Manely Long Hair Quotes

After a long time, one small hand moved, slowly, tentatively, tracing the feathers falling around her, stroking the black slashes along one huge wing. She didn't ask where he'd gotten them, didn't ask why they mimicked the marks on his shoulder. She didn't ask, just kept running her soft fingers through the down, along the spines ...
"How long will they last?"
"A few hours," he said hoarsely. He should tell her, he thought, that the feathers weren't just a projection. That for the moment for however long the Irin's essence held out, they were an innate, physical part of him. And that her fingers stroking along the marks felt just like they once had, moving over his scars. He ought to tell her, ought to ask her to stop. It's what a gentleman would do, he knew that. But then he was half demon. And tonight, he thought maybe he'd just go with that.
"They're nice," she murmured, pulling one around her.
"Yes." One hand tightened in her thick soft hair. "Yes. ~ Karen Chance

The girl with the long brown hair turned around. "Are you her boy friend?" she asked. Summer glanced from Crystal to Nate and back. Then question made her feel a little awkward. After all, she had saved him a seat. No, I'm her fiance," Nate said. We've been promised to each other since birth." Summer added. Our wedding isn't until March. ~ Brandon Mull

In my experience, the ex-military guys came in two types. The first grew long hair, sprouted beards, and indulged in all the things they hadn't been able do while they'd been in the armed forces. The second did their best to pretend they never got out. ~ Ilona Andrews

It had been only natural that as she developed into a young woman, she would become physically attracted to him. Certainly every other female in Hampshire was. McKenna had grown into a tall, big-boned male with striking looks, his features strong if not precisely chiseled, his nose long and bold, his mouth wide. His black hair hung over his forehead in a perpetual spill, while those singular turquoise eyes were shadowed by extravagant dark lashes. To compound his appeal, he possessed a relaxed charm and a sly sense of humor that had made him a favorite on the estate and in the village beyond. ~ Lisa Kleypas

Aesthetically, I don't really like the blond, tan thing. I am pale. So I may as well embrace the pale. Long, blond hair and a bad spray tan is the stuff of my nightmares. ~ Rachael Taylor

From sixth grade on I was a real Pillsbury doughboy. Overweight, long hair, thick glasses. ~ David Keith

I must say also that it's never worked to my disadvantage that I have long, blond hair. ~ Ann Beattie

WE ARE TO PLAY THE GAME OF DEATH

E are to play the game of death to-night, my bride and I.

The night is black, the clouds in the sky are capricious, and the waves are raving at sea.

We have left our bed of dreams, flung open the door and come out, my bride and I.

We sit upon a swing, and the storm winds give us a wild push from behind.

My bride starts up with fear and delight, she trembles and clings to my breast.

Long have I served her tenderly.

I made for her a bed of flowers and I closed the doors to shut out the rude light from her eyes.

I kissed her gently on her lips and whispered softly in her ears till she half swooned in languor.

She was lost in the endless mist of vague sweetness.

She answered not to my touch, my songs failed to arouse her.

To-night has come to us the call of the storm from the wild.

My bride has shivered and stood up, she has clasped my hand and come out.

Her hair is flying in the wind, her veil is fluttering, her garland rustles over her breast.

The push of death has swung her into life.

We are face to face and heart to heart, my bride and I. ~ Rabindranath Tagore

My hair is holy. I grow it long for the God. ~ Euripides

Katsa didn't know how long they'd been grappling when she realized he was laughing. She understood his joy, understood it completely. She'd never had such a fight, she'd never had such an opponent. She was faster than he was offensively-much faster-but he was stronger, and it was as if he had a premonition of her every turn and strike; she'd never known a fighter so quick to defend himself. She was calling up moves she hadn't tried since she was a child, blows she'd only ever imagined having the opportunity to use. They were playing. It was a game. When he pinned her arms behind her back, grabbed her hair, and pushed her face into the dirt, she found that she was laughing as well. ~ Kristin Cashore

Was he curious about her?
That was putting it mildly. He was curious about the noises she might make if he kissed her properly and the colour of her nipples and what she tasted like between her legs and the extent of her tattoo and how she'd sounded as she came. He was curious about where she liked to be touched and whether she'd let him take charge and if she liked giving head. He was curious about the long curve of her spine and the dip of her hip and how she'd looked straddled atop of him, her hair loose, her breasts bouncing as he pushed her over the edge.
Or curled up beside him in bed, naked, her body branded by his. ~ Amy Andrews

But he came back to his idea.
"My life is very monotonous," the fox said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat ... "
The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time. ~ Antoine De Saint Exupery

Sophie ignored her and went to take a seat. The only two open were between Tristan and Jackson. Lilli had fallen headfirst in like with Jackson's auburn hair and deep brown eyes, so Sophie knew she'd have to sit next to Tristan. Her heart stuttered. Tristan's gray eyes warmed when Sophie took the seat next to him. Her gaze roamed over his face. The square jaw, full lips. His brown hair was mussed, like he'd just woken up. When his lips tilted up at one corner heat rushed to her face. "Come on. We need to get this started. I've got better things to do." Morgan's eyes sparked at Tristan and Sophie. Aidan, the last of the study group, whistled. "You're hot when you're jealous." Morgan's blue eyes turned to ice. She glared at him. He smiled lazily at her. ~ Samantha Long

He orders a batch of handmade tiedyed shirts from Guizhou province and takes them to a graduate student at the Central Authority Fine Arts School to find out what to charge. The graduate student swings his long hair back and forth and tells Hao An these shirts are not authentic enough, not tribal enough. No way are young Beijingers going to be interested in them: there's no art, no attitude. "What should I do now then?" asks Hao An. The graduate student tells him to head to the bars in Sanlitun and sell them to drunken foreigners and pretentious businessmen with art collections. ~ Xiaolu Guo

Clive convinced himself that it wouldn't be long before we'd be able to predict all their [the moths] equations of cause and effect, then perhaps even map out each and every cell, and configure them in their entirety as robots, in terms of molecules, chemicals and electrical signals. And what fed this particular obsession was Pupal Soup.

If you cut through a cocoon in mid-winter, a thick creamy liquid will spill out and nothing more. What goes into that cocoon in autumn is a caterpillar and what comes out in spring is entirely different - a moth, complete with papery wings, hair like legs and antennae. Yet this same creature spends winter as a gray-green liquid, a primordial soup. The miraculous meltdown of an animal into a case of fluid chemicals and its exquisite re-generation into a different animal, like a stupendous jigsaw, was a feat that, far from putting off, fed Clive's obsession. He believed it made his lifetime ambition easier because, however complex it might be, it was, after all, only a jigsaw, and to Clive, that meant it was possible. For all the chemicals required to make a moth were right there in front of his eyes, in the pupal soup. ~ Poppy Adams

He realizes finally that the boy he's been watching snap his board into the air, then neatly touch down- long, black, gleaming hair, pale white skin- is Felice. He didn't know she'd learned how to skateboard. He's never seen her like this before- so intently focused and content- her beauty beside the point, merely part of the catalog of effects- speed, balance, daring. He admires her athletic form and feels moved in some unexpected way. ~ Diana Abu-Jaber

What's the first word that comes to mind when you think of him?"
"Soft." It was out of my mouth before I could reign the thought back in, and I felt the heat of embarrassment creep up my neck.
She cocked her head and gave me a puzzled look. "Soft?"
"I didn't mean soft." I bet Jamie did feel soft, thought. His long, coffee colored hair looked like silk. I bet it felt like silk, too. "I meant soft-spoken. ~ Madison Parker

I stole looks. First was her hair, long and loopy and pulled back.
Second, she has the prettiest face, oopen-like and up-looking.
Third time I looked she was studying that satellite and I saw her eyes, deep brown, almost black. She has these little scars on her chin.
I like that.
When a lady isn't perfect, she's a lot more perfect, I believe.
- Mack ~ Paul Griffin

I haven't got a clue what this lot's supposed to mean," he said, staring down at a long list of calculations. "You know," said Ron, whose hair was on end because of all the times he had run his fingers through it in frustration, "I think it's back to the old Divination standby." "What - make it up?" "Yeah," said Ron, sweeping the jumble of scrawled notes off the table, dipping his pen into some ink, and starting to write. "Next Monday," he said as he scribbled, "I am likely to develop a cough, owing to the unlucky conjunction of Mars and Jupiter." He looked up at Harry. "You know her - just put in loads of misery, she'll lap it up." "Right," said Harry, crumpling up his first attempt and lobbing it over the heads of a group of chattering first years into the fire. "Okay … on Monday, I will be in danger of - er - burns." "Yeah, you will be," said Ron darkly, "we're seeing the skrewts again on Monday. Okay, Tuesday, I'll … erm …" "Lose a treasured possession," said Harry, who was flicking through Unfogging the Future for ideas. "Good one," said Ron, copying it down. "Because of … erm … Mercury. Why don't you get stabbed in the back by someone you thought was a friend?" "Yeah … cool …" said Harry, scribbling it down, "because … Venus is in the twelfth house." "And on Wednesday, I think I'll come off worst in a fight." "Aaah, I was going to have a fight. Okay, I'll lose a bet." "Yeah, you'll be betting I'll win my fight. ~ J.K. Rowling

Absently, she brushed back some of the hair from her face, and she saw as Jaguar's eyes followed how the long strands slid across her throat. Though his dark skin did not show pallor as clearly as Lord Daryl's had, Turquoise could tell Jaguar had not fed yet, and she recognized the hungry look in his black eyes.
Testing, she stood, the movement appearing reluctant. "I"ll leave you to your work if you'd like."
He answered the way she had expected him to. Not raising his gaze from her throat, he said, "Come here." Though the words were an order, the tone left room for argument.
For a moment, Turquoise almost felt guilty. She was intentionally manipulating him. A feeding vampire is an easy target; most of them completely lost sense of their surroundings as they drew blood. Jaguar did not even try to catch her mind as his lips fell to her throat. If she had been armed, it would have been revoltingly easy to kill him. ~ Amelia Atwater-Rhodes

Love is like this small room where a child brings you to show you all their treasures. First the child shows you all the new toys that are bright and shiny and top of the line. But then she shows you all the stuff that has ended up at the bottom of the trunk. There are dolls with eyes that wobble, hair that is falling out of their heads, and dirt behind their ears. Their fingertips have been chewed off by dogs and they have been drawn on with ballpoint pen. It has been so long since they have been held or anyone has told them that they are lovely. They lie at the bottom of the toy chest, hidden and ashamed. You are either going to be disgusted by them, or you are going to be so filled with love for them that your heart almost breaks.
I took his hand in mine. ~ Heather O'Neill

Discipline is important as long as you're having a good time. What I always did was I did what I enjoyed, and I think that's why I don't have any grey hairs. ~ John Zorn

Her insanely high Christian Louboutin stilettos made a click-clacking sound on the airport floor. Amber rolled a small Louis Vuitton luggage bag behind her. She wore a baby-blue Chanel skirt suit, which made her look like an elegant celebrity. Her hair was long and blond today and pinned up into a perfectly smooth up-do. A pair of gold earrings in the shape of four-leaf clovers and a matching pendant completed the outfit. ~ A.O. Peart

crowded about the four sides of the green to watch and cheer. Viola had set out from home early in the morning looking ladylike and elegant in a muslin dress and shawl and straw bonnet, her hair in a neatly braided coronet about her head beneath it. She had even been wearing gloves. But she had long ago discarded all the accessories. Even her hair, slipping stubbornly out of its pins during the busy morning of rushing hither and yon, had been allowed finally to hang loose in a long braid down ~ Mary Balogh

My sweetheart, my love, my love, my love - do you know what - all the happiness of the world, the riches, power and adventures, all the promises of religions, all the enchantment of nature and even human fame are not worth your two letters. It was a night of horror, terrible anguish, when I imagined that your undelivered letter, stuck at some unknown post office, was being destroyed like a sick little stray dog . . . But today it arrived - and now it seems to me that in the mailbox where it was lying, in the sack where it was shaking, all the other letters absorbed, just by touching it, your unique charm and that that day all Germans received strange wonderful letters - letters that had gone mad because they had touched your handwriting. The thought that you exist is so divinely blissful in itself that it is ridiculous to talk about the everyday sadness of separation - a week's, ten days' - what does it matter? since my whole life belongs to you. I wake at night and know that you are together with me, - I sense your sweet long legs, your neck through your hair, your trembling eyelashes - and then such happiness, such simmering bliss follows me in my dreams that I simply suffocate . . . ~ Vladimir Nabokov

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

Dr. Murray points to the Nazarite system as what he calls an external scaffolding supporting human efforts at righteousness, reminding the participant that he is set apart. Christ, he said, needed no external reminder that the Father was His joy and that wine was not, that He was Life and was wholly Other from death, that He bore on Himself the shame that long hair but vaguely pointed to. ~ David Murray

I think I'm more approachable with long hair. When it's short, I come across as being artsy and weird. ~ Selma Blair

Getting back to Audrey, though, I should really feel complimented that she won't ever touch me because she likes me more than anyone else. It makes perfect sense, really, doesn't it?
If she ever gets down or depressed, i can make out the figure of her through the front window of the shack. She comes in and we drink cheap beer or wine and watch a movie or all three. Something old and long like Ben-Hur that stretches into the night. She'll be next to me on the couch in her flannel shirt and jeans that have been cut into shorts,and eventually, when she's asleep, I'll bring a blanket out and cover her up.
I kiss her cheek.
I stroke her hair.
I think of how she lives alone, just like me, and how she never had any real family, and how she only has sex with people. She never lets any love get in the way. I think she had a family once, but it was one of those beat-the-crap-out-of-each-other situations. There's no shortage of them around here. I think she loved them and all she ever did was hurt her.
That's why she refuses to love.
Anybody.
I guess she feels better off that way, and who can blame her?
When she sleeps on my couch, I think about all that. Everytime. I cover her up, then go to the bed and dream.
With my eyes open. ~ Markus Zusak

As a child I thought that I would never grow up, that I could will it so. And then I realized, quite recently, that I had crossed some line, unconsciously cloaked in the truth of my chronology. How did we get so damn old? I say to my joints, my iron-colored hair. Now I am older than my love, my departed friends. Perhaps I will live so long that the New York Public Library will be obliged to hand over the walking stick of Virginia Woolf. I would cherish it for her, and the stones in her pocket. But I would also keep on living, refusing to surrender my pen. ~ Patti Smith

Rick Rubin's undulating face hair is just as famous as his body of work. In homage to the yogis he read about as a boy on Long Island, Rubin hasn't shaved since he was 23. It's long been his registered trademark. ~ Stephen Rodrick

The little girl he loved was gone and in her place stood a stranger with Mattie's eyes and a woman's body, her long auburn hair pulled up from her neck, her small shoulders squared against the world...She didn't see the blush rise up in his face when he spoke his name. She didn't hear his young voice crack when he stammered an answer to her questions. And she didn't know that, for the first time in his life, John Henry Holliday was falling in love. ~ Victoria Wilcox

The twilight is long fingers and black hair. ~ Allen Tate

A framed photo on a dusty bookshelf caught his attention; he moved closer and picked it up silently. A small girl with long blond hair was standing under a tree, her face tilted up in delight as its feathery leaves brushed across her face, framing it.
A willow tree. Willow. ~ L.A. Weatherly

She didn't see me because of the reflection on the store windows, and she wouldn't know me in this car anyway. In fact, she probably wouldn't know me with shaggy hair and the beginnings of a beard. So I sat for a minute, watching her dusting bookshelves, either talking to herself or singing. Her feather duster had become a prop in whatever scene she had going.
She looked heart-stoppingly, breathtakingly beautiful, my Meg. ~ Laura Anderson Kurk

I'll go to church if you cut my hair tomorrow. But then you have to let me paint your portrait sometime."
"You paint?" I'm honestly surprised.
"I haven't in a long time," he says. "But I find you inspiring."
"I'd be interested to see your work," I say. "Wait, you don't mean nude or anything, right?"
He laughs. "No. You'll be fully clothed. ~ Suzanne Young

Arthur, with his keen blue eyes and hair of burnished gold, his ready smile and guileless countenance. Wide and heavy of shoulder, long of limb, he towers above other men and, though he does not yet know the power of his stature, he is aware that smaller men become uneasy near him. He is handsomely knit in all; fair to look upon. ~ Stephen R. Lawhead

Oh, come on. Haven't you seen him?" Eleanor exclaimed.
It's because he's tall, isn't it? Tall and has long hair." Even Nathaniel's crude description made me want to see Dante again. Unfortunately, he never came to dinner, probably because he lived off campus.
"He's really smart," I murmured.
"And confident," Eleanor added.
"It's like he's older than everyone else," I said "Like he knows what he want and isn't afraid of taking it."
"What she's saying is that he's manly." Eleanor grinned. ~ Yvonne Woon

Damn, cher, you still smell like a blossom. Been so long since I've seen a flower that I'd nearly forgotten what they smelled like." He took a lock of my hair, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. "You're dressing up and using expensive perfume? Ole Jack senses a trap. Consider me snared. ~ Kresley Cole

A human head with the face and hair of a fifteen-year-old boy emerged form the body of the spider, and the abdomen filled out into something of a primate-like torso. The legs remained spindly and long. He thought he looked cool driving a car as a wolf spider. He did look cool, although it was difficult to control the car. It was important to him that he look cool while driving, although he would not have been able to articulate why. ~ Joseph Fink

This is a bad idea," he murmurs. We're so close that I can see a long eyelash that's landed on his cheek. I can see the hints of blue in his hair. "Then why aren't you stopping it?" "Because I'm a fool." We breathe each other's breath, and as his body relaxes, as his hands finally slide around my back, I close my eyes. Then ~ Sabaa Tahir

Steve Isaacs (MTV VJ): When I was hired at MTV, in August of '91, I was "musician guy." I had long hair, and I was a singer-songwriter. And then the next month, Nevermind hit. It was the most perfect time to have an experience like this. I became the silly MTV grunge poster boy. I was wearing flannel a lot. I loved Nirvana, I loved Pearl Jam, I loved Alice in Chains, I loved Soundgarden, I loved Screaming Trees. when I talked about Whitney Houston on-air you could see me die in my eyes a little bit. ~ Mark Yarm

Ruby?" His hair was pale silver in this light, curled and tangled in its usual way. I couldn't hide from him. I had never been able to.

"Mike came and got me," he said, taking a careful step toward me. His hands were out in front of him, as if trying to coax a wild animal into letting him approach. "What are you doing out here? What's going on?"

"Please just go," I begged. "I need to be alone."

He kept coming straight at me.

"Please," I shouted, "go away!"

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on!" Liam said. He got a better look at me and swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Where were you this morning? Did something happen? Chubs told me you've been gone all day, and now you're out here like…this…did he do something to you?"

I looked away. "Nothing I didn't ask for."

Liam's only response was to move back a few paces back. Giving me space.

"I don't believe you for a second," he said, calmly. "Not one damn second. If you want to get rid of me, you're going to have to try harder than that."

"I don't want you here."

He shook his head. "Doesn't mean I'm leaving you here alone. You can take all the time you want, as long as you need, but you and me? We're having this out tonight. Right now." Liam pulled his black sweater over his head and threw it toward me. "Put it on, or you'll catch a cold."

I caught it with one hand and pressed it to my ch ~ Alexandra Bracken

Political rights do not originate in parliaments; they are, rather, forced upon parliaments from without. And even their enactment into law has for a long time been no guarantee of their security. Just as the employers always try to nullify every concession they had made to labor as soon as opportunity offered, as soon as any signs of weakness were observable in the workers' organizations, so governments also are always inclined to restrict or to abrogate completely rights and freedoms that have been achieved if they imagine that the people will put up no resistance. Even in those countries where such things as freedom of the press, right of assembly, right of combination, and the like have long existed, governments are constantly trying to restrict those rights or to reinterpret them by juridical hair-splitting. Political rights do not exist because they have been legally set down on a piece of paper, but only when they have become the ingrown habit of a people, and when any attempt to impair them will meet with the violent resistance of the populace. Where this is not the case, there is no help in any parliamentary Opposition or any Platonic appeals to the constitution. ~ Rudolf Rocker