Blonde Woman Quotes & Sayings

Matias frowned. Damn, he'd had a vision of this gorgeous woman naked? He hadn't thought he could despise his memory loss any more than he did, but the hits kept on coming. Wait. The blonde had said vision... as in the future? "We're fated to have sex?"
"No!" Quinn shook her head so quickly and vehemently that her teeth all but rattled.
"You sure? You can't seem to stay away from me." He looked down at their close proximity.
"I knew I should have left you to rot in the psych ward strapped to that bed."
Matias frowned. He was having a hard time keeping up with the conversation. "Kinky. Or is that another dream you had starring yours truly? — Jane Cousins

She was everything he loved about a woman wrapped up in a cute little package. Golden blonde hair was secured to the top of her head in a ponytail, he bet it would reach her waist when it was loose. Her body was curvy in all the right places, her breasts more than filled out the T-shirt she was wearing and those hips, dang he could just imagine holding onto them while she rode him, instead of Big Red. — Tamara Hoffa

A woman steps out of the back door after an hour of him sitting. Younger than either of us, blonde with a tinge of gray at her temples, the light creases of age in the corners of her eyes, beautiful in the untouchable way of mothers who are our exemplars for what we will admire in women when we come of age. — Thomm Quackenbush

Well, in Washington, this is a very hard time for Eleanor and Franklin. This is when Lucy Mercer first appears. And Lucy Mercer is Eleanor Roosevelt's own secretary. Very beautiful young woman, not unlike Eleanor Roosevelt: tall, blonde, thick haired. And FDR is having an affair with her, which Eleanor Roosevelt finds out when FDR returns from Europe in 1918 with the famous flu of 1918. — Blanche Wiesen Cook

I paint German artists whom I admire. I paint their pictures, their work as painters, and their portraits too. But oddly enough, each of these portraits ends up as a picture of a woman with blonde hair. I myself have never been able to work out why this happens. — Georg Baselitz

Yes, I'm blonde. When I started as an actor, because of the accent and my body and my personality, it was not what the stereotype of the Latina woman in Hollywood is, so they didn't know where to put me. The blond hair wasn't matching. The moment I put my hair dark, it was better for my work. — Sofia Vergara

I'm an African woman, I suppose these thoughts torture me more than they do black American people, because it's like watching my own children trapped in a car that's sinking to the bottom of a lake and being impotent to save them'the black Americans have their own holocaust going on. You see the black man erasing black children from the landscape, you see black women desperately trying to get the black man's attention by wearing blonde hair and fake blue eyes, 500 years after he sold her and their children across the ocean. — Kola Boof

... were trying to tell the dumb blonde to close her mouth, but the woman clearly took her hair color very seriously. — Sharon Green

You're polite and sensitive, and you always try to do the right thing by people. And according to my friend Kara - you remember the blonde woman from last night? - you wear a pair of jeans very well. — Leanne Hall

When a woman is secure with herself, she isn't afraid to define herself and defy public opinion. She has her own look. Her own style. Her own charisma. Her own brand of charm. A man wants something he doesn't see every day. Not in terms of a redhead versus a blonde. He wants the rare woman who can think for herself. — Sherry Argov

The woman was very pretty. She had shortish honey-blonde hair, — Neil Gaiman

I was never a dangerous woman. I'm not the prissy blonde woman that could take your husband away. — Catherine Deneuve

And last there was a woman with loads of strawberry blonde curls who looked like a fairy princess. Her name was Sadie Chavez. — Kristen Ashley

He pushed my back against the stall door, kissing me. Edward had tried kissing me, but I'd been so shocked I'd barely had time to explore how it felt. Lucy had told me stories of shady corners and sweaty palms. But this was passionate. Wild. Something I'd never known.
"Have you kissed a girl before?" I whispered. He ran his thumb over my cheek. His eyes lingered on my lips.
"Yes," he said. I thought of Alice, her pretty blonde hair, the split lip that made her so vulnerable. But it wasn't her name he said.
"A woman at the docks in Brisbane. She didn't mean anything. I was lonely. It wasn't love." A prostitute, he meant. — Megan Shepherd

Woman's shape under her midnight blue cloak. The cloak had made her invisible in the darkness, but up close he saw that she had golden blonde hair, so luminous that it glowed under the velvet hood. He found her attractive but sensed there was something strange about her, that she was — Alma Katsu

I liked to think I was a smart woman. My vagina, on the other hand, was the equivalent of a dumb blonde. And that blonde wanted what she wanted. — L. H. Cosway

I've never been a fluffy sort of woman ... — Cameron Diaz

A woman with super long platinum blonde hair, a fake tan, injected bubble gum pink lips, and a large boob job came in. Phoebe showed her where to set up in front of us and we all sat patiently.
"Hello, I'm Tandy" I almost rolled my eyes at her name, given her appearance. She placed a case on the coffee table in front of us, opened it, and pulled out rubber penises. I almost shot my drink out of my nose, again. "I will be instructing you on proper blow job technique."
"Oh my God, Phoebe." I shouted at her.
"Yeah," Viola clapped her hands and reached out to be the first to get a rubber practice penis. — Sadie Grubor

She was a blonde nearly young American woman of such dynamism that the tideless waves struggled to get farther up the beach. — Anthony J. Carson

His phone rang just as he set his evidence kit on the ground. He glanced at the display and took the call. "Hey, Mom."
"I ran into Cindy Jenners at the store today."
"No."
"She's such a nice young woman."
"Not interested."
"Your sisters abandoned me."
"They didn't abandon you. They got married."
"They moved to other states. I don't have a single grandchild. within driving distance. How can they be so curel?" She gave a guilt-laden pause. "Mrs. Ottmann said she saw you talking to some blonde with Massachusetts license plates by the feed store yesterday."
Chase closed his eyes and brushed his thumb and forefinger over his eyelids. "I was giving her a speeding ticket... — Dana Marton

You have that look on your face," Alessandro said, smiling as he tucked a damp lock of her blonde hair behind her ear. "What look?" Bree asked, resting a hand on his flushed chest, propping herself up on one elbow. She could feel the racing
heart beneath. "The look of a woman who's been rather well fucked, darling," he grinned smugly. She punched his chest lightly. "Ego much?" "I see nothing wrong with taking pride in a job well done," he pointed out. "Oh of course," Bree said, laughing and dropped her head on his chest. — E. Jamie

Maybe she was drunk - the woman never could drink. One little sniff of tequila and she was off into some blonde la-la land. — P.C. Cast

She'd best get the hell outta here pretty damn quick.
Finally he stood and tossed some cash on the littered table then glanced at the pretty lady shifter. He frowned and gave Joe a look. "With the hunt going down tonight, it might be a good idea to give the little blonde a heads up. She needs to hit the road."
When Joe nodded, Mad shrugged, determined to put some distance between himself and the sexy stranger. "Best take off and see what's what, Joe. You take care now."
He felt the woman's eyes on him as he made his way to the door and stopped to return her stare.
A sound similar to white noise buzzed in his ears and fairly rattled his brain then stopped almost as soon as it started. Chills raced over his arms.
What the fuck? — Regina Carlysle

She was a big blonde woman with more curves than the highway out front and just the right number of hills and valleys. — Max Allan Collins

She's the only woman I've ever had a sexual fantasy about. With me, looks come first, and she's everything a woman should be. She's blonde and beautiful, she's got the most incredible legs - etcetera, etcetera. And she's French as well. (on Brigitte Bardot) — Rod Stewart

Against a wall a faded blonde woman - an exiled angel, the hints of beauty still lingering on her palewhite face - sits with blackoutlined eyes burning into the bar. — John Rechy

The speaker at the meeting, a blonde woman in a fine tailored suit, shared how alcoholism had stolen her own childhood, and had now come back for her child. — Anne Lamott

Come see my mommy, Becky!" Will said and Bree stopped in her tracks. "Oh hell no!" she exclaimed staring at 'Becky'. Rebecca, the bane of Bree's existence. The blonde woman smiled mockingly at Bree. "How ya doing?" "What?" Bree asked but the question was directed at her brother and not the skank in front of her. "So how was Paris?" Rebecca asked moving right past Bree to practically press her body against Alessandro. "Seriously, what?" Bree demanded, glaring at Brian. "Hey, Alessandro. Great to see you again." "Stop talking. Stop talking now before I ram your botoxed head through this table!" Bree hissed lunging at her. Brian grabbed her quickly and held her back. "Sorry. Bree's a little bit touchy about that whole Vegas thing I guess. But hey, looks like it all worked for the best, huh?" Rebecca winked at Alessandro — E. Jamie

Suspense is like a woman. The more left to the imagination, the more the excitement. ... The conventional big-bosomed blonde is not mysterious. And what could be more obvious than the old black velvet and pearls type? The perfect 'woman of mystery' is one who is blonde, subtle and Nordic. ... Although I do not profess to be an authority on women, I fear that the perfect title [for a movie], like the perfect woman is difficult to find. — Alfred Hitchcock

Because I'm a woman, and I'm petite and blonde, you wouldn't believe how often I'm asked to model the clothes. — Phoebe Philo

A woman with long, blonde hair stood for a moment on the other side of the door. She looked similar to his date. Was she entering or leaving the coffee house?
Before Paul could confirm her identity or stand and run after her, she strode away and disappeared in the crowd. — Cheryl Sterling

A famous philosopher (either Aristotle or Judith Krantz, I forget who) once said about being a woman in Los Angeles: If you're blonde and beautiful, you're interchangeable. If you're not, you're invisible. — Laura Levine

I grew up in the Alps and France, and Barbie was my first exposure to the American woman. For me she was blonde, she was free and she was fun. — Catherine Malandrino

How far could you trace back such a chain, he wondered, past the Harmon girl being chosen that night to bring his food, past the tree shattering a man's backbone due to a badly notched trunk, past that to an axe unsharpened because a man drank too much the night before, past that to why the man had gotten drunk in the first place? Was it something you never found the end to? Or was there no chain at all, just a moment when you did or didn't step close to a young woman and let you fingers brush a fall of blonde hair behind her ears, did or did not lean to that uncovered ear and tell her that you found her quite fetching." ~G. Pemberton (58) — Ron Rash

And the other woman's breasts didn't look nearly as swollen as hers," Aspen went on.
Pick snorted. "I'd say."
The blonde shot him a glare. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"
He grinned at her. "Pick."
She blinked. "Pick what? I'm not picking out your name."
"No, that's my name, Tinker Bell. Pick, short for Patrick Jacob Ryan. You like? — Linda Kage

He had simply typed the words something beautiful into the Google images box. Up came a picture of some leaves against the sun. A picture of a blonde photoshop-smooth woman and baby sleeping. A picture of a bird. A picture of Mother Teresa. A picture of a modernist building made of shiny metal. A picture of two people sticking knives into their own hands. Google is so strange. It promises everything, but everything isn't there. You type in the words for what you need, and what you need becomes superfluous in an instant, shadowed instantaneously by the things you really need, and none of them answerable by Google — Ali Smith

I try to photograph her beauty; with a man I try to show his character. Once I photographed a man with a big nose, and emphasized his nose, and he was very pleased with the picture. That could not happen with a woman. The most intelligent woman will reject a portrait if it doesn't flatter her. Only once in my whole career did it happen that a blonde asked me, 'Please make me look intelligent.' Unfortunately it was impossible. — Philippe Halsman

He reached out a hand, and when she didnt move he curved fingers around her forearm slowly, as if afraid she'd dart away. He drew her toward him and his eyes slid shut as he inhaled. "Cinnamon and wild spice" One hand reached up and curled into her hair. "There was a woman last night, at the game." She froze in his arms. "Blonde hair, lithe, willing." Eyes caressed her face. "But the eyes were wrong, the color, the shape. Her scent." "Did you -" She swallowed. "Did you kiss her?" She couldnt ask if he'd done more. "No, I couldnt." His thumb ran over her bottom lip. "Her lips were completely wrong. How could I?" Her breath caught as his eyes held hers. "Oh." And something inside her, some devil, prompted her to add, "And mine?" "Perfect." He pulled her the rest of the way toward him and her lips met his. — Anne Mallory

A woman had joined the two men sitting at table three. She was a blonde, one of those fatal blondes, six foot tall or near enough, with hair the color of clover honey. — Martha Reed

Interesting shade #23 Lush Golden Blonde highlights. Heyyyyyy ... The woman in the awful suit was me! The woman in the cheap shoes was me! — MaryJanice Davidson

Thoughts are powerful, one thinking for something makes big changes... you try... Imagine this say "I want to fuck", then imaginate a girl. A woman which is 18 years old, blonde hair, white skin, big ass, big boobs, long legs, and likes to play with dicks... Think few times on such type of stuff and look the magic! — Deyth Banger

She had a woman's swagger at twelve-and-a-half. Hair: strawberry-blonde, and I vaguely recall a daisy in the crook of her ear. She was an inch taller than me, two with the ponytail; smooth cheeks and darling brown eyes that marbled in luscious contrast with her magnolia skin; cream, melting to peach, melting to pink. She beamed like a cherub without the baby fat; a tender neck; pristine lips that would never part for a dirty word. Her body
of no interest to me at the time
was wrapped from neck to toes with home-made footie pajamas, the kind they make for toddlers, but I didn't laugh; the girl filled that silly one-piece ensemble as if it were couture. — Jake Vander Ark

At the sight of Elizabeth Hamilton, all his previous concerns flew out of his mind. She was dressed in green, the color of new leaves, with her burnished blonde hair pulled back in a simple knot. Her blue eyes, more azure than the sky back home, turned in inquiry toward him. The color of her surroundings suited her. Nick had never seen a more elegant woman. Damn, she's beautiful. His tongue froze like lake water in a Montana winter, and his greeting died on his lips. — Debra Holland

You go to a party or whatever, and you spend the whole night zeroing in on the woman in red, the blonde in the corner, the girl with the big laugh, and then, as you are leaving, you see someone out of the corner of your eye, her hair glinting in the light, her long neck tilted slightly as she listens intently to the person next to her. And you know she's the one you should of talked to. — Jennifer Kaufman