Quotes & Sayings About Beard Man

There never was a man with such a face as yours, unless it was your father, and I suppose he is singeing his grizzled red beard by this time, unless you came straight from the old un without any father at all betwixt you; which I shouldn't wonder at, a bit. — Charles Dickens

When a king speaks, the armies move. But when a wise man speaks, only the beard shakes. — Vinoba Bhave

In a small, dark room with no windows, a man hunched over his cluttered workstation. Papers were scattered all over the surface of the desk and he had to dig through them to find the keyboard. He sat down and turned on the monitor. As the display warmed up, a bright green typing arrow faded into view in the bottom corner of the screen. The man scraped his hand across his scraggly beard and typed into the screen on his computer. "How are you doing today?" The display beeped and words formed on the screen as someone responded. "When can I have someone to play with?" The man sighed and typed again. "I'm sorry, but you know why you must be alone right now." The computer beeped as the reply came across the screen. "I'm doing better." "I'm sure you are, but I have to be sure you can't hurt anyone." "I promise I won't." "I believe you. But there are some things I have to do to make sure. — Steve DeWinter

Shirts and jeans litter the asphalt, the empty fabric limbs askew as if they're attempting to escape. Blood smears Sarah's lips as she struggles against the chest of a dirty looking man with a beard. Terror. Terror is the only word my mind can seize on and it forgets what it means. I forget how to think - to move. — Brenna Ehrlich

I grew my beard out a little bit just to show that, indeed, I am a man. — Johnny Weir

There was a photograph of Trout. He was an old man with a full black beard. He looked like a frightened, aging Jesus, whose sentence to crucifixion had been commuted to imprisonment for life. — Kurt Vonnegut

In a city swollen by refugees but still mostly at peace, or at least not yet openly at war, a young man met a young woman in a classroom and did not speak to her. For many days. His name was Saeed and her name was Nadia and he had a beard, not a full beard, more a studiously maintained stubble, and she was always clad from the tips of her toes to the bottom of her jugular notch in a flowing black robe. Back then people continued to enjoy the luxury of wearing more or less what they wanted to wear, clothing and hair wise, within certain bounds of course, and so these choices meant something. — Mohsin Hamid

I don't fight old men, he said. That was strange. No one had ever called me old before. I remember laughing, but there was shock behind my laughter. Weeks before, talking with Aethelflaed, I had mocked her because she was staring at her face in a great silver platter. She was worried because she had lines about her eyes and she had responded to my mockery by thrusting the plate at me, and I had looked at my reflection and seen that my beard was gray. I remember staring at it as she laughed at me, and I did not feel old even though my wounded leg could be treacherously stiff. Was that how people saw me? As an old man? Yet I was forty-five years old that year, so yes, I was an old man. — Bernard Cornwell

A man says to his mate: "My wife is a twin." His mate says, "How do you tell them apart?" The man says: "Her brother has a beard." — Frank Carson

Caspian felt sure that he would hate the new Tutor, but when the new Tutor arrived about a week later he turned out to be the sort of person it is almost impossible not to like. He was the smallest, and also the fattest, man Caspian had ever seen. He had a long, silvery, pointed beard which came down to his waist, and his face, which was brown and covered with wrinkles, looked very wise, very ugly, and very kind. His voice was grave and his eyes were merry so that, until you got to now him really well, it was hard to know when he was joking and when he was serious. His name was Doctor Cornelius. — C.S. Lewis

Spring has again returned.
The Earth is like a child that knows many poems.
Many, O so many. For the hardship
of such long learning she receives the prize.
Strict was her teacher.
The white in the old man's beard pleases us.
Now, what to call green, to call blue,
we dare to ask: She knows, She knows! — Rainer Maria Rilke

The man whirled, his hands still gripping the animal's skin, his face perfectly illuminated by the fire. He was half in shadow, and the shadow revealed him slowly. His left eye was covered by a black leather patch, and thin white scar raked his brow and the cheekbone below. The carried on, down the length of his neck, into the thick black beard, twisting under his collarbone and around his torso. They marred only the skin, I noted, for the muscles beneath were whole and strong, and the entire impression was one of great vitality and energy, strength unbridled. He looked nothing so much as a fallen god working at a trade.
"Hephaestus at the forge," I murmured, recalling my mythology ... — Deanna Raybourn

Someone got killed up here.... It was outside. A tall man. He had one leg longer'n the other. And a beard. He was probably a hunter."
"How'd you know all that?"
"I just trod on 'im. — Terry Pratchett

Beard is like Niqab, that covers cheeks — Arsalan Khan

His stubble was thick and not groomed. He was not a man who forgot to shave that day or had been too busy to do so for a couple. It had been weeks. Though it was not a full grown beard. I — Kristen Ashley

The woman's bill of rights is, unhappily, long overdue. It should have run along with the rights of man in the eighteenth century. Its drag as to time of official proclamation is a drag as to social vision. And even if equal rights were now written into the law of our land, it would be so inadequate today as a means to food, clothing and shelter for woman at large that what they would still be enjoying would be equality in disaster rather than in realistic privilege. — Mary Ritter Beard

Before the general use of these instruments of precision in time, there was a wider margin for all appointments; a longer period was required and prepared for, especially in travelling--- coaches of the olden period were not expected to start like steamers or trains, on the instant--- men judged of the time by probabilities, by looking at the sun, and needed not, as a rule, to be nervous about the loss of a moment, and had incomparable fewer experiences wherein a delay of a few minutes might destroy the hopes of a lifetime. A nervous man cannot take out his watch and look at it when the time for an appointment or train is near, without affecting his pulse, and the effect on that pulse, if we could but measure and weigh it, would be found to be correlated to a loss to the nervous system. — George Miller Beard

As they passed the rows of houses they saw through the open doors that men were sweeping and dusting and washing dishes, while the women sat around in groups, gossiping and laughing.
What has happened?' the Scarecrow asked a sad-looking man with a bushy beard, who wore an apron and was wheeling a baby carriage along the sidewalk.
Why, we've had a revolution, your Majesty
as you ought to know very well,' replied the man; 'and since you went away the women have been running things to suit themselves. I'm glad you have decided to come back and restore order, for doing housework and minding the children is wearing out the strength of every man in the Emerald City.'
Hm!' said the Scarecrow, thoughtfully. 'If it is such hard work as you say, how did the women manage it so easily?'
I really do not know,' replied the man, with a deep sigh. 'Perhaps the women are made of cast-iron. — L. Frank Baum

Jesus must have had man hands. He was a carpenter, the Bible tells us. I know a few carpenters, and they have great hands, all muscled and worn, with nicks and callused pads from working wood together with hardware and sheer willpower. In my mind, Jesus isn't a slight man with fair hair and eyes who looks as if a strong breeze could knock him down, as he is sometimes depicted in art and film. I see him as sturdy, with a thick frame, powerful legs, and muscular arms. He has a shock of curly black hair and an untrimmed beard, his face tanned and lined from working in the sun. And his hands - hands that pounded nails, sawed lumber, drew in the dirt, and held the children he beckoned to him. Hands that washed his disciples' feet, broke bread for them, and poured their wine. Hands that hauled a heavy cross through the streets of Jerusalem and were later nailed to it. Those were some man hands. — Cathleen Falsani

So heaven was this vague, uneasy, almost cartoonish concept, a confusing cultural mash up of puffy clouds, harps, winged Angel's, Golden sunlight, a giant hand that may or may not belong to a giant man with a flowing white beard named God. — Paul Tremblay

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou Wedding-Guest! He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us He made and loveth all. The Mariner, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest Turned from the bridegroom's door. — Samuel Taylor Coleridge

You may light on a husband that hath no beard. BEATRICE What should I do with him? Dress him in my apparel and make him my waiting gentlewoman? He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man; and he that is more than a youth is not for me, and he that is less than a man, I am not for him. Therefore I will even take sixpence in earnest of the bearherd, and lead his apes into hell. — William Shakespeare

Now normally," the man said, cradling his weapon in one arm while scratching the blond beard covering the lower half of his face with his free hand, "me and Mad Dog" - he dipped his chin toward the soldier holding Umar hostage - "and the rest of the boys wouldn't hesitate to just go ahead and let you eat a bullet." And, as if on cue, four more soldiers emerged from the undergrowth, quiet as ghosts. "But as it happens, there are some folks back in the States who are just itchin' to ask you a few questions. — Julie Ann Walker

On the morning I was scheduled to die, a large barefoot man with a bushy red beard waddled past my house. — Peter Lerangis

Have you thought about what it means to be a god?" asked the man. He had a beard and a baseball cap. "It means you give up your mortal existence to become a meme: something that lives forever in people's minds, like the tune of a nursery rhyme. It means that everyone gets to re-create you in their own minds. You barely have your own identity any more. Instead, you're a thousand aspects of what people need you to be. And everyone wants something different from you. Nothing is fixed, nothing is stable. — Neil Gaiman

I will not die for a long time." Joseph tugged at his gray beard. "My beard goes white, but there's a lot of life in me yet."
"Don't be so sure, Abba," Joshua said.
Joseph dropped the bowl he was working on and stared into his hands. "Run away and play, you two," he said, his voice little more than a whisper.
Joshua stood and walked away. I wanted to throw my arms around the old man, for I had never seen a grown man afraid before and it frightened me too. "Can I help?" I said, pointing to the half-finished bowl that lay in Joseph's lap.
"You go with Joshua. He needs a friend to teach him to be human. Then I can teach him to be a man. — Christopher Moore

She looked up, over the bandage that was nestled under her chin, and saw that the big-belly man with the red beard was starting at her, shaking his head. He looked like he was crying.
"I got ya this time," he whispered, as if to himself. "This time, I got ya. — Adam Gidwitz

For me, the great problem growing up in England was that I had a very narrow concept of what God can be, and it was damn close to an old man with a beard. — John Cleese

god bless the man with the beard, the missing teeth and the poverty Ritchie — Markus Zusak

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 man driving wears a hat, a beard, and a smile. — Veronica Roth

The little man with beard and glasses leaped up. 'There's nobody here has anything to do with governments! We're all good people! — Philip K. Dick

A fair-skinned man with a cherub face, he had taken quite some time to grow it, and taking good care of his beard was Priority Number One. Well, maybe Priority Number Fourteen; he had lost his list somewhere on the Awesome (and he rarely paid attention to it, anyway). Maybe he could get "them" to bring him a trimmer and a mirror, whoever "they" were. By god, he hated putting pronouns in imaginary quotes. The — Joe Zieja

I'm a religious man. I am Jewish but I believe in all religions. I believe in God and see him as an old man with a big white beard and pray to him every day for a few minutes. — Uri Geller

He is not a man wedded to action, Boleyn, but rather a man who stands by, smirking and stroking his beard; he thinks he looks enigmatic, but instead he looks as if he's pleasuring himself. — Hilary Mantel

cartridge belts. Maybe wood smoke somewhere. Jacob was dark-eyed and pale. He had a young man's beard, only potential, the hint of black whiskers along his jaw looking like something black pressed under a thick pane of smoked glass. At one point he pulled off a glove with his teeth and left it dangling from his mouth as he, what? - opened a K ration? lit a cigarette? The condemned man's last. His bare hand was as white as bone, as small as a child's. — Alice McDermott

A beard on a man is only a way of hiding something, his face of course, but also the inner matters, like a hedge around a secret garden, or a cover over a bird cage. — Sebastian Barry

When water is still, it is like a mirror, reflecting the beard and the eyebrows. It gives the accuracy of the water-level, and the philosopher makes it his model. And if water thus derives lucidity from stillness, how much more the faculties of the mind? The mind of the Sage being in repose becomes the mirror of the universe, the speculum of all creation.22 [59a] The fluidity of water is not the result of any effort on the part of the water, but is its natural property. And the virtue of the perfect man is such that even without cultivation there is nothing which can withdraw from his sway. Heaven is naturally high, the earth is naturally solid, the sun and moon are naturally bright. Do they cultivate these attributes?23 [63b] — Alan W. Watts

I had tried to be happy by telling myself that man is an animal, like any other which sought its meat from God. But now I really was happy, for I had learnt that man is a monstrosity. I had been right in feeling all things as odd, for I myself was at once worse and better than all things. The optimist's pleasure was prosaic, for it dwelt on the naturalness of everything; the Christian pleasure was poetic, for it dwelt on the unnaturalness of everything in the light of the supernatural. The modern philosopher had told me again and again that I was in the right place, and I had still felt depressed even in acquiescence. But I had heard that I was in the wrong place, and my soul sang for joy, like a bird in spring. The knowledge found out and illuminated forgotten chambers in the dark house of infancy. I knew now why grass had always seemed to me as queer as the green beard of a giant, and why I could feel homesick at home. — G.K. Chesterton

[I did] Some [reading to prep for Expelled]. I read one book cover to cover, From Darwin to Hitler , and that was a very interesting book
one of these rare books I wish had been even longer. It's about how Darwin 's theory
supposedly concocted by this mild-mannered saintly man, with a flowing white beard like Santa Claus
led to the murder of millions of innocent people. — Ben Stein

About two-thirds of the face of Marx is beard, a vast solemn wooly uneventful beard that must have made all normal exercise impossible. It is not the sort of beard that happens to a man, it is a beard cultivated, cherished, and thrust patriarchally upon the world. — H.G.Wells

When nothing worked, he decided the least he could do was pick the yam bits out of his beard. But even the proved fruitless since the bits seemed to find their way into the deepest recesses of the beard, and the just small enough boy quickly grew squeamish. Judge if you must, but if you've ever had to pick yam bits out of an old man's bushy beard, I'm sure you'd forgive him. — Jason Carter Eaton

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed. Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple — J.K. Rowling

I gave my change to him," says Parvaneh, with a nod at the man with the dirty beard by the house wall. "You know he'll only spend it on schnapps," Ove states. Parvaneh opens her eyes wide with something Ove strongly suspects to be sarcasm. "Really? Will he? And I was sooo hoping he would use it to pay off his student loans from his university education in particle physics! — Fredrik Backman

What would she know about God anyway? The personification of her God, Holmes figured, was surely the popular one: a wrinkled old man sitting omnisciently upon a throne of gold, reigning over creation from within puffy clouds, speaking both graciously and commandingly at the same instant. Her God, no doubt, wore a flowing beard. For Holmes, it was amusing to think that Mrs. Munro's Creator probably looked somewhat like himself- except her God existed as a figment of imagination, and he did not (at least not entirely, he reasoned). — Mitch Cullin

The beard was actually less Dumbledore, more Hemingway, but the eyes behind the lenses of his glasses were a brilliant shade of blue that naturally suggested a man who could cast runes and speak to trees. Harper — Joe Hill

He is but as the stubble of the field, and yet he has no beard. — Marguerite Young

Verres had Gavius thrown into prison, tortured and crucified, on the specious grounds that he was a spy for Spartacus. Roman citizenship should have protected him from this degrading punishment. So, as he was flogged, the poor man repeatedly cried out, 'Civis Romanus sum' ('I am a Roman citizen'), but to no avail. Presumably, when they chose to repeat this phrase, both Palmerston and Kennedy (see p. 137) must have forgotten that its most famous ancient use was as the unsuccessful plea of an innocent victim under a sentence of death imposed by a rogue Roman governor. — Mary Beard

I do not like the killers, and the killing bravely and well crap. I do not like the bully boys, the Teddy Roosevelt's, the Hemingways, the Ruarks. They are merely slightly more sophisticated versions of the New Jersey file clerks who swarm into the Adirondacks in the fall, in red cap, beard stubble and taut hero's grin, talking out of the side of their mouths, exuding fumes of bourbon, come to slay the ferocious white-tailed deer. It is the search for balls. A man should have one chance to bring something down. He should have his shot at something, a shining running something, and see it come a-tumbling down, all mucus and steaming blood stench and gouted excrement, the eyes going dull during the final muscle spasms. And if he is, in all parts and purposes, a man, he will file that away as a part of his process of growth and life and eventual death. And if he is perpetually, hopelessly a boy, he will lust to go do it again, with a bigger beast. — John D. MacDonald

I have a beard,' Dr. Montague said, pleased, and looked around at them with a happy beam. 'My wife,' he told them, 'likes a man to wear a beard. Many women, on the other hand, find a beard distasteful. A clean-shaven man - you'll excuse me, my boy - never looks fully dressed, my wife tells me.' He held out his glass to Luke. — Shirley Jackson

The beard is here because I got tired of shaving and Grissom, subsequently, got tired of shaving. Grissom, like any other 50-year-old man, is going through a series of mid-life changes. Who knows, he may start drinking. — William Petersen

I shaved my lady mustache (ladystache) off with my roommate's gay razor (it's a gay razor because it's his razor and he's gay) and now I have man-stubble on my upper lip. Then to make it just a tiny bit sexier I broke out where I shaved. So now I have an acne mustache. I should have left it alone. Like I do with the beard. The Korean ladies at the nail place were right. "You too much hair. You do mustache and arms and chin and back and neck. Please. Too much hair, lady-man. — Lauren Weedman

a man--venerable, with a white beard, or on a cross, or as a baby, or a sage seated in the full lotus position. Are these not limiting incarnations, temporary housings, of the great energy process? — Timothy Leary

Kolchak nodded, 'Right, because that would make sense." He took off his hat and crumpled it against his hip. 'When I lived in Seattle, I met a man who had been killing people for a hundred years easily. I nearly got arrested painting on his portrait in the bank he owned, just to match his face to the hundred-year-old shot I had of him with a beard. It's possible.'

'Why didn't you just take a picture of the painting and scribble on the picture?'

'It was a gesture,' Kolchak wrung his hands, 'and anyway that's not the point.' ("Wet Dog of Galveston") — Jason Henderson

In the legends that males have invented to explain life, the first human creature is a man named Adam. Eve arrives later, to give him pleasure and cause trouble. In the paintings that adorn churches, God is an old man with a beard, never an old woman with white hair. And all the heroes are males: from Prometheus who discovered fire to Icarus who tried to fly, on down to Jesus whom they call the Son of God and of the Holy Spirit, almost as though the woman giving birth to him were an incubator or a wetnurse. — Oriana Fallaci

I'm into the scruff. I like an unkempt man. I mean, not like beard to the chest, but I'm definitely a Johnny Depp kinda girl. — Sarah Hay

The old man asked again. "When I'm gone." His eyes blinked from behind his glasses. His neatly trimmed beard was gray, and he stood slightly stooped. Are you dying? I asked. "Not yet," he said, grinning. Then why - "Because I think you would — Mitch Albom

Oh shit," a super-deep, gravelly voice said. The voice came from a man behind the book counter, and he was the one not smiling. He had long, gray hair pulled back in a braid, a red, rolled bandana wrapped around his forehead and a thick gray beard. — Kristen Ashley

People think God is a man. People think God has got ears, nose, teeth and he rises daily in the morning, brushes his teeth and washes his mouth. And he is an old man and he has a beard. All these things people think. But no, God is energy. God is perfect and pure energy. — Prem Rawat

It would indeed be a sad misfortune if man were released from the necessity of work and struggle, for it is a well-known fact that organs which do not function atrophy; and according to the old saying, 'Idleness is the devil's workshop.' — Charles A. Beard

That won't do," said the policeman; "that's murder." "I know what country I'm in," said the man with the beard. "I'm going to let off at his legs. Draw the bolts. — H.G.Wells

A man is a failure who goes through life earning nothing but money. — Charles A. Beard

Everybody clapped enthusiastically and Dr. Marx popped up from behind the podium, where he had been hiding all along. He was the hairiest man the pirates had ever seen. Several of the crew were actually worried for a moment that the Seaweed That Walked Like a Man had returned from one of their previous adventures to ambush them. His nose was hairy. His forehead was hairy. Even his hands were hairy. And his beard was a great bushy black number, which looked like he had sellotaped a bunch of cats to the bottom of his face and then frightened them with a loud noise. — Gideon Defoe

We must depend upon the Boy Scout Movement to produce the MEN of the future. — Daniel Carter Beard

It's the beard," I said to my friends matter-of-factly. "It makes me want to just climb up onto his face, hold onto his man-mane, and take a ride. Wait, did I just say that out loud? — J.B. Hartnett

He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man. He that is more than a youth is not for me, and he that is less than a man, I am not for him. — William Shakespeare

As his boots walked towards the old station, he felt as though he were hallucinating. Scary apprehension increased the beat of his heart and the sweat upon his forehead was cold. The reality of where he stood created a sinking feeling inside of him.
An old man everyone called Uncle Tucker once owned this place. His sole existence behind the counter all of the time, day and night. He could have been a creature out of a fairy tale, with his long white beard and equally long white hair. Merlin. The overalls and the ball cap perched upon his head, along with the half-smoked cigar with an endless burning orb positioned in his mouth. It made him a fixture in time. He wondered if Tucker would still be alive. Tucker with his endless stories of the 1960s, the Vietnam War, and flower children. A man that never left a country thousands of miles away where bicycles filled the capital. A man who never left those fields where killing occurred. — Jaime Allison Parker

The door opened and Decker was looking down at a small, balding man with a gray beard and wearing dark glasses. He was well into his seventies. — David Baldacci

Don't judge a man by the size of his ego or his heart, but on the epicness of his beard and the beautiful woman on his arm — Abraham Lincoln

Daenerys, I am thrice your age," Ser Jorah said. "I have seen how false men are. Very few are worthy of trust, and Daario Naharis is not one of them. Even his beard wears false colors." That angered her. "Whilst you have an honest beard, is that what you are telling me? You are the only man I should ever trust? — George R R Martin

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

There was an old man with a beard, who said: 'It is just as I feared! Two owls and a hen, four larks and a wren have all built their nests in my beard. — Edward Lear

Come on, man, I got a full beard! — Aziz Ansari

Ideas are like beards. Men don't have them until they grow up. Somebody said that, but I can't remember who."
"Voltaire," the younger man said. He rubbed his chin and smiled, a cheerful,
unaffected smile. "Voltaire might be off the mark, though, when it comes to me. I have hardly any beard at all, but have loved thinking about things since I was a kid."
His face was indeed smooth, with no hint of a beard. His eyebrows were narrow, but thick, his ears nicely formed, like lovely seashells. "I wonder if what Voltaire meant wasn't ideas as much as meditation," Tsukuru said. The man inclined his head a fraction. "Pain is what gives rise to meditation. It has
nothing to do with age, let alone beards. — Haruki Murakami

He wasn't speaking to me anymore. We were living in our own worlds of little memories, and even though we were both separate, somehow we managed to feel for one another. Lonely often recognized lonely. And today, for the first time, I began to see the man behind the beard. I — Brittainy C. Cherry

There are people,' he said, 'who give, and there are people who take. There are people who create, people who destroy, and people who don't do anything and drive the other two kinds crazy. It's born in you, whether you give or take, and that's the way you are. Ravens bring things to people. We're like that. It's our nature. We don't like it. We'd much rather be eagles, or swans, or even one of those moronic robins, but we're ravens and there you are. Ravens don't feel right without somebody to bring things to, and when we do find somebody we realize what a silly business it was in the first place." He made a sound between a chuckle and a cough. "Ravens are pretty neurotic birds. We're closer to people than any other bird, and we're bound to them all our lives, but we don't have to like them. You think we brought Elijah food because we liked him? He was an old man with a dirty beard. — Peter S. Beagle

You always notice a facelift on a woman. It's a tightness around the ears, and the scar is usually inside the ears. If I suspect it's been done, I usually move around until I can see it. But with a man, it actually pulls your beard and your sideburns back, and that's what's so strange. — Tom Ford

I know who the real hero is, and it isn't me or brave Lanaya. It's an old man with a white beard and a walking stick and a heart so big it won't let him stop thinking he can change the world by writing down things in a book no one will ever read. — Rodman Philbrick

I had never realized before how quickly men deteriorate without razors and clean shirts. They are like potted plants that go to weed unless they are pruned and tended daily. A single day's growth beard makes a man look careless; two days', derelict; and four days', polluted. Blix and Weston hadn't shaved for three. — Beryl Markham

Thou - why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more or a hair less in his beard than thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thow hast hazel eyes. What eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarreling. Thou hast quarreled with a man for coughing in the street because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? With another, for tying his new shoes with old ribbon? And yet thou wilt tutor me from quarreling? — William Shakespeare

He had a wild yellow beard and long, tangled hair that stood out from his head in a way that made it seem too large for his shoulders, though they were twice the width of mine. But these were not the things I noticed first. Nor, I think, the things that anyone would notice first. Before anything else, I saw his eyes: They were huge, and yellow as gold. And after that, I saw the way he moved. Cim Glowing is beautiful, and walks with liquid grace; but sometimes she looks clumsy beside him. I think I had guessed who he was before she called his name. "Ketin," she said, and raised the endieva wand as though to strike, backing away until her shoulders were against the wall. "Yes, Ketin," the bearded man said. His voice was like a storm five kilometers off. — Gene Wolfe

Do not despise death, but be well content with it, since this, too, is one of those things that nature wills. For such as it is to be young and to grow old, and to increase and to reach maturity, and to have teeth and beard and grey hairs, and to beget, and to be pregnant and to bring forth, and all the other natural operations that the seasons of your life bring, such also is dissolution. This, then, is consistent with the character of a reflecting man, to be neither careless nor impatient nor contemptuous with respect to death, but to wait for it as one of the operations of nature. As you now wait for the time when the child shall come out of your wife's womb, so be ready for the time when your soul shall fall out of this envelope. — Marcus Aurelius

If you can try to nap where someone's sitting,
Although there is another empty chair,
Then rub against his ankle without quitting
Until he rises from your favorite lair;
If you can whine and whimper by a portal
Until the bolted door is opened wide,
Then howl as if you've got a wound that's mortal
Until he comes and lets you back inside;
If you can give a guest a nasty spiking,
But purr when you are petted by a thief;
If you can find the food not to your liking
Because they put some cheese in with the beef;
If you can leave no proffered hand unbitten,
And pay no heed to any rule or ban,
then all will say you are a Cat, my kitten.
And
which is more
you'll make a fool of Man! — Henry N. Beard

How I wish we could spend a couple of Christmas days together, for instance - I would also dearly like to have you in my studio once more.
I, too, have been toiling quite hard recently, precisely because I was full of the Christmas feeling, and feeling isn't enough, one must bring it into one's work.
So I'm now occupied with two large heads of an orphan man, with his white beard and old-fashioned, old top hat.
This chap has the sort of old, lively face that one would wish for beside a cosy Christmas fire. — Vincent Van Gogh

When Goya was 80 he drew an ancient man propped on two sticks, with a great mass of white hair and beard all over his face, and the inscription, "I am still learning." — Simone De Beauvoir

It isn't always the middle-aged who refuse to listen, who will not even try to understand another point of view. One boy would not get it through his head that for all adults God is not an old man in a white beard sitting on a cloud. As far as this boy was concerned, this old gentleman was the adult's god, and therefore he did not believe in God. — Madeleine L'Engle

And finally, in our time a beard is the one thing that a woman cannot do better than a man, or if she can her success is assured only in a circus. — John Steinbeck

A man with a beard was always a little suspect anyway. You couldn't say you wore a beard because you liked a beard. People didn't like you for telling the truth. You had to say you had a scar so you couldn't shave. — John Steinbeck

She looked at a silver birch: it would have a soft, showery voice and would look like a slender girl, with hair blown all about her face and fond of dancing. She looked at the oak: he would be a wizened, but hearty, old man with a frizzled beard and warts on his fact and hands, with hair growing out of the warts. She looked at the beech under which she was standing. Ah!
she would be the best of all. She would be a gracious goddess, smooth and stately, the Lady of the Wood. — C.S. Lewis

When I was six, God was a white man with a big beard riding on a white cloud. That's the image television pumps. — Ice Cube

Do you believe in God, Arthur?" I said, eating the last piece of sponge.
"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! — Sarah Winman

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

A fly sneaks into the heavy hush of the room. Lands on the man's forehead. Hesitant. Uncertain. Wanders over his wrinkles, licks his skin. No taste. Definitely no taste. The fly makes its way down into the corner of his eye. Still hesitant. Still uncertain. It tastes the white of the eye, then moves off. It isn't chased away. It resumes its journey, getting lost in the beard, climbing the nose. Takes flight. Explores the body. Returns. Settles once more on the face. Clambers onto the tube stuffed into the half-open mouth. Licks it, moves right along it to the edge of the lips. No spit. No taste. The fly continues, enters the mouth. And is engulfed. — Atiq Rahimi

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

He looked nearly inconspicuous, a handsome man in faded Levi's and tennis shoes. A Yankees baseball cap covered his dark hair, the bill shadowing his features. Casual. Beautiful. A day's growth of beard on his jaw did little to detract from his excruciating attractiveness.
"She's eight months old, but she knows how to flirt," the baby's mother said. "Let go of the nice man's shirt, Gabbi." She dislodged the child's hand, then told Adrian, "I'm sorry. She must like the colors on your T-shirt."
Eight-month-old Gabbi's big blue eyes were fixed on Adrian's face, not on his T-shirt. Billie released a shaky breath. Good God. Even babies weren't immune. — Shelby Reed

A man's work and the conditions under which it is performed are tremendous factors in determining his character. — Charles A. Beard

I feel like a lot of people talk about in rom-coms, there's the female best friend. There's all those archetypes in rom-coms. But even among a movie about man-children hanging out, there is always the one who's often the fat one, often the one with the beard, who is like the man-childest of them all. He's the one that eventually meets the fat girl or the quirky girl of the girl group of friends and really hits it off. — Jon Gabrus

An old homeless man confronts me quietly with his beard, his missing teeth, and his poverty. — Markus Zusak

My father and I had a good relationship, it was very relaxed. He had a lot of humour. He looked a little bit like me, although he had no beard. He had the appearance of a very elegant British-looking man. — Michael Haneke

Where I'm from," Tom tilted his head to the side, "they call your kind a hipster or a lumbersexual, with the beard and flannel and such."
Without missing beat, Jethro responded, "Ah. See, where I'm from, they call my kind a man. — Penny Reid