I was sad that Corpse Bride was so short. I would've liked to have had her around for way longer. She doesn't actually have that many scenes.
I'm not dead and I don't have blue hair but some people say there are similarities. It is usually intolerable to watch myself onscreen but this time it's fine. I think it's beautiful and a real work of art.
I believe there is complete equality between men and women. And I believe those passages in the New Testament, not by Jesus, but by Paul, that say women should not adorn themselves, they should always wear hats or color their hair in church - things like that - I think they are signs of the times and should not apply to modern-day life.
I'm just preparing my impromptu remarks.
I question the political judgement of those who would have the nerve to paint Christ white with his obvious African nose, lips and wooly hair.
I just blow-dry my hair and put on mascara and lip gloss, and I'm ready to go. I really don't get long nails. They're so Edward Scissorhands.
Every president, if you watch what they look like when they come into office, you can see their hair turn white because it's such a hard job.
When my hair was shorter, I used to get it done every couple of days... but I got tired of that.
I love my grey hair and wrinkles. I love the fact that my face has more of an edge and more character than it did when I was in my 20s and 30s. No Botox for me.
There's a certain cruelty to being on a big screen as your eyelids start to sag and your hair falls out and turns gray that you either have to be able to handle or not. What you can't do is try to force yourself into roles that you could have played or would have played ten years earlier.
When the women's movement started in the 1960s, there was a vision of a future where women didn't wear makeup or worry about how their hair looked, and everybody wore sensible, comfortable clothes. It ran into an absolute brick wall.
We live in a quick-fix society where we need instant gratification for everything. Too fat? Get lipo-sucked. Stringy hair? Glue on extensions. Wrinkles and lines? Head to the beauty shop for a pot of the latest miracle skin stuff. It's all a beautiful £1 billion con foisted upon insecure women by canny cosmetic conglomerates.
A man's real life is that accorded to him in the thoughts of other men by reason of respect or natural love.
On stage, I'm this figure, this actor, who does things that people aren't used to seeing and I relish in that reaction. In real life, though, I play golf, I shop and I walk around with no makeup on and my hair in a ponytail. I may not be the typical middle-aged Joe, but I'm closer to normal than you think.
I could announce one morning that the world was going to blow up in three hours and people would be calling in about my hair!
What's interesting is a man with no facial hair is less intimidating than a man with facial hair, and a man who is bald is more intimidating than a man with hair.
It's like those high-school yearbook photos that everyone would rather not see: Oh my God, look at that mullet hair. I have those photos too, but for me, they're, like, entire movies. And they show them on cable.
Sometimes I have these fantasies of just moving to a foreign country and coming back with a full head of hair. Or not even come back! Make a new life there with hair... Change my name, just see what happens.
Anyone who knows me knows that I am really into hair. I'm a real girly girl and love doing my hair and experimenting with different styles.
I have had brown hair and bangs since I was 2. One year I dyed it blonde, which felt so weird.
I was a tough kid with the jeans, the concert shirt with the flannel over it, the comb in the back pocket and the feathered hair.
Regrets are the natural property of grey hairs.
I'm naturally a mousy blonde, so I dye my hair, and my eyebrows would disappear if I didn't get through at least a pencil a month.
I shave my body in all kinds of ways, wear tons of eyeliner and dye my hair pink.
Thanks to capitalism, the importance placed on beauty has never been so manipulated. We are the guinea pigs force-fed ads that tell us how pathetic we are: that we will never be loved, happy or valuable unless we have the body, the face, the hair, even the personality that will apparently be ours, if only we buy their products.
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