Quotes & Sayings About Beard Love

The cab moves for a moment but then I see the blurry, glowing red lights through the downpour against my face and heavy lens of tears covering my eyes. The cab's brake lights. The car has stopped, as have I-and then I see the back door open.
It's my Jack Henry.
He gets out of the cab and stands in the heavy rain looking back at me. I don't know how-because my body has turned to mush-but I'm off my knees and running toward him.
... I touch his face because I can't believe he's real. You sort of have a beard. Almost. I love it. It's sexy. — Georgia Cates

Books to the ceiling, Books to the sky, My pile of books is a mile high. How I love them! How I need them! I'll have a long beard by the time I read them. — Arnold Lobel

I couldn't tell fact from fiction,
Or if the dream was true
My only sure prediction
In this world was you.
I'd touch your features inchly. Beard love and dared the cost, The sented spiel reeled me unreal And I found my senses lost. — Maya Angelou

Like the theater, offering food and hospitality to people is a matter of showmanship, and no matter how simple the performance, unless you do it well, with love and originality, you have a flop on your hands. — James Beard

Do I believe in an old man in the clouds with a white beard judging us mortals with a moral code from one to ten? Good Lord no, my sweet Elly, I do not! I would have been cast out from this life years ago with my tatty history. Do I believe in a mystery; the unexplained phenomenon that is life itself? The greater something that illuminates inconsequence in our lives; that gives us something to strive for as well as the humility to brush ourselves down and start all over again? Then yes, I do. It is the source of art, of beauty, of love, and proffers the ultimate goodness to mankind. That to me is God. That to me is life. That is what I believe in. — Sarah Winman

[Love] feels . . ." I paused, turning the highlighter in my hand, "like an awakening of senses you never knew you had, and once they're awakened, you're never the same. The way you see the world is altered. Instead of riding down a road on your bike and thinking how the wind feels good on your face, you think, 'This is how it feels when he kisses my cheek.' You play a piece on the piano, and instead of imagining a crowd applauding, you only see him, sitting in the chair next to the piano, smiling at you. You catch the scent of sage in the air and think, 'This is how he smells.' But it's also kind of like being on a mousetrap ride. Exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. You smile and laugh and feel a thrill inside of you, all the while wondering in the back of your mind if the car will come off the track at the next turn, or if your harness will come open and you will be tossed to the ground to your death. — Sarah Beard

For when is the child the ideal child in our eyes and to our hearts? Is it not when with gentle hand he takes his father by the beard, and turns that father's face up to his brothers and sisters to kiss? when even the lovely selfishness of love-seeking has vanished, and the heart is absorbed in loving? — George MacDonald

On the very tip of his tongue is his Firerancher. Thin as tissue paper, it looks like the moon in the daytime sky. Suddenly love is looming over the car, as big and invisible as the ghost mountains of the Comobabi range. I smile at him and turn up the radio with my toes. — Jo Ann Beard

Even if you were green and had a beard and a male appendage between your legs. Even if your eyebrows were orange and you had a mole covering your entire cheek and a nose that poked me in the eye every time I kissed you. Even if you weighed seven hundred pounds and had hair the size of a Doberman under your arms. Even then, I would love you. — David Levithan

Brea watched the other Jaren, the Jaren she wasn't sure she wanted to know, slip through the cracks of his face. He was like the changelings in that Dream Box game he was so invested in, Bladescape. Her own interested mask, the one she was supposed to wear, must have slanted a bit around the eyes because then the other Jaren, her Jaren, was back. She watched his dimples puddle in the black of his beard as his mind fumbled for something to say. And this impromptu self-modification, here at the monitoring station at the job where she'd made such a fool of herself, was the closest thing to love that Brea Morgen had ever known. — Daniel Pike

Lord Rodrik Harlaw was neither fat nor slim; neither tall nor short; neither ugly nor handsome. His hair was brown, as were his eyes, though the short, neat beard he favored had gone grey. All in all, he was an ordinary man, distinguished only by his love of written words. — George R R Martin

PAVILIONS OF SUN
Swans do fly
High above you
All the time
Prince of Sun
From his pavilion
Makes you shine
Come, come, come into my garden, lady love
Maybe I can hold your gold hand
Glide within my gold grove, lady love
Know the earth and you'll understand — Marc Bolan

At least we both know how shitty the world is. You wearing a
beard as a mask to disguise it. I wearing my tired smile. I
don't see how you do it. One hundred thousand university
students marching with you. Toward
A necessity which is not love but is a name. — Jack Spicer

The secret of good cooking is, first, having a love of it ... If you're convinced that cooking is drudgery, you're never going to be good at it, and you might as well warm up something frozen. — James Beard

a thin scraggle of beard, gave Jon and Sam a cool look. He had been one of Alliser Thorne's henchmen, and had no love for — George R R Martin

Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be lonely.
Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat disappear on the black waters of Lethe? — Allen Ginsberg

Leave your hair natural. Let your beard grow out. Leave the makeup in the bag. Wear comfortable clothes. Stop worrying so much about your looks and start looking around you. You have missed so much beauty trying to become beautiful. You have missed your own worth trying to become worthy. Let the mask break open. Let it lie on the floor. Let yourself be seen. Let yourself see. — Vironika Tugaleva

Blaisedell, the poet, had said to him, 'You love beer so much. I'll bet some day you'll go in and order a beer milk shake.' It was a simple piece of foolery but it had bothered Doc ever since. He wondered what a beer milk shake would taste like. The idea gagged him but he couldn't let it alone. It cropped up every time he had a glass of beer. Would it curdle the milk? Would you add sugar? It was like a shrimp ice cream. Once the thing got into your head you couldn't forget it ... If a man ordered a beer milk shake, he thought, he'd better do it in a town where he wasn't known. But then, a man with a beard, ordering a beer milk shake in a town where he wasn't known
they might call the police. — John Steinbeck

Judge was in love. Michaels smelled so good; he inhaled his arousal, breathed in the intoxicating smell of his desire. His thick cock was right there next to his cheek, evidence of his longing leaving a sticky trail in his beard. Judge breathed on him for a while, let him know he was there; let him know pleasure was knocking at his door. He gave Michaels just the tip of his tongue first. Then a little more. Dragged the flat of his tongue along the thick veins in his shaft. "Come — A.E. Via

MAMBO SUN"

"Beneath the bebop moon
I want to croon with you
Beneath the Mambo Sun
I got to be the one with you

My life's a shadowless horse
If I can't get across to you
In the alligator rain
My heart's all pain for you

Girl you're good
And I've got wild knees for you
On a mountain range
I'm Dr. Strange for you

Upon a savage lake
Make no mistake I love you
I got a powder-keg leg
And my wig's all pooped for you

With my hat in my hand
I'm a hungry man for you
I got stars in my beard
And I feel real weird for you

Beneath the bebop moon
I'm howling like a loon for you
Beneath the mumbo sun
I've got to be the one for you — Marc Bolan

... but Sassenach - I am the true home of your heart, and I know that."
He lifted my hands to his mouth and kissed my upturned palms, one and then the other, his breath warm and his beard-stubble soft on my fingers.
"I have loved others, and I do love many, Sassenach - but you alone hold all my heart, whole in your hands," he said softly. "And you know that. — Diana Gabaldon

Thoren Smallwood, a sinewy ranger with a weak chin and a weaker mouth hidden under a thin scraggle of beard, gave Jon and Sam a cool look. He had been one of Alliser Thorne's henchmen, and had no love for either of them. "The Lord Commander's place is at Castle Black, lording and commanding," he told Mormont, ignoring the newcomers, "it seems to me."
"If you are ever Lord Commander, you may do as you please," Mormont told the ranger, "but it seems to me that I have not died yet, nor have the brothers put you in my place. — George R R Martin

Let us roam then, you and I,
When the evening is splayed out across the sky
[ ... ]
Paths that follow like a nagging accusation
Of a minor violation
To lead you to the ultimate reproof ...
Oh, do not say, 'Bad kitty!'
Let us go and prowl the city.
In the rooms the cats run to and fro
Auditioning for a Broadway show.
(From The Love Song of J. Morris Housecat) — Henry N. Beard

Santa Claus is a god. He's no less a god than Ahura Mazda, or Odin, or Zeus. Think of the white beard, the chariot pulled through the air by a breed of animal which doesn't ordinarily fly, the prayers (requests for gifts) which are annually mailed to him and which so baffle the Post Office, the specially-garbed priests in all the department stories. And don't gods reflect their creators' society? The Greeks had a huntress goddess, and gods of agriculture and war and love. What else would we have but a god of giving, of merchandising, and of consumption? — Donald E. Westlake

A lean cheek, - a blue eye, and sunken, - an unquestionable spirit, - a beard neglected:- Then your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet unhanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation. — William Shakespeare

With 'The Host,' I think the actors could be really big names. That would be cool. I'd love to see Robert Redford put on a beard and be Jeb; he would be amazing ... Matt Damon has some very Jared-esque qualities, and then Casey Affleck as Ian and Ben Affleck as Kyle. Imagine the interplay. — Stephenie Meyer

QUINCE
Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.
FLUTE
Here, Peter Quince.
QUINCE
Flute, you must take Thisby on you.
FLUTE
What is Thisby? a wandering knight?
QUINCE
It is the lady that Pyramus must love.
FLUTE
Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming. — William Shakespeare

Her little hands, Crumb. Her little paws, like a child's. She has no guile in her. And she never speaks. And if she does I hate to bend my head to hear what she says. And in the pause I can hear my heart. Her little bits of embroidery, her scraps of silk, her halcyon sleeves, she cut out of the cloth some admirer gave her once, some poor boy struck with love for her...and yet she has never succumbed. Her little sleeves, her seed pearl necklace...she has nothing...she expects nothing...' A tear at last sneaks from Henry's eye, meanders down his cheek and vanishes into the mottled grey and ginger of his beard. — Hilary Mantel

A tall, thin, middle-aged man with a long, gray Jovian beard stood outside the Hermitage Museum with an expression of absolute shattered regret.
Tatiana instantly reacted to his face. What could make a man look this way? He was standing next to the back of a military truck, watching young men carry wooden crates down the ramp from the Winter Palace. It was these crates the man looked at with such profound heartbreak, as if they were his vanishing first love.
"Who is that man?" she asked, tremendously affected by his expression.
"The curator of the Hermitage."
"Why is he looking at the crates that way?"
Alexander said, "They are his life's sole passion. He doesn't know if he is ever going to see them again. — Paullina Simons

I learned that one person hurting another really is like a hand curling into a fist to smash the foot. And that all that really matters is family and other people. And that the purpose of life is to find the Light of God, but not the light from some old guy with a beard sitting up there judging us. The light is the love we give each other on our way back home. And that God wouldn't mind if we spent a little less time telling him how great he is and a little more time loving each other, and not just the people we're supposed to love, but everyone. — Paul H. Magid

And while thou
livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and
uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee
right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other
places: for these fellows of infinite tongue, that
can rhyme themselves into ladies' favours, they do
always reason themselves out again. What! a
speaker is but a prater; a rhyme is but a ballad. A
good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a
black beard will turn white; a curled pate will grow
bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax
hollow: but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the
moon; or, rather, the sun, and not the moon; for it
shines bright and never changes, but keeps his
course truly. If thou would have such a one, take
me; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier,
take a king. And what sayest thou then to my love?
speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee — William Shakespeare

If I wasn't in broadcasting I would like to grow a gigantic beard; and I would like to open a motorcycle garage somewhere in the desert in Nevada and I would disappear and work on bikes, make them really fast. I would love to just race motorcycles for a living if I could do it, but I'm just not that good at it so this is what I'm doing. — George Stroumboulopoulos

So," the Emperor said, slapping his knee. "The Spy, the Mafiosa, the Traitor, the Demon, the Assassin, and the Pirate. That's quite the harem you've got there." "They are those things, your Highness. I won't deny it. But they are not those things to me." The Emperor stroked his beard. "Really? What are they to you?" Gerald's expression became tender. "Ilrica is my hero, Cha'Rolette is my angel, Zurra is my true friend, Trahzi is my gentle goddess, Kalia is my protector, and Lyssandra is my champion. — Aaron Lee Yeager

I love how people walk around with crucifixes, skullcaps, pointy hats, funny beards and then say 'you should keep your atheism to yourself.' — Ricky Gervais

But love is this really powerful thing that everyone's got if they'd just learn how to accept it. I mean, come on. If it's something we all have to give, and if it's something we all want, doesn't that mean there's exactly enough to go around? — Philip Beard

Who was the Thief that she would love him? A youth, just a boy with hardly a beard and no sense at all ... A liar, she thought, an enemy, a threat. He was brave, a voice inside her said, he was loyal ... A fool, she answered back. A fool and a dead one. She ached with emptiness. — Megan Whalen Turner

I love you." My admission took me by surprise. I didn't see him move. He embraced me again, crushing me in a spinning hug. The room twirled around us at a dizzying speed, and I didn't attempt to focus on it. Instead, I looked down at Clay's face. He wore a huge smile. I grinned back and noted his canines were normal for the first time ever. "Oh!" I squirmed to get down, excited at the size of his teeth. He grudgingly released me. "Please can we get rid of the beard?" Yes, I hopped from foot to foot like a kid begging for cotton candy. I wanted to see him just once without facial hair. If he wanted to grow it back, I wouldn't mind. I'd fallen in love with him as he was, after all. He nodded, laughing at me. "And — Melissa Haag

He wasn't like some of the hippies in England, where the qualification to rebel is planted by the guilt raised from being a spoilt child with a good education. He was a real hippy born from being forced to kill for his army until he was twenty one. He had long hair because the army made him shave his head. The army made him shave every day too. Now he had a beard. His face for a long time was not his own. When this guy said he was all about peace he wasn't talking about peace because his mum never got him the horse he wanted for his eighteenth birthday, he was talking about peace because he'd seen war. He talked about love because he knew hate: hate for those above him, hate for those he had served with, hate for enemies not born his but who became so and, lastly, hate for himself for how his mind had been controlled. — Craig Stone

Norm Zuckerman was approaching seventy and as CEO of Zoom, a megasize sports manufacturing conglomerate, he had more money than Trump. He looked, however, like a beatnik trapped in a bad acid trip. Retro, Norm had explained earlier, was cresting, and he was catching the wave by wearing a psychedelic poncho, fatigue pants, love beads, and an earring with a dangling peace sign. Groovy, man. His black-to-gray beard was unruly enough to nest beetle larvae, his hair newly curled like something out of a bad production of Godspell. Che — Harlan Coben

Love is a deception and a trap. Love is as big a myth that God sits with his flowing white beard in a throne and looks at us. — Al Goldstein

I love having a shaved head. I'd rather not deal with hair if I don't have to. I like not thinking about it. A shaved head and letting my beard go requires the least amount of anything. — Chris Evans

I also wrote them about you." His blue gaze bored into her with paralyzing force. She couldn't move. Couldn't flee. Could only stare at the social travesty of his ungroomed features - the scruffy half beard shadowing his jaw, the too-long hair falling over his forehead - and feel her heart beat with love for this unconventional man. Darius's grip softened on her wrist until his fingers were tracing tiny circles over the sensitive skin. "I told them that I had met a woman who wasn't afraid to stand toe-to-toe with me. A woman who had seen my flaws and learned my darkest secrets, yet didn't immediately run for the hills." His self-deprecating chuckle coaxed a reluctant smile from her, the sound soothing the sharp edges of her turmoil. "I told them how this woman seemed instinctively to know when to comfort and when to confront, and how I was better with her in my life than I'd ever been on my own. — Karen Witemeyer

The kitchen, reasonably enough, was the scene of my first gastronomic adventure. I was on all fours. I crawled into the vegetable bin, settled on a giant onion and ate it, skin and all. It must have marked me for life, for I have never ceased to love the hearty flavor of raw onions. — James Beard

I feel in love with you when you had a beard. — Kristen Ashley

People who fall in love can fall out of it. — Philip Beard

I like having a beard. My beard changes my face shape and allows me to see in it family members who I love and can't see otherwise. — Douglas Coupland