Logan Hair Quotes

All my spells smell like burnt hair lately. ~ Jaya

On the land adjoining La Grenouillère strollers were sauntering under the gigantic trees which help to make this part of the island one of the most delightful parks imaginable. Busty women with peroxided hair and nipped-in waists could be seen, made up to the nines with blood red lips and black-kohled eyes. Tightly laced into their garish dresses they trailed in all their vulgar glory over the fresh green grass. They were accompanied by men whose fashion-plate accessories, light gloves, patent-leather boots, canes as slender as threads and absurd monocles made them look like complete idiots. ~ Guy De Maupassant

The morning light played up his hazel eyes and for a moment I was caught in his allure. The dark brows, the dark hair, the tan skin. A weaker woman would have thrown herself at him a long time ago. ~ R.S. Grey

She knows we can see her, right?"

"The light's behind her," Teagan pointed out. "All she sees is her own reflection."

"Face check," Abby said, as Ms Skinner stretched her lips again, then puckered. She dug a lipstick out of her purse and applied it. "Uh-huh. Now the hair," Abby said. As if on cue, Ms. Skinner rearranged her ginger bangs, fluffed them, then twisted a strand around her finger to make it curl. "That woman's man-hunting. Hide your dad, Tea."

"Don't ler her get Dad!" Aiden shouted from his fort.

"Nobody is getting Dad," Teagan assured him. ~ Kersten Hamilton

Who are you?" Rosemary said in amazement. She had never seen men like these before. Cloaks of green and brown fell from their broad shoulders and every hand gripped a round shield an evil-looking spear. Beneath the thick yellow hair, eyes glinted hard and wild.
One of the men rode near and peered down at Rosemary. Unlike the rest, he was clean-shaven and pleasant-looking, and she was surprised to see that he was no older than herself. Nonetheless his blond-red hair was bound with golden circlet and he was obviously the leader. He suddenly smiled at her and his eyes were bright with humour and curiosity.
"It is hardly your place to question us, girl."
He reached out and touched her hair.
"Hair like the night...and such strange clothing. But you are fair-faced. Whose slave might you be? ~ O.R. Melling

It was his fault.She could put the blame for this entirely on Brian Donnelly's shoudlers.If he hadn't been so insufferable,if he hadn't been there being insufferable when Chad had called, she wouldn't have agreed to go out to dinner.And she wouldn't have spent nearly four hours being bored brainless when she could've been doing something more useful.
Like watching paint dry.
There was nothing wrong with Chad, really.If you only had,say,half a brain, no real interest outside of the cut of this year's designer jacket and were thrilled by a rip-roaring debate over the proper way to serve a triple latte,he was the perfect companion.
Unfortunately,she didn't gualify on any of those levels.
Right now he was droning on about the painting he'd bought at a recent art show. No,not the painting,Keeley thought wearily. A discussion of the painting,of art,might have been the medical miracle that prevented her from slipping into a coma.But Chad was discoursing-no other word for it-on The Investment.
He had the windows up and the air conditioning clasting as they drove. It was a perfectly beautiful night, she mused, but putting the windows down meant Chad's hair would be mussed. Couldn't have that.
At least she didn't have to attempt conversation. Chad preferred monologues.
What he wanted was an attractive companion of the right family and tax bracket who dressed well and would sit quietly while he pontificated on the narrow areas of his interest.
K ~ Nora Roberts

The important thing is not what we look like, but the role we play in our
best friend's life. Friends choose certain friends because that's the kind of company they are looking for at that specific time, not because they're the
correct height, age, or have the right hair color ~ Cecelia Ahern

I think this ... "perfectionist gene" that too many young women have holds them back, and instead they should be really aiming for "good enough." You don't have to be perfect. Most men never think like that. They're just trying to figure out what's the opening and how they can seize it. They're not thinking about, Oh my gosh, I'm not perfect, my hair's not perfect today, I wore the wrong shoes. No. ~ Hillary Clinton

Things are continually beginning again; they're never really resolved, you know. They are only resolved temporarily. We live in a society that peddles solutions, whether it's solutions to those extra pounds you're carrying, or to your thinning hair, or to your loss of appetite, loss of love. We are always looking for solutions, but actually what we are engaged in is a process throughout life during which you never get it right. You have to keep being open, you have to keep moving forward. You have to keep finding out who you are and how you are changing, and only that makes life tolerable. ~ Jeanette Winterson

When she brought her lips back closer to his face, his eyelids flickered and shut for a moment. In a swift motion he rolled on top of her, and his mouth was on hers before she could make a sound. His hand pressed on her lower back, tracing the curve of her waist. She felt the heat building inside her and the goosebumps rising on her arm. His other hand slowly moved upward, until his fingers flexed back and forth in her hair. ~ A.O. Peart

I dreamed of a green place once," he whispered. "A manor house and a little girl with red hair, and preparations for a wedding. If there are other worlds, then maybe there is one where I was a good brother and a good son. ~ Cassandra Clare

Sleep now, gorgeous girl, he whispers, and he kisses my hair. ~ E.L. James

I'm restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again. - Anais Nin ~ Amber L. Johnson

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

Layney Logan, there are two things in this world you don't need to question. One is gravity." He tilted my chin to force me to look him in the eye. The sudden intimacy shocked me. "The other is Layney Logan. ~ Gwen Hayes

I guess you've got a spice of temper," commented Mr. Harrison, surveying the flushed cheeks and indignant eyes opposite him. "It goes with hair like yours, I reckon ~ L.M. Montgomery

Werner thinks of her, whether he wishes to or not. Girl with a cane, girl in a gray dress, girl made of mist. That air of otherworldliness in the snarls of her hair and the fearlessness of her step. She takes up residence inside him, a living doppelgänger to face down the dead Viennese girl who haunts him every night. ~ Anthony Doerr

God, Emma. I'm yours. I've always been yours. From the moment I saw the dark silk of your hair and the storm in your eyes, I was a lost cause…lost to you. I've been through hell, and I would go again. I would go willingly, and would charge through the gates if it meant it would keep you safe. ~ Ginger Scott

She smoothed down my hair and kissed my cheek. I suddenly felt like I was five years old again. I closed my eyes, relishing the feeling. I'd been feeling too old lately. ~ Aprille Legacy

Sonnet V
I touch you as a lonely violin touches the suburbs of the faraway place
patiently the river asks for its share of the drizzle
and, bit by bit, a tomorrow passing in poems approaches
so I carry faraway's land and it carries me on travel's road
On a mare made of your virtues, my soul weaves
a natural sky made of your shadows, one chrysalis at a time.
I am the son of what you do in the earth, son of my wounds
that have lit up the pomegranate blossoms in your closed-up gardens
Out of jasmine the night's blood streams white. Your perfume,
my weakness and your secret, follows me like a snakebite. And your hair
is a tent of wind autumn in color. I walk along with speech
to the last of the words a bedouin told a pair of doves
I palpate you as a violin palpates the silk of the faraway time
and around me and you sprouts the grass of an ancient place - anew ~ Mahmoud Darwish

I loved you when you wore that hideous yellow gown. I loved you later that evening, when you stood amongst the dunes with the wind rippling through your glorious hair and the moon reflected in your eyes. I loved you when you burst into my bedchamber the following day. I loved you even more when you appeared at the inn that evening.' He allowed a brief smile to curve his lips. 'I loved and adored you when I held you in my arms and made love to you. Like Whitney with his Janette, I have loved everything about you in every moment of every day since the moment I first laid eyes on you, Jane! ~ Carole Mortimer

The Brother's hood fell back, and his silvery hair shone out in the dim chamber like starlight. All the air rushed out of Tessa's lungs in a single instant. The Silent Brother was Jem. ~ Cassandra Clare

Kestrel was stiff, her delicate shoes planted in the walkway's gravel. She had lifted the hem of her storm-green skirts, the gesture of a lady, but he saw how she made fists of the fabric.
"I'm sorry," he said, guessing what troubled her: the memory of the Firstwinter Rebellion. Her dead friends, Arin's deception, the halls of the governor's palace choked with corpses.
She gave him a narrow look. "Part of you isn't sorry."
He couldn't deny it.
But she softened and said, "I'm not innocent either. I, too, feel sorry and not sorry about things I've done." She let her dress's hem fall to the stones and touched three fingers to the back of his hand.
Arin forgot, for a moment, where he was and what they were discussing. A marvel: that such a light touch could feel like a whole caress, that his body could ignite so easily.
Now she looked amused.
"Let's leave." He slid a hand beneath her loose hair and thumbed the slope of her neck, feeling the fluttery pulse there. Her expression changed, amusement melting into slow pleasure. He said, "Let's not go in."
"Arin." She sighed. "We must go in. ~ Marie Rutkoski

[On Sting] He threw a sucker punch. There's the sucker who threw the punch. Him the the Bart Simpson hair doo. ~ Bobby Heenan

Will looked at his sister. "And you don't care about being a Shadowhunter. How is this: I shall write a letter and give it to you if you promise to deliver it home yourself - and not to return."

Cecily recoiled; she had many memories of shouting matches with Will, of the china dolls she had owned that he had broken by dropping them out an attic window; but there was also kindness in her memories: the brother who had bandaged up a cut knee, or retied her hair ribbons when they came loose. That kindness was absent from the Will who stood before her now. Her mother had used to cry for the first year or two after Will went; she had said, in Welsh, holding Cecily to her, that they - the Shadowhunters - would "take all the love out of him." A cold, unloving people, she had told Cecily, who had forbidden her marriage to her husband. What could he want with them, her Will, her little one?

"I will not go," Cecily said, staring her brother down. "And if you insist that I must, I will - I will - "

The door of the attic slid open and Jem stood silhouetted in the doorway… ~ Cassandra Clare

LOGAN: ...Izzy could do whatever the hell she wanted. All she needed to do was not give a sh*t about fitting in. ~ Sam Crescent

Ta-da! Faerie!" Jack pointed at Reth, the very definition of beauty, leaning casually against the wall in a cream Victorian suit, the shirt open around his neck revealing perfectly sculpted collarbones, his golden hair just brushing along them.
"Evelyn, love, there you are."
"I - You - and you?" I looked incredulously from Jack to Reth and back again. "This does not compute on so many levels."
Jack shrugged, shoving his hands sullenly in his pockets. "Reth found me, told me you were in trouble, so I agreed to help."
Reth cocked his head, giving Jack a curious look. "I seem to recall offering you the choice between having both yours hands removed or pulling Evelyn out of that abominable iron-lined prison."
Jack didn't meet my eyes. "Like I said, I agreed to help."
I snorted. "Noble, as always."
Reth held out his elbow. "Are we quite ready to go? I, for one, would rather not spend much time here. Tasteless décor, and the lighting doesn't do your complexion any favors, Evelyn."
"Oh, for the love, you two are not in charge! And I don't trust either one of you for a stroll down the hall, much less through the Faerie Paths!"
Reth fixed his eyes on mine. "You have my word that you will come to no harm while in my care." He waved a hand at Jack. "And you have my word that if he does anything I find even so much as mildly annoying, he'll never walk again. ~ Kiersten White

Her honey-blonde hair is strewn across her face as she sways her head. She's working a red sequined bikini separated by a tan, flat stomach, and a butterfly tattoo resting on her left hip. Her legs are clad in black fishnets that run into a pair of white-heeled boots - still a knockout. ~ Kevin James Moore

In the Old Testament, a person in grief tore his robe and didn't run out to Kohl's to get a new one to go to church. Women cut their hair. Men shaved their beards. There was weeping and wailing. For a whole year, nobody expected you to look or be the way you were. How wonderful! But in our nutty society, the person who "keeps it together," who's "so brave," and who "looks so great - you'd never know," that's who is applauded. Grief is not the opposite of faith. Mourning is not the opposite of hope. I believe that well-meaning Christians can try to hurry us out of our mourning because we make them uncomfortable. The Bible does not say to cheer up the bereaved, but rather to "mourn with those who mourn." Christ does not say we grieve because we are deficient in faith, but rather, "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted [not rushed]" (Matthew 5:4). ~ Jennifer Saake

When I was in college, I used to write little ditties and short stories and poetry for my friends. Writing a book is another thing. It is so much different from my traditional day of dirty fingernails and greasy hair and hot pans. ~ Mario Batali

The gaping hole in her heart is amplified when she catches a glimpse of the strands of silver hair framing her once young face in the mirror. ~ Raquel Cepeda