. The very shape of his head. The smudges of chocolate and marshmallows on his fingers and lips. How the hair on his legs looked like filaments of gold. When I was certain my heart hat painted the canvas in my memory...I fell asleep. ~ Dan Skinner

Outside my bike, never has anything important in my life been just mine."
My body stilled, so did my heart, and my eyes locked with his.
He started moving again, slowly, deeply and he kept talking. "Always castoffs, leftovers, used, sometimes even food from the dumpsters."
My heart started beating again, only to trip over itself; my breath came fast, not only from what was happening to my body but what he was saying.
"Vance-"
His lips came to mine, his hands moved out of my hair and went to the side of my face and he stared in my eyes, pressing deep inside.
"Mine," he muttered, his deep voice hoarse, that fierce undercurrent there.
His tone caused a shiver to run through me, straight through to my soul.
Then he kissed me. ~ Kristen Ashley

He kissed her, and knew he was trying to tell her the depth of how he felt. Even as he lost himself in her, felt her hair sweep across his face, his chest, her lips meet his skin, her fingers, he understood that there were people for whom one other was their missing part. ~ Jojo Moyes

He had spent forty-eight hours more or less awake and restless and then, on the third day, he had bought a side-scan sonar device, two window air-conditioners, a leather sofa and a pool table.
"Now do you feel better?" Adam had asked drily.
Gansey had replied, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Hey, man," Ronan said, "I like the pool table."
The entire situation made Blue apoplectic.
"There are children starving in the streets of Chicago," she said, her hair bristling with indignation. "Three species go extinct every hour because there's no funding to protect them. You are still wearing those incredibly stupid boat shoes, and of all the things that you have bought, you still haven't replaced them!"
Gansey, bewildered, observed his feet. The movement of his toes was barely visible through the tops of his boat shoes. Really, in light of recent events, these shoes were the only things that were right in the world. "I like these shoes."
"Sometimes I hate you," Blue said. ~ Maggie Stiefvater

The sun's nearly level with the horizon, right behind his head, making this weird halo effect around his face - as if! I'm surprised he doesn't smell like brimstone. He probably has a red pitchfork and hides horns under his hair. ~ Karen Marie Moning

L'union libre [Freedom of Love]"

My wife with the hair of a wood fire
With the thoughts of heat lightning
With the waist of an hourglass
With the waist of an otter in the teeth of a tiger
My wife with the lips of a cockade and of a bunch of stars of the last magnitude
With the teeth of tracks of white mice on the white earth
With the tongue of rubbed amber and glass
My wife with the tongue of a stabbed host
With the tongue of a doll that opens and closes its eyes
With the tongue of an unbelievable stone
My wife with the eyelashes of strokes of a child's writing
With brows of the edge of a swallow's nest
My wife with the brow of slates of a hothouse roof
And of steam on the panes
My wife with shoulders of champagne
And of a fountain with dolphin-heads beneath the ice
My wife with wrists of matches
My wife with fingers of luck and ace of hearts
With fingers of mown hay
My wife with armpits of marten and of beechnut
And of Midsummer Night
Of privet and of an angelfish nest
With arms of seafoam and of riverlocks
And of a mingling of the wheat and the mill
My wife with legs of flares
With the movements of clockwork and despair
My wife with calves of eldertree pith
My wife with feet of initials
With feet of rings of keys and Java sparrows drinking
My wife with a neck of unpearled barley
My wife with a throat of the valley ~ Andre Breton

Bolivia's majority Indian population was always excluded, politically oppressed and culturally alienated. Our national wealth, our raw materials, was plundered. Indios were once treated like animals here. In the 1930s and 40s, they were sprayed with DDT to kill the vermin on their skin and in their hair whenever they came into the city. ~ Evo Morales

Guys are like dogs: they never notice if you've changed your hair, but they can sense when there's another guy sniffing around their territory ~ Candace Bushnell