Quotes & Sayings About Dark Brown Hair

And what a man he is. Tall, but not too tall. Five o'clock shadow. Late twenties, early thirties. Piercing blue eyes. Short, brown hair that juts forward, matching his angular face. He's wearing an untucked, button-down white shirt and dark-grey slacks. He looks disheveled in the best way possible. — Samantha Riley

He was tall, dark and handsome, the complete trifecta. His unique grey eyes and his tousled dark brown hair, made him look like he belonged on the cover of a romance novel. — Nicole Gulla

He was tall and trim, with the build of a young man proficient in warfare. His dark hair was straight and styled in a manner suggesting a desire for order in all things. As she strode onto the dais, she looked up at him, refusing to balk, even in the face of her king. His thick eyebrows raised a fraction. They framed eyes so pale a shade of brown they appeared amber in certain flashes of light, like those of a tiger. His profile was an artist's study in angles, and he remained motionless as he returned her watchful scrutiny. — Renee Ahdieh

All right," Shannen says slowly, tucking a lock of dark brown hair behind her ear. "Why did you glue that dolphin upside down?"
Okay, so I'm a little distracted. "He's doing the back stroke. — Tera Lynn Childs

He had the prettiest hair she had ever seen on a man: dark brown, almost black, and soft like sable, it fell down to his shoulders. She wondered what he'd do if she threw some mud in it. Probably kill her. — Ilona Andrews

Ah-there's our boy!" Bill pointed at the head of the crowd as they neared the stadium.
A lean,muscular boy was running, faster than the others,his back to Luce. His hair was dark brown and shiny, his shoulders deeply tanned and painted with intersecting red-and-black bands. When he turned his head slightly to the left,Luce caught a quick glimpse of his profile.He was nothing like the Daniel she had left in her parents' backyard. And yet-
"Daniel!" Luce said. "He looks-"
"Different and also precisely the same?" Bill asked.
"Yes."
"That's his soul you recognize. Regardless of how you two may look on the outside,you'll always know each other's souls."
It hadn't occured to Luce until now how remarkable it was that the recognized Daniel in every life. Her soul found his. "That's ... beautiful."
Bill scratched at a scab on his arm with a gnarly claw. "If you say so. — Lauren Kate

In the second row was a boy named Doon Harrow. He sat with his shoulders hunched, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration, and his hands clasped tightly together. His hair looked rumpled, as if he hadn't combed it for a while. He had dark, thick eyebrows, which made him look serious at the best of times and, when he was anxious or angry, came together to form a straight line across his forehead. His brown corduroy jacket was so old that its ridges had flattened out. — Jeanne DuPrau

He was by far the fiercest, most ruggedly handsome, yet, formidable man she had ever laid eyes on. She couldn't stop staring at him. He had dark brown hair which skimmed his shoulders, a short-haired beard around his lips and chin, and gorgeous greenish-blue eyes that reminded her of the sea. There was something dangerously wicked about the look of his face, and she half expected him to yell for his men to batten down the hatches or swab the deck. — Madison Thorne Grey

Ranger was in his usual black - a perfectly tailored black suit, and a black dress shirt open at the neck. The Glock at the small of his back was also black. Ranger's body is perfect. His hair is very dark brown. Cut short. His eyes are dark brown and intense. His skin is the color of hot chocolate, the lucky result of his Latino ancestry. His earbud matched his skin tone and was barely detectable. — Janet Evanovich

When he came in sight of the prisoner he stopped short. The man sat with his hands bound behind him, securely strapped into a seat and guarded by two Yellow Squad troopers, a big fellow and a thin woman who made Mark think of a snake, all sinuous muscle and unblinking beady eyes. The prisoner looked a striking forty or so years of age, and wore a torn brown silk tunic and trousers. Loose strands of dark hair escaped from a gold ring on the back of his head and fell about his face. He did not struggle, but sat calmly, waiting, with a cold patience that quite matched the snake-woman's. Bharaputra. The Bharaputra, Baron Bharaputra, Vasa Luigi himself. The man hadn't changed a hair in the eight years since Mark had last glimpsed him. Vasa — Lois McMaster Bujold

I strolled into a downtown parking garage, wearing a black pantsuit and matching heels. I'd pulled my dark, chocolate-brown hair up into a high, sleek ponytail, while black glasses with clear lenses covered my cold
gray eyes. I looked like just another corporate office drone, right down to the enormous black handbag I carried. — Jennifer Estep

So I'm guessing you're Seven and Ten; What can you do?" I say as I find our rifles in the sand and hand each of them a gun.
"You can call me Marina," the girl with the brown hair says. "And I can breathe under water and see in the dark and heal the sick and wounded. And I have telekinesis."
Call me Ella, I hear ten say in my head. Aside from my telepathy, I can change ages.
"Awesome. I'm four, that nut job with the long black hair is nine and the beast is my chimaera, Bernie Kosar. — Pittacus Lore

She wouldn't leave him like this, in this cold, dark room.
She yanked out of Arobynn's grasp. Wordlessly, she unfastened her cloak and spread it over Sam, covering the damage that had been so carefully inflicted. She climbed onto the wooden table and lay out beside him, stretching an arm across his middle, holding him close.
The body still smelled faintly like Sam. And like the cheap soap she'd made him use, because she was so selfish that she couldn't let him have her lavender soap.
Celaena buried her face in his cold, stiff shoulder. There was a strange, musky scent all over him
a smell that was so distinctly not Sam that she almost vomited again. It clung to his golden-brown hair, to his torn, bluish lips.
She wouldn't leave him.
Footsteps heading toward the door
then the snick of it closing as Arobynn left.
Celaena closed her eyes. She wouldn't leave him.
She wouldn't leave him. — Sarah J. Maas

Burr had the dark and severe coloring of his Edwards ancestry, with black hair receding from the forehead and dark brown, almost black, eyes that suggested a cross between an eagle and a raven. Hamilton had a light peaches and cream complexion with violet-blue eyes and auburn-red hair, all of which came together to suggest an animated beam of light to Burr's somewhat stationary shadow. — Joseph J. Ellis

Then she looked away, dismissing him as if she'd found him to be substandard.
All right, then. She didn't find him attractive. Good.
In fact, he kept his head shaved to a glossy shine for just that reason. He was a man willing to do anything to discourage feminine attention.
Because yeah, females could be vanity hounds and most preferred their dates to have hair. Black, blond, red, it didn't matter, as long as the locks were thick and lustrous.
And here was a news flash for little
Miss Giggles: when he allowed his to grow, it was dark brown, nearly jet, with hints of gold and worthy of a fucking lion. — Gena Showalter

They stood brow to brow, brown to white, black to black, he supporting her elbows, she playing her limp light fingers over his collarbone, and how he "ladored,"he said, the dark aroma of her hair blending with crushed lily stalks, Turkish cigarettes and the lassitude that comes from "lass." "No, no, don't," she said, I must wash, quick-quick, Ada must wash; but for yet another immortal moment they stood embraced in the hushed avenue, enjoying as they had never enjoyed before, the "happy-forever" feeling at the end of never-ending fairy tales. — Vladimir Mayakovsky

Rhosh, remember the being's skin, smooth, dark brown skin, like this one's skin, and the being's hair. The hair was the same, thick like this and with loose curls and the very same golden streak in it, only broader and on the right side of the head. — Anne Rice

The first thing I notice is his hair - it's the first thing I notice about anyone. It's dark brown and messy and somehow both long and short at the same time. I think of the Beatles, since I've just seen them in Meredith's room. It's artist's hair. Musician hair. I-pretend-I-don't-care-but-I-really-do hair. — Stephanie Perkins

Ranger was the second biggest complication in my life, and now that Morelli was out of the picture, I supposed Ranger was elevated to numero uno. He's close to six foot, one way or the other, is Latino, with medium brown skin and dark brown hair cut short. His teeth are white and even, and he has a killer smile that is seen only on special occasions. He dresses in black, and today he was wearing a black T-shirt and black cargo pants. — Janet Evanovich

JACKSON'S DARK BROWN HAIR curled up on his shirt collar. Black lashes and heavy brows framed his blue eyes. A few crow's-feet around his eyes were the only sign that he'd just passed his fortieth birthday and they were minimized in the dim restaurant lights. His jeans were creased and stacked up over his highly polished black boots just the right way. Waitresses stopped what they were doing and gazed at him over their shoulders as he passed. Their — Carolyn Brown

The only sounds in the cave were the hopeless, abandoned sobbing, and plop-plop-plop of the drips.
Petra looked at us, then at the figure on the bed, then at us again, expectantly. When neither of us moved she appeared to decide that the initiative lay with her. She crossed to the bedside and knelt down concernedly beside it. Tentatively she put a hand on the dark hair.
'Don't,' she said. 'Please don't.'
There was a startled catch in the sobbing. A pause, then a brown arm reached out round Petra's shoulders. The sound became a little less desolate ... it no longer tore at one's heart: but it left it
bruised and aching.. — John Wyndham

She wore a loose-fitting purple velvet Pre-Raphaelite gown, and her abundant dark-brown hair flowed down her back and shoulders to her waist. As she drew near, I noticed her warm brown eyes peeping at me beneath lush, un-plucked brows, her smiling red lips and smooth, un-powdered cheeks almost begging for kisses. She possessed a beauty much different from Daisy, more like a wildflower in the unspoiled earth than a prize-winning rose in a formal garden. However, her Pre-Raphaelite fashion might have been an affectation of a different kind, a bit closer to nature but a stylish imitation just the same. — Gary Inbinder

Eyes, golden-brown curls and crimson cheeks. She laughed too much to please her father's congregation and had shocked old Mrs. Taylor, the disconsolate spouse of several departed husbands, by saucily declaring - in the church-porch at that - "The world ISN'T a vale of tears, Mrs. Taylor. It's a world of laughter." Little dreamy Una was not given to laughter. Her braids of straight, dead-black hair betrayed no lawless kinks, and her almond-shaped, dark-blue eyes had something wistful and sorrowful in them. Her mouth had a trick of falling open over her tiny white teeth, and a shy, meditative smile occasionally crept over her small face. She was much more sensitive to public opinion than Faith, and had an uneasy consciousness that there was something askew in their way of living. She longed to put it right, but did not know how. Now and then she dusted the furniture - but it was so seldom she could find the duster because it was never in the same place twice. And when — L.M. Montgomery

Nathaniel Upchurch. Margaret couldn't believe it. Gone were the pale features, the thin frame, the hesitant posture, the spectacles. Now broad shoulders strained against his cutaway coat. Form-fitting leather breeches outlined muscular legs. The unfashionable dark beard emphasized his sharp cheekbones and long nose. His skin was golden brown. His hair unruly, some escaping its queue. Even his voice sounded different - lower, harsher, yet still familiar. — Julie Klassen

I must go now", she said slowly and slipped her hand from his. Aarav looked at her face.. the water droplets pretended to be some shining gems embedded on a fine piece of white marble and a few strands of wet hair across, like some graceful ancient art on it. It took him a while to understand what she said. She just smiled softly with a hint of shyness. He kept looking at her.. the strands still intact, bothering him for some unknown reason. He raised his hand slowly towards her face.. her smile ceased with the movement. His dark brown eyes laid firm on her black ones, hearts pounding like door knocks.. he touched her face with his finger.. she half closed her eyes. — Syed Arshad

Same tall build, same golden hair, same dark-brown eyes. But this man isn't old enough to have gray in his hair; he's only a few years older than me, and his skin is smooth, sporting just a patch of stubble on his chin. He's much more handsome than Noam too, not quite as harsh, like he's more apt to sing a ballad than lead a kingdom. — Sara Raasch

Know what suits you. I would never wear brown, because it just doesn't work with my pale skin and dark hair. Also I wouldn't wear flats at night, because I love heels. — Leigh Lezark

Are you actually good looking?" she asks skeptically.

"Terribly good looking," I reply.

"Let me guess. Dark hair, brown eyes, great abs, white teeth, Abercrombie & Fitch."

"Close," I say. "Light brown hair, correct on the eyes, abs, and teeth, but American Eagle Outfitters all the way."

"Impressive," she says.

"My turn," I say. "Thick blonde hair, big blue eyes, an adorable little white dress with a matching hat, royal blue skin, and you're about two feet tall."

She laughs loudly. "You have a thing for Smurfette?"

"A guy can dream. — Colleen Hoover

The rake himself lived up to Amy's expectations, however, when he came out to greet his guests. Tall, dark, handsome, and dressed with devastating informality in an open-necked shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose his arms like a laborer. No one could fair to be aware of a lithe body beneath the slight amount of clothing, and there was a wicked gleam in his eye even if he was supposed to have been tamed by matrimony.
Amy found it difficult to believe that the very ordinary woman by his side had achieved such a miracle. Lady Templemore was short and her gown was a simple green muslin. Her face was close to plain and her brown hair was gathered into a simple knot at the back.
But then she smiled at her guests and was beautiful. When she turned to her husband with a comment, she was dazzling, and the look in his eye showed he was tamed indeed, if devotion so heated could be called tame at all. — Jo Beverley

He lounged on his side, bare-chested and barefooted, his jeans unbuttoned to show both the waistband of his underwear and the sleek lines of his ripped abs. His dark brown hair was sexily mussed and his emerald eyes were bright with mischief. — Sylvia Day

She was a pretty girl, and I was moved by her prettiness. Her hair was brown at the verge of red, and curly. Her face was still a little freckled. But it was her eyes that most impressed me. They were nearly black and had a liquid luster. The brief, laughing look that she had given me made me feel extraordinarily seen, as if after that I might be visible in the dark. — Wendell Berry

From Wishful Thinking...Sydney's first siting of her soon to be love interest, "as I gazed across the fire the hairs on the back of my neck began to tickle and stand on end. I watched as he gripped his beer bottle with a strong, sun tanned hand. My eyes followed up his arm and even through the flames I could see strong muscles rippling beneath the thin t-shirt he was wearing. As my eyes continued up, I saw a strong jaw, big smile, deep brown eyes, and short dark brown hair, which looked freshly cut. Not too short though, just enough to put your hands through and tug a little. — S.P. Wilcox

But it was the second guy who caught my eye. Like the girl, he, too, paused by the door, seeming even more wary than she looked. The sunlight streaming in through the windows highlighted the rich honey in his dark chocolate brown hair, even as it cast his face in shadow. The tan skin of his arms resembled marble - hard, but smooth and supple at the same time.
He must have passed through the mist spewed up by the fountain outside, because his black T-shirt was wet in places and the damp patches clung to his skin. The wetness allowed me to see just how muscled his chest was. Oh, yeah, I totally ogled that part of him, right up until I spotted the silver cuff on his right wrist.
Given the angle, I couldn't tell what crest was stamped into the metal, but I glanced at the others, who also wore cuffs. I sighed. So they belonged to some Family then. Wonderful. This day just kept getting better. — Jennifer Estep

If the blonds and blue-eyed people die out, the human race will become increasingly dense ... Blond hair actually bestows intelligence. In the case of fair people, less nourishment is driven into the eyes and hair; it remains instead in the brain and endows it with intelligence. Brown- and dark-haired people drive the substances into their eyes and hair that the fair people retain in their brains. — Rudolf Steiner

There were many echoes of Johnson in Lewis. Both were formidable in their learning and in the range of their conversation, both had the same delight in argument, and in spite of their regard for truth, would argue for victory. Lewis had Johnson's handiness with the butt end of a pistol if an argument misfired. Like Johnson, he was a largish, unathletic-looking man, heavy but not tall, with a roundish, florid face that perspired easily and showed networks of tiny blood-vessels on close inspection; he had a dark flop of hair and rather heavily pouched eyes; these eyes gave life to the face, they were large and brown and unusually expressive. The main effects were of a mild, plain powerfulness, and over all there was a sense of simple masculinity, of a virility absorbed into intellectual life. He differed in his youth from most others of his age by seeming to have no sexual problems or preoccupations, or need to talk about them if he had them — Jocelyn Gibb

He let his eyes flitter over her. "I don't see anything 'precisely.' I can tell you're slender. I can see you're wearing white, or some light color. Your face is pale, your lips are reddish. And there appears to be a dark brown octopus attacking your head."

"That's my hair."

Ransom shrugged. "You asked what I see. I see tentacles. — Tessa Dare

She laughed. He was right. Her laughter was enchanting. So, too, the sparkle in her eyes as she glanced at him. He'd never seen eyes as darkly brown as hers. With her dark hair she should have been a study in monochrome, but she wasn't. Her cheeks matched her pink lips. — Karen Ranney

V was half way down the hall when he heard a yelp. He hightailed it back, barging through the door. "What? What's ... "
"I'm going bald!"
V whipped back the shower curtain and frowned. "What are you talking about? You've still got your hair ... "
"Not my head! My body, you idiot! I'm going bald!"
Vishous glanced down. Butch's torso and legs were shedding, a rush of dark brown fuzz pooling around the drain.
V started laughing. "Think of it this way. At least you won't have to worry about shaving your back as you get old, true? No manscaping for you."
He was not surprised when a bar of soap came firing at him. — J.R. Ward

I have no idea what Paloma looks like-what she'll be like.
I have no idea what to expect.
I should've asked more questions.
I should've used the last ten hours to grill Chay until he broke-until he confided every dark and dirty secret Paloma is hiding.
Instead,I chose to eat.And read.And dream about some phantom boy with smooth brown skin,icy-blue eyes, and long glossy black hair-a boy I've never even met in real life.
Lot of good it did me. — Alyson Noel

Sorabji's hair was long and matted, as was his beard. He'd spent six months in a tropical sun, and was now dark brown. His clothes had been disgusting after the first week; following local custom he had taken to wearing his shirt as a loincloth. Sorabji always liked to say that the unfortunate consul had travelled hundreds of miles into the interior to rescue a British citizen, only to find Gunga Din. It was true that the loincloth had come from Gieves & Hawkes, but this was not something you'd notice on a casual inspection. — Helen DeWitt

Jim Snow pretty much looked his age. Slouching in his swivel chair to the right of Alice's desk, his thinning brown hair was cut short and parted along the side. He wore dark blue slacks and a plaid shirt. At forty-seven and a couple inches over six feet, Snow's muscular frame overshadowed his body fat, but only when he made an effort to suck in his gut. Usually he didn't bother. — Rex Kusler

On first impressions, John seemed more cynical and brash than the others, Ringo the most endearing, Paul was cute, and George, with velvet brown eyes and dark chestnut hair, was the best-looking man I'd ever seen. At the break for lunch I found myself sitting next to him, whether by accident or design I have never been sure. We were both shy and spoke hardly a word to each other, but being close to him was electrifying. — Pattie Boyd

His arms are tatted up, half sleeves to his elbows. His eyebrow is missing a ring they must've confiscated. Dark blue eyes dark brown hair sharp jawline strong lean frame. Gorgeous Dangerous. Terrifying. Horrible. — Tahereh Mafi

She was beautiful. In fact she was possibly the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was tall, with dark black hair, light skin, and big brown eyes. Her face was beautiful, not fake beautiful like a model or an actress, because she was obviously a real person, but rather Helen of Troy, launch-a-thousand-ships kind of good-looking. — Larry Correia

There where hundreds of graves. There where hundreds of women. There were hundreds of daughters. There were hundreds of sons. And hundreds upon hundreds upon thousands of candles. The whole graveyard was one swarm of candleshine as if a population of fireflies had heard of a Grand Conglomeration and had flown here to settle in and flame upon the stones and light the brown faces and the dark eyes and the black hair. — Ray Bradbury

I looked at Tristan, stunned.
"You did this," I paused. "For me?" I watched Tristan's
expression carefully. He leaned forward. His dark brown hair fell near his eyes and under the simple lighting from the candles, they glowed. Everything looked beautiful and magical, and he'd done
all this for me and Eric?
"For you," he whispered. — Angela McPherson

She [Pansy] pushed in next to Poppy so that she could see him around the guard's elbow. She was as tall as Poppy, with shining dark-brown hair and blue eyes. An utterly lovely girl, as all the princesses were, yet Oliver thought Petunia was far more beautiful. — Jessica Day George

Wheeler was the kind of guy I'd be wary to have in my section. His arms were covered with tattoos, and he wore a sleeveless shirt to show them off.
No smile touched his face behind the facial hair that surrounded his mouth but didn't extend up to his ears in a full beard. His scruffy brown hair was styled shorter on the sides and fell all over the place on top. He had a morose expression as he leaned on the table and sipped his whiskey, sliding his bright eyes up to mine without saying a word.
Dark, Dannika (2014-07-27). Five Weeks (Seven Series #3) (p. 63). Kindle Edition. — Dannika Dark

What is was, was that we complemented each other. We just fit in this way that made strangers ask us if we were sisters, even though her hair was blond and curly and mine was straight and dark. Even though her eyes were blue and mine were brown. Maybe it was the way we acted, or spoke, just moved. The way we would look at something and both have the same thought at the same moment, and turn to each other at the same time and start to say the same thing. — Nina LaCour

So I stand up and face the officer, daring her to look away from my smooth brown skin, the dark rings of my nipples, the swell of my belly, the thatch of hair between my legs. She hands me the orange scrubs that are designed to conform me, and the ID tag with my inmate number, meant to define me as part of a group, instead of an individual. I stare at her until she meets my eye. "My name," I say, "is Ruth." - — Jodi Picoult

He stopped, gazing at the girl who stood before it. The man guessed the child to be ten years old. She had dark brown hair to her neck with ends that showed curls, ivory skin and large eyes of sapphire blue. Thin and barefooted, with soot on her face she wore an old, tattered white dress. As the child turned to look at him, the man thought she must be an orphan beggar and he was unable to tear his face away from her eyes. Those bright blue eyes filled with an incomprehensible sadness. What pain did she carry? — Suilyaniz Cintron

Simon, as always, stuck out at the club like a sore thumb, in jeans and an old T-shirt that said MADE IN BROOKLYN across the front. His freshly scrubbed hair was dark brown instead of green or pink, and his glasses perched crookedly on the end of his nose. He looked less as if he were contemplating the powers of darkness and more as if he were on his way to chess club. — Cassandra Clare

Then I get up and turn on the light. (Did anyone notice I was in here in the dark? Did they see the lack of light under the crack and notice it like a roach? Did Nia see?) Then I look in the mirror. I look so normal. I look like I've always looked, like I did before the fall of last year. Dark hair and dark eyes and one snaggled tooth. Big eyebrows that meet in the middle. A long nose, sort of twisted. Pupils that are naturally large - it's not the pot - which blend into the dark brown to make two big saucer eyes, holes in me. Wisps of hair above my upper lip. This is Craig. — Ned Vizzini

I couldn't resist him, his eyes were like yours, his hair was exactly the shade of brown.
He's just not as tall, but I couldn't tell, it was dark and I was lying down. — Amy Winehouse

No visible scars. Hair dark brown, some gray. Eyes brown. Height six feet, one half inch. Weight about one ninety. Name Philip Marlowe. Occupation private detective. — Raymond Chandler

It was with some surprise that I saw that the person waiting for me at the airport's exit was Adrian. A grin spread over my face, and I picked up the pace. I threw my arms around him, astonishing both of us.
"I have never been happier to see you in my life," I said.
He squeezed me tightly and then let me go, regarding me admiringly. "The dreams never do justice to real life, little dhampir. You look amazing."
"And you look ... " I studied him. He was dressed as nicely as always. His dark brown hair had that crafted messiness he liked, but his face - ah, well. As I'd noted before, Simon had gotten a few good punches on him. One of Adrian's eyes was swollen and ringed with bruises.
Nonetheless, thinking about him and everything he'd done ... Well, none of the flaws mattered.
" ... Gorgeous."
"Liar," he said.
"Couldn't Lissa have healed that black eye away?"
"It's a badge of honor. Makes me seem manly. — Richelle Mead

His shoulder-length hair was a rich, dark-brown color with a slight wave to it and it flowed behind him as he ran into the center of the gypsies. He was tall, muscular, and so beautifully handsome, yet primal. He looked magnificent. — Madison Thorne Grey

Jem looked at ease in a white sweater and dark jeans. His black hair had a single, dramatic streak of silver in it that stood out against his brown skin. — Cassandra Clare

Reera did not keep them in misery more than a few seconds, for she touched each one with her right hand and instantly the fishes were transformed into three tall and slender young women, with fine, intelligent faces and clothed in handsome, clinging gowns. The one who had been a goldfish had beautiful golden hair and blue eyes and was exceedingly fair of skin; the one who had been a bronzefish had dark brown hair and clear gray eyes and her complexion matched these lovely features. The one who had been a silverfish had snow-white hair of the finest texture and deep brown eyes. The hair contrasted exquisitely with her pink cheeks and ruby-red lips, nor did it make her look a day older than her two companions. — L. Frank Baum

I'll tell you about Ryder. He's the star quarter back of our Division 1A state championship football team. Top student in our class, he doesn't even have to work for it. He plays the piano like some kind of freaking prodigy, and I wouldn't be surprised if he composed sonatas or something in his spare time.
Oh, and did I mention that he's gorgeous? Of course he is. Six foot four, two hundred ten pounds of swoon-worthy good looks. Spiky dark hair, chocolate brown eyes, and full-on dimples. — Kristi Cook

I was awkward-looking with huge brown eyes, dark brown, pencil-straight hair styled into an old-school Romanian bowl haircut from the 1980s. And I was very, very small. I was always the tiniest kid on my street and in my classes at school ... The gym was the one place I didn't have to worry about feeling awkward for being so petite. — Dominique Moceanu

As she felt his fangs against her neck, she was in another world.
There was screaming. A woman was somewhere in agony. Everything was black, and the tormented scream was overwhelming, echoing through the emptiness. After the screaming subsided, there was panting, loud and steady, and it wasn't as dark anymore. There was a room visible now, in a reddish light. A pale man with black hair hovered over a woman dressed in white. She lay on a bed, looking disheveled and sweaty. Her brown-black hair clung to her wet forehead and shoulders. She was covered in blood. The man sat next to her, and held her close to him. He stroked her hair as her chest heaved desperately.
"I love you, my dearest Katerina," he said, cradling her in his strong arms. "Soon, we'll be together forever." Everything faded to black once more, and the woman stopped breathing. All was silent and still. — Dawn Bonney

Hey. Do you want a cracker?" a velvet voice asked me.
I didn't look up, I wasn't sure if he was even talking to me. Why would an attractive senior be talking to me?
"Hey, I'm talking to you," he said, a chuckle in his voice.
I slowly lifted my head peering at him from under my long lashes. His dark brown hair swept across his forehead, and his deep blue eyes made me gasp. He wore the ultimate laid back style, a white t-shirt and jeans. All he needed was a black leather jacket, and he would be the bad boy from my book. The smile on his face was breathtaking and I found myself unable to speak. — Felicia Tatum

On her head perched a pillbox hat with an absurd little veil. She'd pulled the dotted veil up out of her eyes, but not completely - it hung lopsidedly, dangling over her right brow. Her dark brown dress was filmed with dust she'd raised, and dust caught on her damp cheeks. One lock of hair had escaped her coiffure, a red snake dancing down her bodice. She was delightfully mussed, and dear God, he wanted her. — Jennifer Ashley

The Nigger was a handsome, austere woman with snow-white hair and a dark and awful dignity. Her brown eyes, brooding deep in her skull, looked out on an ugly world with philosophic sorrow. She conducted her house like a cathedral dedicated to a sad but erect Priapus. If you wanted a good laugh
and a poke in the ribs, you went to Jenny's and got your money's worth; but if the sweet worldsadness close to tears crept out of your immutable loneliness, the Long Green was your place. When you came out of there you felt that something pretty stern and important had happened. It was no jump in the hay. The dark beautiful eyes of the Nigger stayed with you for days. — John Steinbeck

Charlie swallowed. He was gloriously sexy. The hottest man she'd ever seen with his sculpted chest and abs., narrow waist, long muscular legs dusted with dark brown hair. Her gaze roamed over every inch of him before settling on his erection. It was big, thick, and hard for her. Her mouth watered in anticipation. — Robin Bielman

He was dressed in clothes that had clearly never seen the sea. A dark blue suit, accented by a silver cloak, his rich brown hair groomed and threaded with gems to match. A single sapphire sparkled over his right eye. Those eyes, like night lilies caught in moonlight. He used to smell like them, too. Now he smelled like sea breeze and spice, and other things Rhy could not place, from lands he'd never seen — Victoria Schwab

The doors to his father's council room were thrown open and Celaena prowled in, her dark cape billowing behind her. All twenty men at the table fell silent, including his father, whose eyes went straight to the thing dangling from Celaena's hand. Chaol was already striding across the room from his post by the door. But he, too, stopped when he beheld the object she carried.
A head.
The man's face was still set in a scream, and there was something vaguely familiar about the grotesque feature and mousy brown hair that she gripped. It was hard to be certain as it swung from her gloved fingers. — Sarah J. Maas

Finally, he smiled, and although his smile was bumpy because some of his teeth were jagged and broken, it was a warming, infectious smile that was reflected in his eyes. It made her smile widely in return. She felt as if the room had been lit up. He held out his arms, and she went across the room to him, almost running. She buried her face in his shirt, her nose wrinkling up as the scent of his cologne mixed with the nutty, sourish smell of camphor that filled the room. He put his arms around her, but gently, so that there was space between his forearms and her back, holding her as if she was to fragile to hug properly. Awkwardly, he patted her light, bushy aureole of dark brown hair, repeating: Good girl. Fine daughter. — Helen Oyeyemi

Let me guess. Dark hair, brown eyes, great abs, white teeth, Abercrombie & Fitch." "Close," I say. "Light brown hair, correct on the eyes, abs, and teeth, but American Eagle Outfitters all the way." "Impressive," she says. "My turn," I say. "Thick blonde hair, big blue eyes, an adorable little white dress with a matching hat, royal blue skin, and you're about two feet tall." She laughs loudly. "You have a thing for Smurfette? — Colleen Hoover

She smiled. Her skin looked whiter than he recalled, and dark spidery veins were beginning to show beneath its surface. Her hair was still the color of spun silver and her eyes were still green as a cat's. She was still beautiful. Looking at her, he was in London again. He saw the gaslight and smelled the smoke and dirt and horses, the metallic tang of fog, the flowers in Kew Gardens. He saw a boy with black hair and blue eyes like Alec's, heard violin music like the sound of silver water. He saw a girl with long brown hair and a serious face. In a world where everything went away from him eventually, she was one of the few remaining constants.
And then there was Camille. — Cassandra Clare

Blindly, Grace pushed away from the velvet-lined wall...

Right into the path of a giant as tall and as hard as an oak.

A firm hand caught her about the waist as strong fingers captured her wrists. She blinked the sting of unshed tears from her eyes to find herself entangled not with an oak, but with a man possessed of dark brown hair and dangerous golden eyes. A wry smile curved his lips as the orchestra began the opening strains of a waltz. — Erica Ridley

Because yeah, females could be vanity hounds and most preferred their dates to have hair. Black, blond, red, it didn't matter, as long as the locks were thick and lustrous. And here was a news flash for little Miss Giggles: when he allowed his to grow, it was dark brown, nearly jet, with hints of gold and worthy of a fucking lion.
Not that he was feeling defensive or anything. — Gena Showalter

On a cold, fretful afternoon in early October, 1872, a hansom cab drew up outside the offices of Lockhart and Selby, Shipping Agents, in the financial heart of London, and a young girl got out and paid the driver.
She was a person of sixteen or so
alone, and uncommonly pretty. She was slender and pale, and dressed in mourning, with a black bonnet under which she tucked back a straying twist of blond hair that the wind had teased loose. She had unusually dark brown eyes for one so fair. Her name was Sally Lockhart; and within fifteen minutes, she was going to kill a man. — Philip Pullman

He couldn't believe it!
He knew her intent before she dove for her sgian dubh. But he couldn't react quickly enough. He wasn't about to allow her to arm herself again. He dropped his sword, needing both hands free and lunged for her, only with his body this time. Tackling her, he took her down, her back cushioned by the wealth of leaves, and planted his body on top of hers.
She grew very still then, and he smiled a little at her. "If you had done just as I asked, we wouldna be like this, now would we lassie?"
Sorcha was fuming mad and scared witless as the braw Highlander pressed his body on top of hers. She felt his staff growing against her belly the longer he remained between her legs. He was beautiful, his dark brown eyes swimming with lust, his long brown hair hanging about her face as she looked up at him, panting for breath, trembling, despite wishing to show he didn't frighten her one bit. But he did. — Terry Spear

The lawyer was a short, ugly, little man. He stood about three feet taller than his desk's two foot eight inch frame and he had dark eyes. Lois couldn't tell if they were black or an extremely dark brown. His hair was dirty blonde and very messy. He looked as if he had just crawled out of bed. His white button up shirt was tucked in on only one side and the other side hung out freely. He wore a pair of tan khakis and a pair of black loafers. His skin almost matched the khakis which was extremely creepy and Lois kept thinking the man wasn't wearing pants. — Rebecca McNutt

But
he had the kindest face in the world, with big, dark eyes and buzzed-cut
brown hair. — S.C. Stephens

She couldn't honestly deny he was extremely appealing physically. His rugged face, his wild dark hair, his warm brown skin. And even though she would never tell him, she loved the way he moved, with total confidence, as though nothing in the world could harm him. It made her less fearful when she was around him. As if boldness and bravery did not always end in defeat. — Stephanie Garber

She was wearing blue jeans and a dark blue peasant blouse, the ties of the neck open. She looked so beautiful and soft, with her big brown eyes and her light brown hair shining in the afternoon light. He couldn't see the pink streak, and he had an incredible urge to find it. — Sarah Addison Allen

Guys, you really don't have to do that." The Head Alchemist, Erik, has white blonde hair and wildly mismatched eyes of dark brown and ice blue. "But that's a proper greeting for the Great Scala." "Well, honestly, it's creeping me out. As the Great Scala, I hereby order you to call me Myla and not hop around when I enter the room." "As you command, Great Scala." I shoot him a dry look. "I mean, that's cool, Myla. — Christina Bauer

The creature had nut-brown skin mixed with patches of ash. It was human-sized and formed, but its skin looked like the bark of an old, old tree. About the same height as Donna, it was spindly with arms and legs that were all joints and angles. Its face was narrow and pointed, with hair on top of its head like thick moss and narrow black eyes that glinted even in the dim light of the room. The thing's body was clothed in lichen and moss, with vines twining around its sharp limbs. The creature opened its lipless mouth, a dark slash across its twisted face.

Donna's mind flashed back to the party and the shadow she'd seen sliding through the darkness outside Xan's house. She hadn't been imagining things, after all.

The wood elves had returned to the city. — Karen Mahoney

So one day, in a fit of trying to do something different, I just dyed my hair dark brown and got my first role a week later, after which I thought: 'People are closed-minded, man! Like a different hair colour changes everything!' — Emma Stone

Actually, Elizabeth realized, when he laughed like that, he did look quite handsome. His dark brown hair and his eyes, so light a brown as to seem almost gold in color, were not quite as nondescript as she'd once thought. Maybe the giggling young ingenues weren't completely daft. Despite his maddening tendencies to be deliberately obtuse and tease her relentlessly, he had a certain charisma. — Emma Wildes

I was at this guy's house. I met this girl who was hanging out there. She was real pretty, she had brown eyes and dark hair. She was soft-spoken and real nice. I know that everyone has their own life and they can do what they want and you shouldn't think anything of it or anything. But man, I couldn't help but flinch a little when I saw all those needle marks in her arm, they looked so sore. Hateful little holes. I wanted to say something, but I didn't. — Henry Rollins

When my hair was dark for 'House,' that was the hardest to maintain because it was like every three weeks my light roots would start coming in. And you can't really just dye your hair one color brown because then it looks like a helmet on television, so then I had to have four colors of brown woven into my hair every three weeks. — Jennifer Morrison

I wonder what Lena is doing now. I always wonder what Lena is doing. Rachel, too: both my girls, my beautiful, big-eyed girls. But I worry about Rachel less. Rachel was always harder than Lena, somehow. More defiant, more stubborn, less feeling . Even as a girl, she frightened me - fierce and fiery-eyed, with a temper like my father's once was.
But Lena . . . little darling Lena, with her tangle of dark hair and her flushed, chubby cheeks. She used to rescue spiders from the pavement to keep them from getting squashed; quiet, thoughtful Lena, with the sweetest lisp to break your heart. To break my heart: my wild, uncured, erratic, incomprehensible heart. I wonder whether her front teeth still overlap; whether she still confuses the words pretzel and pencil occasionally; whether the wispy brown hair grew straight and long, or began to curl.
I wonder whether she believes the lies they told her. — Lauren Oliver

Carrie was a girl from my music appreciation class. She had beautiful, dark brown eyes, though it was hard to notice them; she hid behind a scrim of mousy hair and soft chub, which gave her the sodden air of someone who'd found a tenuous contentment on Paxil — Siel Ju

Annabel was, like the writer, of mixed parentage: half-English, half-Dutch, in her case. I remember her features far less distinctly today than I did a few years ago, before I knew Lolita. There are two kinds of visual memory: one when you skillfully recreate an image in the laboratory of your mind, with your eyes open (and then I see Annabel in such general terms as: "honey-colored skin," "thin arms," "brown bobbed hair," "long lashes," "big bright mouth"); and the other when you instantly evoke, with shut eyes, on the dark innerside of your eyelids, the objective, absolutely optical replica of a beloved face, a little ghost in natural colors (and this is how I see Lolita). — Vladimir Nabokov

He was a compact, clearcut man, with precise features, a lot of very soft black hair, and thoughtful dark brown eyes. He had a look of wariness, which could change when he felt relaxed or happy, which was not often in these difficult days, into a smile of amused friendliness and pleasure which aroused feelings of warmth, and something more, in many women. — A.S. Byatt

Payton grinned. "You must be Chase." As she extended her hand in introduction, she took the opportunity to give him a more thorough once-over.
He had dark wavy hair and warm brown eyes. Very Pat-rick Dempsey/McDreamy-esque. Good build, not terribly tall, maybe only five-ten-ish, but since Payton measured in at exactly five-three and one-third inch, she could work with this — Julie James

You see someone more interesting than me?" asked Simon. In the dream he was mysteriously an expert dance. He steered her through the crowd as if she were a leaf caught in a river current. He was wearing all black, like a shadow hunter, and it showed his coloring to a good advantage: dark hair, lighted brown skin,white teeth. He's handsome, Clary thought, with a jolt of surprise. "There's no one more interesting than you," Clary said. "It's just this place. I've never seen anything like it." She turned again as they passed a champagne fountain ... She was now dancing with Jace, who was wearing white, the material of his shirt a thin cotton ... — Cassandra Clare

She found her view stuck to him, and it was impossible for her not to melt from within. His beautiful dark brown eyes that used to send her wild as a teen, still had the same effect. His dark unruly hair she used to toy with. And his lips, pink, and in need of her kiss. She was blushing like a beacon with so many passions coming back to her. There was a doubt, that maybe he would recognise her. But now, she could see what an empty man he was. He didn't recognise her at all. — LeeAnn Whitaker

The things you remember about a person when they're gone are funny. No two people will feel the same way, though usually it has to do with scent, or expression, the sound of a voice, an unusual gesture. For me, I can still see the colors of Keiko; the black of her hair against creamy pale skin, her dark blue kimono with white circles, the deep orange persimmons falling from the brown basket she carried. The ache in my heart grows larger every time I think of these colors, and how as each day passes they continue to fade from my eyes. — Gail Tsukiyama

Homo sapiens simonus, aka Simon Miner. Only one of his kind. Male. Predatory. Highly adaptable. Dark brown hair and deep blue eyes. 6'3. His well-muscled frame was agile and strong. His deadly smile incapacitated his victims. Voice promised safety. Sexual prowess compromised victim's intellect (temporarily). Yet he was intent on one vital organ - the heart. — Erin Kellison

Ronan and Declan Lynch were undeniably brothers, with the same dark brown hair and sharp nose, but Declan was solid where Ronan was brittle. Declan's wide jaw and smile said Vote for me while Ronan's buzzed head and thin mouth warned that this species was dangerous. — Maggie Stiefvater