Hair Quotes - Page 40

• Imagine a guy. He’s a little taller than you, with perfect skin, skin that just screams “touch me!” and dark hair and gorgeous blue eyes and he looks so sweet and he is sweet. And then have him blush a little.

  Elizabeth Scott

  Sweet, Eye, Dark

  Elizabeth Scott (2010). “The Unwritten Rule”, p.16, Simon and Schuster

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• Then I picked my book back up again and stroked her hair and read to the soundtrack of her breaths.

  Maggie Stiefvater

  Book, Soundtracks, Breaths

  Maggie Stiefvater (2011). “Shiver Trilogy (Shiver, Linger, Forever)”, p.645, Scholastic Inc.

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• Saw you walking barefoot taking a long look at the new moon's eyelid later spread sleep-fallen, naked in your dark hair asleep but not oblivious of the unslept unsleeping elsewhere Tonight I think no poetry will serve Syntax of rendition: verb pilots the plane adverb modifies action verb force-feeds noun submerges the subject noun is choking verb disgraced goes on doing now diagram the sentence

  Adrienne Rich

  Sleep, Dark, Thinking

  Adrienne Rich (2011). “Tonight No Poetry Will Serve: Poems 2007-2010: Poems 2007–2010”, p.25, W. W. Norton & Company

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• Opening my door to Dillon Ruddick, my bulding super. I handed him a cup of coffee. "Sorry about the blood." "What was it this time?" No one reported gunfire." "I hit a guy in the face with a hair dryer." "Whoa." Dillon said. "It wasn't my fault," I told him. "Maybe we should lay down some linoleum here. It would make things easier for clean up.

  Janet Evanovich

  Sorry, Coffee, Doors

  Janet Evanovich (2011). “Smokin' Seventeen”, p.118, Hachette UK

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• Gabriel pulled her over his body to lie on the bed beside him. His kisses pressed her down into the oblivion of the mattress as her hands explored his chest, his shoulders, his face. "I want to lay my kill at your feet," he said, more growl than words, and held her tight by her hair as he marked her neck with his teeth. She writhed against him. She wanted to bite him, she wanted to rip the flesh from his back, but most terrible of all, she didn't want him to stop. Her back arched, her body shattered, she howled.

  Annette Curtis Klause

  Rip, Lying, Kissing

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• He reached out and pushed some hair behind her ears. The gesture was tender, but it hit her with an unexpected force, like when you're in the ocean and a wave hits you. It's so soft and coll that it surprised you that it has such strength.

  Sarah Addison Allen

  Ocean, Ears, Gestures

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• “Nothing's impossible,” Poppet responds. She smiles at him and jumps, her red hair trailing out behind her as she falls.

  Erin Morgenstern

  Fall, Red, Impossible

  "The Night Circus". Book by Erin Morgenstern, September 13, 2011.

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• The next thing Jordana says makes me realize that it's too late to save her. "I've noticed that when you light a match, the flame is the same shape as a falling tear." She's been sensitized, turned gooey in the middle. I saw it happening and I didn't do anything to stop it. From now on, she'll be writing diaries and sometimes including little poems and she'll buy gifts for her favourite teachers and she'll admire the scenery and she'll watch the news and she'll buy soup for homeless people and she'll never burn my leg hair again.

  Joe Dunthorne

  Teacher, Fall, Writing

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• Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. He used to mess my hair and call me "little sister," she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.

  George R. R. Martin

  Summer, Mother, Laughter

  George R. R. Martin (2011). “A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle: A Song of Ice and Fire Series: A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, and A Feast for Crows”, p.2982, Bantam

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• [Qhuinn looking a Blay] A tear escaped from that eye . Welling up along the lower lid, it coalesced at the far corner, formed a crystal circle, and grew so fat it couldn’t hold on to the lashes. Slipping free, it meandered downward, getting lost in dark hair at the temple.

  J.R. Ward

  Eye, Dark, Circles

  J.R. Ward (2012). “Lover Reborn: A Novel of the Black Dagger Brotherhood”, p.377, Penguin

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• If I should see your eyes again, I know how far their look would go -- Back to a morning in the park With sapphire shadows on the snow. Or back to oak trees in the spring When you unloosed my hair and kissed The head that lay against your knees In the leaf shadow's amethyst. And still another shining place We would remember -- how the dun Wild mountain held us on its crest One diamond morning white with sun. But I will turn my eyes from you As women turn to put away The jewels they have worn at night And cannot wear in sober day.

  Sara Teasdale

  Morning, Spring, Eye

  Sara Teasdale, William Drake (1984). “Mirror of the Heart: Poems of Sara Teasdale”, MacMillan Publishing Company

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• Pale, nervous girls with black-rimmed glasses and blunt-cut hair lolled around on sofas, riffling Penguin Classics provocatively. [...] But it wasn’t just intellectual experiences—they were peddling emotional ones, too. For fifty bucks, I learned, you could “relate without getting close.” For a hundred, a girl would lend you her Bartok records, have dinner, and then let you watch while she had an anxiety attack.

  Woody Allen

  Girl, Cutting, Emotional

  "The Whore of Mensa". www.newyorker.com. December 16, 1974.

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• So you say, with your shiny hair and pouty lips - and those breasts - just wait till you start dropping whelps, they'll be at your ankles one day, big as they are - not the whelps, the breasts. The whelps will be in your hair - no, not the shiny hair on your head, well, yes, that hair, but only as a manner of speech.

  Steven Erikson

  Waiting, One Day, Ankles

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• The barman sidled toward them out of a back room. He was a grump-looking old man with a great deal of a long gray hair and a beard. He was tall and thin and looked vaguely familiar to Harry.

  J. K. Rowling

  Men, Long, Rooms

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• That was one of the bravest, stupidest things you’ve ever done,” he said into my hair. “You just scared ten years off my life.” I let out a little laugh, adrenaline still pumping through my system. “You’re immortal, dummy.” “I was before I met you,” he quipped.

  Jenna Black

  Years, Laughing, Done

  Jenna Black (2011). “Sirensong: A Faeriewalker Novel”, p.148, Macmillan

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• Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air; And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair; And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome; But when it comes to living, there is no place like home.

  Henry Van Dyke

  Dream, Sweet, Flower

  Henry Van Dyke (1920). “The Poems of Henry Van Dyke”

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• Max, you're acting like a child, the Voice said. You're above rebelling against your fate just to rebel. You've got a date with destiny. Don't be late." I brushed some hair out of my eyes. Is that a movie quote? Or is it an actual date? I don't remember destiny asking me. I never even gave destiny my phone number.

  James Patterson

  Children, Eye, Fate

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• Because I knew it wasn't for forever." Grace touched his hair and he bent his head to kiss her, quiet as a secret.

  Maggie Stiefvater

  Kissing, Forever, Grace

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• A teenage girl lay asleep on the sofa, curled up under a red-and-black knitted afghan. She was on her side, with one slender arm cradling a throw cushion nestled under her head. Long wavy blond hair spread across her back and her shoulders like a cape. Even though she was sleeping, Alex could see how pretty she was, with her delicate, almost elfin features. He stood in the doorway, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest.

  L.A. Weatherly

  Girl, Teenage, Fall

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• Alex took a silent step closer to the kitchen door and watched unseen as willow spooned instant coffee into a pair of mugs.With another yawn, she scraped her hair off her face and stretched. She looked so entirely human, so drowsy and sleep-rumpled.For a moment, Alex just gazed at her, taking in her long tumble of hair, her wide green eyes and pixieish chin. Fleetingly, he imagined her eyes meeting his, wondering what she'd look like if she smiled

  L.A. Weatherly

  Coffee, Sleep, Eye

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• 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

  Girl, Long, Tree

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• Her father sagged as relief spread through him. “I thought something awful was happening.” She frowned. “Something awful was happening. It could have got stuck in my hair.

  Derek Landy

  Father, Relief, Awful

  Derek Landy (2013). “Skulduggery Pleasant:”, p.19, HarperCollins UK

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• Too often we take notes on writing, we think about writing but never do it. I want you to walk into the heart of the storm, written words dripping off hair, eyelids, hanging from hands.

  Natalie Goldberg

  Writing, Heart, Thinking

  Natalie Goldberg (2009). “Old Friend from Far Away: The Practice of Writing Memoir”, p.23, Simon and Schuster

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• 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

  Notebook, Vogue Magazine, Pomegranates

  Emma Forrest (2012). “Your Voice in My Head”, p.30, A&C Black

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• Then why was his tongue in your mouth? Was he conducting a clinical test of your gag reflex?" He smiled, but not nicely. "How is your gag reflex, Ms. Lane? Are you a hair trigger?" Barrons likes to use sexual innuendo to try to shut me up. I think he expects the well-raised southern belle in me will think eew and back off. Sometimes, I do think eew, but I don't back off. "I'm a spitter, if that's what you're asking." I flashed him a too-sweet smile. "Didn't look that way to me. I think you're a swallower. His tongue was halfway to China and you were still taking it." "Jealous?

  Karen Marie Moning

  Sweet, Jealous, Thinking

  Karen Marie Moning (2011). “Faefever”, p.76, Hachette UK

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