Dark Haired Quotes & Sayings

Looking impressed. She turned and beckoned to a young man of seventeen or eighteen, who had been lurking in the background. He bore such a marked resemblance to his small, wiry, dark-haired father that his identity could scarcely be in doubt. "Manfred," his mother announced proudly. "Mein laddie." Jamie inclined his head in grave acknowledgment. "Mr. McGillivray." "Ah ... your s-servant, sir?" The boy sounded rather dubious about it, but put out his hand to be shaken. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir," Jamie assured him, shaking it. The courtesies duly observed, he looked briefly round at the quiet surroundings, raising one eyebrow. "I had heard that you were suffering some inconvenience wi' regard to a thief-taker. Do I — Diana Gabaldon

He seemed to be very dark-haired, lean, and swarthy; his eyes were large, undoubtedly black, very shiny, and had a yellow cast, like a Gypsy's - that could be guessed even in the dark. He must have been about forty, and was not drunk. — Fyodor Dostoyevsky

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

A tall, dark-haired boy ... stared after me curiously. He gave me a slow smile before turning his attention back to Miller. That smile sent chills racing down my arms, leaving gooseflesh in their wake, but not in a good way. It was less Mr. Sexypants and more Mr. Windowless Van. — Cara Lynn Shultz

Feeling his heart swell in his chest, Baltsaros looked fiercely at Jon, and the dark-haired man frowned at him. "What is it?" asked Jon, his voice alarmed. Baltsaros licked his lips and swallowed. "I'm just so very glad you're alive, Jon. So very glad," he said softly. "You are my everything. — Bey Deckard

In the crush men used the women to play silent games with themselves. One stared ironically at a dark-haired girl to see if she would lower her gaze. One, with his eyes, caught a bit of lace between two buttons of a blouse, or harpooned a strap. Others passed the time looking out the window into cars for a glimpse of an uncovered leg, the play of muscles as a foot pushed break or clutch, a hand absentmindedly scratching the inside of a thigh. — Elena Ferrante

At home, she loved the movies. She loved sitting in the dark, waiting for something wonderful to begin. Especially, the tragic and frightening movies in which ladies fainted dead away and monsters roared up out of the dark. Like in that cartoon her mother had taken her to see when she was very small, in which the dark-haired princess ran away into the terrible forest and the owls flew at her and pecked at her hands. That was wonderful--because the world was suddenly alive and excited and wanted things just the way September herself sometimes wanted things. Even if the world seemed mainly not to want a princess bothering it. September had not liked the princess so much, either, as she had a high, breathy voice she found deeply annoying. But the owls and the mines and the flashing eyes in the wood--that she had liked. — Catherynne M Valente

Watch," he rasped, fluttering his mouth along her neck.
"Watch what?"
"Us. In the mirror."
Julia opened her eyes and saw the mirror mounted on the wall on the other side of the room. Somehow, it was perfectly positioned to reflect her husband's magnificent and naked back and the dark-haired woman who was hidden by his body. ( ... ) She'd never seen what they looked like together. His body long and lean, hers smaller and softer. Their skin had different tones - he was darker while she was fair. — Sylvain Reynard

Purple Hair stopped dusting blush over Cameron's cheeks. "Hold up. Are you talking about the dark-haired guy who came in with you? The one who searched me before I could do your makeup?" Cameron grimaced. "Sorry about that." "Don't be - it was the highlight of my month." Purple Hair threw her a get-real stare. "That's the guy you're holding out on? Sweetie, you need to grab that stallion and ride him like a cowgirl. — Julie James

I'm not sure why he's flustered until I realize there are now five of us and the table is set for four.
Pru waves her hand dismissively. "Don't bother. The dark-haired one is just my bodyguard. He can stand."
Kiernan seems entirely unfazed by the comment, but her tone pisses me off. — Rysa Walker

A Lemon Gingertini," the dark-haired girl says. She curls her hands neatly under her chin and watches me mix the ginger syrup. "Oh, could you go light on the ice, too?"
"Sure thing," I say. Damn. I can't place her face.

"And make sure to add a slice of 'I'll kick your ass myself if you ever f*** over my best friend again'?" Her sweet voice changes to venom-laced. — Lori K. Garrett

Strangers have crossed the sound, but not the sound of the dark oarsmen Or the golden-haired sons of kings, Strangers whose thought is not formed to the cadence of waves, Rhythm of the sickle, oar and milking pail — Kathleen Raine

The twins were nineteen, soon to be twenty, but one could be excused for thinking they were younger than their actual age. Raised in an atmosphere largely devoid of authority, they had run free on a country estate with few diversions other than those they created for themselves. Their parents had spent much of their time in London society, leaving their daughters in the care of servants, governesses, and tutors. None of them had been able or willing to take a firm hand with them.
To be certain, Pandora and Cassandra were high-spirited but also affectionate, intelligent, and endearing. And they were as beautiful as a pair of pagan goddesses, both of them long-limbed and glowing with health. Pandora was perpetually disheveled and full of energy, her dark hair falling from its pins as if she'd just been running through the woods. Cassandra, the golden-haired twin, was more compliant and romantic in nature, more willing to abide by rules. — Lisa Kleypas

One ravishing dark-haired beauty wearing leather pants and strategically applied electrical tape, stared hard at me and, when she saw me looking, licked her lips very, very slowly. She trailed a fingertip over her chin, down across her throat, and down over her sternum and gave me a smile so wicked that it's parents should have sent it to military school. — Jim Butcher

dark-haired woman in — Robert Bryndza

Lily?" a deep voice called from behind me. I didn't recognize it. I spun around and backed up as a tall, dark-haired man stepped into view. My stomach dropped. Had he been hiding between the trees? — Natasha Preston

Three children lay on the rocks at the water's edge.
A dark-haired girl, two boys, slightly older.
This image is caught forever in my memory, like some fragile creature preserved in amber. — Juliet Marillier

This girl, this impossibly sweet girl, was his present and his future, despite his past. Fate had to be smiling at him. He couldn't imagine life without this dark haired beauty. Those beautiful hazel eyes reached into his heart and took hold. — Shayna Varadeaux

The white-haired wonder leading what had to, by now, be a blocks-long parade must've finally turned on her hearing aid. Because she finally pulled into the United Methodist Church parking lot, praise God, leaving the rest of us free to party until some other octogenarian found it necessary to take to the streets after dark. In Ohio, old folks know better than to drive at night. Yet another reason Cleveland rocks. — Jennifer Rardin

You'll notice a blond person is expected to talk. If a blond girl doesn't talk we call her a 'doll'; if a light-haired man is silent he's considered stupid. Yet the world is full of 'dark silent men' and 'languorous brunettes' who haven't a brain in their heads, but somehow are never accused of the dearth. — F Scott Fitzgerald

So this is the young man who has intentions toward my little girl." Bobby shifted in his seat and crossed his legs. "It is not fun on this side of the table, is it, Robert?" Uncle Eddie huffed, and Kat had to remember that once upon a time her mother had been a dark-haired girl in that kitchen, and her dad had been the stray she'd brought home. She watched the two men looking at Hale as if they'd never before laid eyes on him. "He's better-looking than the last vagabond I had to take in," Eddie said, standing and carrying empty bowls to the sink. "I'll give him that. — Ally Carter

tall, dark-haired guy — Barbara Delinsky

A dark-haired little boy just in pants stood bewildered near the blaze, saying, as if there had been some mistake, We live here. We live here. — Christopher Buehlman

God, the gown was hideous. So utterly hideous. Never before had so much money been put in the service of so little taste. She batted her eyes at the mirror in glee; her reflection flirted back with her: dark-haired, dark-eyed, coquettish and mysterious. "What do you ladies think?" she asked, turning about. "Ought I have more lace?" At her feet, the beleaguered Mrs. Sandeston let out a whimper. — Courtney Milan

Do you no' want to fight the lass?" Rob, his cousin had shouted. He was dark-haired, but not quite as dark as Marcus, a little taller, with swimming blue eyes.
...
"Nay," he said, his voice throaty and dark. "The lass is made for loving, no' fighting. I prefer to watch. — Terry Spear

LEONARD WAS A THICK, dark-haired man, Lucas's height but heavier, both in the arms and the gut. He was wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, and yellow work boots. The scars around his pale, suspicious eyes and a withered nose made him into a brawler. — John Sandford

And then a lady in a window high,
Fair-haired, dark-eyed, and dressed in ancient style ...
Whom, in another life, perhaps I've seen,
And whom I now remember with a sigh. — Gerard De Nerval

My peer would have to be dark-haired and handsome, a wonderful dancer ... and he would never ask permission before he kissed me. -Lillian Bowman — Lisa Kleypas

As the last dish of confections was removed a weird pageant swept across the further end of the banqueting-room: Oberon and Titania with Robin Goodfellow and the rest, attired in silks and satins gorgeous of hue, and bedizened with such late flowers as were still with us. I leaned forward to commend, and saw that each face was brown and wizened and thin-haired: so that their motions and their wedding paean felt goblin and discomforting; nor could I smile till they departed by the further door.
("The Basilisk") — R. Murray Gilchrist

When he arrived, he found that the two most important women in his life - his mother and his young wife - were dying. At 3:00 a.m. on February 14, Valentine's Day, Martha Roosevelt, still a vibrant, dark-haired Southern belle at forty-six, died of typhoid fever. Eleven hours later, her daughter-in-law, Alice Lee Roosevelt, who had given birth to Theodore's first child just two days before, succumbed to Bright's disease, a kidney disorder. That night, in his diary, Roosevelt marked the date with a large black "X" and a single anguished entry: "The light has gone out of my life. — Candice Millard

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

Damn it, the man needed a keeper. Yeah, sure he did. A dark-haired, dimpled, dhampir keeper, which wasn't going to happen, so just shut up.
Sometimes I didn't think it mattered what Mircea did in my head, because I was already crazy anyway. "It's like someone invented you just to mess with me," I said resentfully. "Quoi?" I sighed. — Karen Chance

I try to write characters that are normal, believable people with a unique sense of humor. I like characters that aren't necessarily society's idea of "perfect". I wanted to make characters that were more real. I want my potential readers to see that beauty comes in all shapes and sizes. I want them, especially the girls, to realize that whatever you look like, whether you're chubby or skinny, dark haired or blonde, popular or the school outcast, that everyone deserves to be loved. And that if you look hard enough, there's someone out there waiting just for you. — Taylor Fenner

His child. His child with Caroline. Their child. After the things he'd said to her this morning, this would likely be their only child. Would it be a little bespectacled boy who wore his clothes haphazardly and followed his papa around holding a magnifying glass in one hand and notebook in the other? Or would it be a beautiful, dark-haired, blue-eyed girl who was always getting into trouble for dragging the hem of her skirt through the mud while she dug around in the flowerbeds? He smiled at mental image. Most men wished for a boy, but he'd gladly take a little girl who was just like Caroline. — Rose Gordon

He looked to be a little over forty. Mouth somehow twisted. Clean-shaven. Dark-haired. Right eye black, left -for some reason- green. Dark eyebrows, but one higher than the other. In short, a foreigner. — Mikhail Bulgakov

Carmen saves the young child and is rewarded with a look of gratitude. His smile turns into a puzzle as he no longer hold the little girl, but his dark haired goddess — Solange Nicole

There was also a dark-haired man of about thirty (BMI approximately twenty) who appeared not to have shaved for several days, and, beside him, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. In contrast to the complexity of Bianca's costume, she was wearing a green dress with zero decoration, so minimal that it did not even have straps to hold it in place. It took me a moment to realise that its wearer was Rosie. — Graeme Simsion

PAPER TOWERS
The library was on the second floor of the House, not far from my room. It had two floors - the first held the majority of the books and a balcony wrapped in a wrought-iron railing held another set. It was a cavalcade of tomes, all in immaculate rows, and with study carrels and tables thrown in for good measure. It was my home away from home(away from home.
I walked inside and paused for a moment to breathe in the scent of paper and dust - the perfumes of knowledge. The library was empty of patrons as far as I could tell, but I could hear the rhythmic squeal of a library cart somewhere in the rows. I followed them down until I found the dark-haired vampire shelving books with mechanical precision. I knew him only as "the librarian." He was a fount of information, and he had a penchant for leaving books outside my door. — Chloe Neill

As a pale-skinned, dark-haired Celtic sort, he didn't care for the heat. — Maggie Stiefvater

Dark haired guys are so, so much better. — Estelle Maskame

I know I should be Wonder Woman. They need an international actress - a fresh face. They need a woman who's tall, athletic and dark-haired - and an actress who can play the part. That's me. So, I'm coming to L.A. to work hard and meet the industry. And if 'Wonder Woman' comes together, I want it. — Tanit Phoenix

I was so distracted when walking out of the restroom that I hadn't noticed Rose standing nearby with Dimitri Belikov. They stood arm in arm, smiling at my surprise. I hadn't seen Dimitri tonight, and his black and white guardian attire told me why. He was on duty here and had undoubtedly been one of the shadows darting among the trees of the greenhouse, keeping a watch on everyone. He must be on break now because there was no way he'd be standing so casually here, even with Rose, otherwise. And really, "casual" for Dimitri meant he could still leap into battle at any moment.
They were a striking couple. His dark-haired, dark-eyed looks matched hers, and they were both dazzlingly attractive. It was no wonder Adrian had fallen for her, and I felt surprised at how uncomfortable that memory made me. Like Sonya and Mikhail, there was a bond of love between Rose and Dimitri and Rose that was almost palpable. — Richelle Mead

Shit, a hillbilly ho' MMA reality show? It could've aired right after Buckwild. All you'd need is an above ground swimming pool - one of those fancy ones from Sears with the wrap around decking - and you'd have the perfect cracker coliseum. Who wouldn't pay to see a couple spitting-mad, big-haired Daisy-Dukes kick the shit out of each other while some good-old-boys drank themselves stupid cheering them on? — E.V. Iverson

He was young, no older than fifteen, pale and dark-haired, wearing jeans and a soft white T-shirt that had SHAKESPEARE HATES YOUR EMO POEMS written across the chest. — Marjorie M. Liu

He clicked through a dozen of them until he found a picture of a dark, curly haired woman, ample, smiling, appearing much younger than sixty, so familiar-looking that he was immediately attracted to her simply because he found familiarity, rare these days, so comforting. He opened her ad and realized he was staring at a picture of his wife, — Jami Attenberg

The marquess lifted his palm to her, a man held in wind-tousled grace, waiting; still as the eye of a tempest was still, inexorable force only momentarily at bay. The heels of his shoes rested at the very, very edge of the rooftop. If the wind changed, if he lost his balance-
Beyond him were only trees and sky, the dark-misted storm sweeping emerald hills up to heaven.
"You are mad," Rue said again, but she found herself moving toward him. His fingers closed over hers; he raised her hand to his mouth and held it there, warming her skin with his.
"I prefer the word dashing.'
She huffed a breath, almost a laugh.
"Oh, and one more thing." Above their locked fingers he granted her a new smile, this one slow and blazingly sensual. "Little brown-haired girl ... I did notice you."
He Turned to smoke.
-Rue & Kit — Shana Abe

The dark-haired clothes horse, who generally meant well, was a dufus, but he was family — Tina Folsom

She held her sword like she was ready to use it on anyone who got close. Darquesse could see her own reflection in the blade. A pretty girl with a scar on her cheek, fifteen years old and dark-haired. Her pale face splattered with other people's blood. Her eyes, dark-ringed. Is this what they all saw, she wondered, or did the see something else? Something magnificent and terrible? Something monstrous? — Derek Landy

I'll keep it," she said. "Then, when you get back, after you and the dark one are done making out and planning a future filled with blond-haired, green-eyed, pigment-challeneged rug rats, I'll bring it over and you can add it to your scrapbook, right before you start cooking me dinner. I like vegetarian lasagna with cottage cheese instead of ricotta."
"Gwen?"
"And don't forget the mushrooms. Garlic bread, too, please. That is, as long as your vampire lover doesn't object."
"I want to say thank you," Isobel said. "For ... everything."
"No," Gwen said. "Thank you for the delicious dinner. I can almost taste the baklava you and Darth Vader will be making for dessert. Something tells me you're gonna have to look that one up, though. — Kelly Creagh

They all turned to the dark-haired woman standing quietly to the side and slightly behind Aunt Charlotte. She was, in a word, gorgeous. Everything about her was perfection, from her shiny hair to her milky-white skin. Her face was heart-shaped, her lips full and pink, and her eyelashes were so long that Honoria thought they must
touch her brows if she opened her eyes too wide.
"Well," Honoria murmured to Iris, "at least no one will be looking at us. — Julia Quinn

A dark-haired woman with old eyes and young cleavage finally leaned her bosom toward him. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think I caught your position in the Sol business affairs."
Consort. Mica could have easily named him her personal guard. Her secretary. Even her research assistant. Well, two could play.
He bowed his head slightly, happy to oblige. "I see to the sexual needs of Mica Sol, firstborn and heir to the Sol corp. — Erin Kellison

My hair got lighter, and I gradually went blonde. I liked it. Had more fun. But my image of myself in my head is this dark-haired person. — Lisa Kudrow

My God, child, you look like something the cat dragged in! Eileen bellowed. She was a suspiciously dark-haired woman about forty-five, with expensive clothes from the very best big women's store. Her makeup was heavy but well done, her perfume was intrusive but attractive, and she was one of the most overwhelming women I'd ever met. Eileen was something of a town character in Lawrenceton, and she could talk you into buying a house quicker then you could take an aspirin. — Charlaine Harris

That's when I see him. Peter Kavinsky, walking down the hallway. Like magic. Beautiful, dark-haired Peter. He deserves background music, he looks so good. — Jenny Han

A dark-haired man with electric-blue eyes hadn't taken his eyes off Caro since she'd sat down. He watched her like, well, a predatory wolf watched his mate.
Caro glanced over her shoulder and when she turned to face Nissa her expression was dark.
"Uh oh. "I'm sorry. Is mate the wrong word? I'm still not sure of all the correct --"
She shook her head and placed a gentle hand on hers. "I'm sorry, it's not that. No, he's not my mate. He's a very persistent... Never mind. I'm actually unmated. — Savannah Stuart

I'm a quirky, intelligent, dark haired chick! Me, me, me, pick me! And who the hell keeps whining and ruining my perfect moment? I will cut a bitch. — Tara Sivec

I feel," Simon went on, "that this evening DJ Bat is doing a singularly exceptional job. Don't you agree?" Clary rolled her eyes and didn't answer; Simon hated trance music. Her attention was on the girl in the white dress. Through the darkness, smoke, and artificial fog, her pale dress shone out like a beacon. No wonder the blue-haired boy was following her as if he were under a spell, too distracted to notice anything else around him - even the two dark shapes hard on his heels, weaving after him through the crowd. — Cassandra Clare

Happy. Just in my swim shorts, barefooted, wild-haired, in the red fire dark, singing, swigging wine, spitting, jumping, running - that's the way to live. All alone and free in the soft sands of the beach by the sigh of the sea out there, with the Ma-Wink fallopian virgin warm stars reflecting on the outer channel fluid belly waters. And if your cans are redhot and you can't hold them in your hands, just use good old railroad gloves, that's all. — Jack Kerouac

A well-dressed, self-assured business executive steps into a quiet corner of the conference room, crowded with people. Everyone there is aware of her presence. She's dark-haired, petite, and alluring. She is quick to smile, and when she does, her whole face lights up. Her enthusiasm is infectious. Young men and women nod as they pass by, briefly breaking off their conversations with colleagues. The executive looks down at her compact electronic device and quickly texts: "Smile. Talk into the mic. Good luck. — Jill Bryant

I consider myself almost a Californian at this point, because I've been here long enough. Obviously, when I first came to the land of blond-haired, blue-eyed surfer types, I was the sardonic, sarcastic, liquor-swilling, chain-smoking, dark-haired, dark-eyed guy from New York. — Reid Scott

Will watched her go with regret. His attraction to the dark-haired lady with her execrable embroidery had taken him by surprise. She'd been laughing at his brothers - that was what had done it. Her eyes had sparkled with humor, her smiling lips just begging for a kiss. — Eve Edwards

Your kiss thrilled me beyond imagining," he whispered. "Every night for the rest of my life, I'll dream of the afternoon in the holloway, when I was waylaid by a dark-haired beauty who devastated me with the heat of a thousand troubled stars, and left my soul in cinders. Even when I'm an old man, and my brain has fallen to wrack and ruin, I'll remember the sweet fire of your lips under mine, and I'll say to myself, 'Now, that was a kiss.'" Silver-tongued devil, Pandora thought, unable to hold back a crooked grin. — Lisa Kleypas

She was dark-haired, fierce; she wore two drop earrings made of crystal; her face was a pure oval tickled with dimples; her skin was golden; and her laugh was like a fire in the night. But on her face you could also read the concentration of a soul whose life is entirely inward, and a mischievous gravity which acquires a silver patina with age. — Muriel Barbery

I wondered if he was opposed to nicknames for people in general, or if he just knew the weight of using a proper name - the power it held over people. The doors opened and a dark-haired, muscular man — Laurelin Paige

It was a curiously happy picture: a dark-haired girl...sternly cautioning her bare-kneed younger brother not to be so loud in church, then bending down to whisper with a mischievous smile, 'If you can only sit still for five more minutes, once we are out of here I will play a great game with you. You will enjoy it.' Flash of merry dark eyes. 'There will be worms involved. — Lauren Baratz-Logsted

She threw the door open. The room seemed to be a sort of library, the walls lined with books. It was brightly lit, light streaming through a tall picture window. In the middle of the room stood Jace. He wasn't alone, though-not by a long shot. There was a dark-haired girl with him, a girl Clary had never seen before, and the two of them were locked together in a passionate embrace — Cassandra Clare

In other spheres of Victorian Society the appeal of a young woman dressed in black from head to toe was acknowledged. In Victorian popular culture, widows had two manifestations: the battleaxe and the man-eater, preying upon husbands and bachelors alike. Even today, an attractive, dark-haired person dressed in all black has vampiric connotations, as the novelist Alison Lurie has noted, 'so archetypally terrifying and thrilling, that any black-haired, pale-complexioned man or woman who appears clad in all black formal clothes projects a destructive eroticism, sometimes without concious intention. — Catharine Arnold

I'm a simple man. I like pretty dark-haired women and breakfast food. — Ron Swanson

It had been in a Paris house, with many people around, and my dear friend Jules Darboux, wishing to do me a refined aesthetic favor, had touched my sleeve and said, "I want you to meet-" and led me to Nina, who sat in the corner of a couch, her body folded Z-wise, with an ashtray at her heel, and she took a long turquoise cigarette holder from her lips and joyfully, slowly exclaimed, "Well, of all people-" and then all evening my heart felt like breaking, as I passed from group to group with a sticky glass in my fist, now and then looking at her from a distance (she did not look ... ), and listening to scraps of conversation, and overheard one man saying to another, "Funny, how they all smell alike, burnt leaf through whatever perfume they use, those angular dark-haired girls," and as it often happens, a trivial remark related to some unknown topic coiled and clung to one's own intimate recollection, a parasite of its sadness. — Vladimir Nabokov

Again the water rose, they both took a breath; again they were submerged and his leg hooked over something, an old pipe, unmoving. The next time, they both reached their heads high as the water rushed back, another breath taken. He heard Mrs. Kitteridge yelling from above. He couldn't hear the words, but he understood that help was coming. He had only to keep Patty from falling away, and as they went again beneath the swirling, sucking water, he strengthened his grip on her arm to let her known: He would not let her go. Even though, staring into her open eyes in the swirling salt-filled water, with sun flashing through each wave, he thought he would like this moment to be forever: the dark-haired woman on shore calling for their safety, the girl who had once jumped rope like a queen, now holding him with a fierceness that matched the power of the ocean - oh, insane, ludicrous, unknowable world! Look how she wanted to live, look she wanted to hold on. — Elizabeth Strout

DEPARTURE
The horizon slopes away
The days are longer
Trip
A heart hops in a cage
A bird sings
It is going to die
Another door is going to open
At the end of the corridor
Where a star
Begins to shine
A dark-haired woman
The lantern of the departing train
("Departure") — Pierre Reverdy

And does he like blondes, as well?'
Rob laughed. I had forgotten just how great a laugh he had. 'No, he prefers, dark haired women. You've nothing to fear from the Sentinel, Nicola. — Susanna Kearsley

Compared with this simple, fibrous life, our civilized history appears the chronicle of debility, of fashion, and the arts of luxury. But the civilized man misses no real refinement in the poetry of the rudest era. It reminds him that civilization does but dress men. It makes shoes, but it does not toughen the soles of the feet. It makes cloth of finer texture, but it does not touch the skin. Inside the civilized man stands the savage still in the place of honor. We are those blue-eyed, yellow-haired Saxons, those slender, dark-haired Normans. — Henry David Thoreau

I frowned with disappointment. I'm not sure what I'd expected to see, although a short, dark-haired man standing beneath a floating neon arrow that read BAD GUY HERE would have been nice. A suspect and quick confession wouldn't have been amiss, either. This was a lot harder than in the movies. — Chloe Neill

Daisy Bowman, Lillian's young sister, had an out-sized personality that belied her small, slight frame. Idealistic and possessed of a decidedly whimsical bent, she devoured romantic novels populated with rogues and villains. However, Daisy's elfin facade concealed a shrewd intelligence that most people tended to overlook. She was fair-skinned and dark-haired, with eyes the color of spiced gingerbread... mischievous eyes with long, spiky lashes. — Lisa Kleypas

I returned to New Orleans and my problems with pari-mutuel windows and a dark-haired, milk-skinned wife from Martinique who went home with men from the Garden District while I was passed out in a houseboat on Lake Pontchartrain, the downdraft of U.S. Army helicopters flattening a plain of elephant grass in my dreams. — James Lee Burke

He was thinking about men like his Uncle Ted, a Cornishman to his bones, who lived and would die in St. Mawes, part of the fabric of the place, remembered as long as there were locals, beaming out of fading photographs of the Life Boat on pub walls. When Ted died - and Strike hoped it would be twenty, thirty years hence - they would mourn him as the unknown Barrovian Grammar boy was being mourned: with drink, with tears, but in celebration that he had been given to them. What had dark, hulking Brockbank, child rapist, and fox-haired Laing, wife-torturer, left behind in the towns of their birth? Shudders of relief that they had gone, fear that they had returned, a trail of broken people and bad memories. — Robert Galbraith

The last guest lecturer to honor the students with her presence had been Isabelle Lightwood. And the 'lecture' had consisted of a stern and humiliating warning that every female in a ten-mile radius should keep her grubby littler hands off Simon's hot bod.
Fortunately, the tall, dark-haired man who strode to the front of the classroom looked unlikely to have any interest in Simon or his bod. — Cassandra Clare

Evie is our beautiful, dark-haired, green-eyed child,' I say. I can hear the tremor in my voice. 'Like many seven-year-old girls, she's obsessed with princesses. We think she looks more like a fairy. She loves Lego and painting. She laughs easily. She has pretend tea parties in a tree in our garden and invites all her dolls. She wants to be an artist when she grows up. Please find her. Please bring her back to us. We miss her beyond measure. She is the love of our life. — Sanjida Kay

The weeks up there were almost the most beautiful in my life. I breathed the pure, clear air, drank the icy water from streams and watched the herds of goats grazing on the steep slopes, guarded by dark-haired, musing goatherds. At times I heard storms resound through the valley and saw mists and clouds at unusually close quarters. In the clefts of rocks I observed the small, delicate, bright coloured flowers and the many wonderful mosses, and on clear days I used to like to walk uphill for an hour until I could see the clearly outlined distant peaks of high mountains, their blue silhouettes, and white, sparkling snow fields across the other side of the hill. — Hermann Hesse

I know when dark-haired evening put on her bright silk at sunset, and, folding the sea sidled under the sheet with her starry laugh, that there'd be no rest, there'd be no forgetting. Is like telling mourners round the graveside about resurrection, they want the dead back. — Derek Walcott

So," dark Susurre said quietly, "if you follow the curve ... in a way your Damon did die to save Fell's Church from another massacre like the one on that Japanease island. He kept saying that was what he'd come to the Nether World to do. Do you not think he would be satisfied? At peace?"
"At PEACE?!" Stefan spat bitterly, and Sage growled.
"Woman," you obviously have never met Damon Salvatore before." The tone in his voice
more resonant, more threatening somehow
made Elena finally break off her staredown with the red-haired Idola. She turned and looked
and saw the enormous room filled with Sage's outspread wings. — L.J.Smith

Every night for the rest of my life, I'll dream of the afternoon in the holloway, when I was waylaid by a dark-haired beauty who devastated me with the heat of a thousand troubled stars, and left my soul in cinders. Even when I'm an old man, and my brain has fallen to wrack and ruin, I'll remember the sweet fire of your lips under mine, and I'll say to myself, 'Now, that was a kiss.'" Silver-tongued — Lisa Kleypas

Hi, the werewolf said. He was dark-haired and broad, with gold eyes, big hands, and a feral scruffiness that Cole felt and instantly responded to. He had the weird urge to kill a cow and present it to the stranger. Two cows. — MaryJanice Davidson

She didn't need to know how messed up in the head he was. How utterly pathetic he was. It had been months, for fuck's sake. He wasn't supposed to still feel like curling up into a ball, closing his eyes and hoping it was all just a bad dream and Jared wasn't out of his life forever.
Forever.
His throat closed up and Gabriel started walking faster. He wanted fresh air. He hated hospitals. Hated that every tall, dark-haired man in a white coat made his breath hitch. It was fucking stupid. Jared rarely wore white coats; he favored scrubs. But maybe Jared wore them now. It wasn't like he would know. — Alessandra Hazard

As she watched, he examined the can intently, read the ingredients, then returned it to the shelf and chose another, repeating his thorough study of it.
The contrast between his rough, tough-guy appearance and the domestic act he was performing did funny things to her head.
She had a sudden, breathtaking vision of a dark-haired little boy sitting in the seat of the cart, laughing up at Cian, grabbing at his swinging braids with chubby little fists, while his daddy inspected the ingredients on a jar of baby food. Her mind's eye
picture of sexy, strong man with beautiful, helpless child made something soft and warm blossom behind her chest. — Karen Marie Moning

My female protagonist will not be this promiscuous, beautiful, dark-haired, thin lady. It will be a plump, blond, healer and so forth. — Isabel Allende

The dark-haired girl behind Winston had begun crying out: 'Swine! Swine! Swine!', and suddenly she picked up a heavy Newspeak dictionary and flung it at the screen. — George Orwell

She saw them as she approached, exactly as described. Small men, wiry, bearded, dark haired and dark skinned. They had overalls unbuttoned to the waist, with undershirts beneath, and ear defenders around their necks, and elbow protectors around their elbows, and knee protectors around their knees, and see-through ID panels around their biceps, all items firmly held in place with thick elastic straps. The IDs were from the airport. The bearers worked for a freight forwarding company known to have excellent relationships with the cargo divisions of many Middle Eastern sovereign airlines. The messenger said, "The Mercedes-Benz was named for a customer's daughter." The — Lee Child

I don't remember getting out of the elevator and going through the lobby. Everything is becoming increasingly foggy. I just find myself standing in front of the hotel all of a sudden.
A Blue and white car stops in front of me. Numbly, I open the back door and slide into the seat.
"Can I help you" the dark haired driver asks, swiveling his head to look at me.
"I need to get home to Hidden Cove."
"Lady, this isn't a cab"
Oh. Great.
"Sorry', I mutter, quickly sliding back out.
This time I make sure the car says cab on it before I get in. — Nicole Christie

Alyssa tried to lift her chin. She was going to do the one thing she loved again- something that reminded her of her mother; something dear to her. So what if she felt this undeniable attraction toward the dark-haired man.
Correction.
Earl.
So what, indeed. — Nicole Castro

He was broad-shouldered, dark-haired and dark-eyed; more than once, women had been noted openly regarding him, and not just immigrant women or those who smoked in public. — Dennis Lehane

If you're looking for a place to rest Cold Mountain is good for a long stay The breeze blowing through the dark pines Sounds better the closer you come And under the trees a white haired man Mumbles over his Taoist texts Ten years now he hasn't gone home He's even forgotten the road he came by — Hanshan

One day in May, the whiteness in Milo's brain turns into that of a flock of Canadian geese that fills the entire sky. Pan to the young man staring up at them. Clinging to his arm is a pert and pretty, dark-haired girl by the name of Viviane, also looking up. Their mouths are open in amazement. Milo recites a few lines from "The Wild Swans at Coole." De trees are in deir autumn beauty, De woodland paths are dry, Under de October twilight de water Mirrors a still sky; Upon de brimming water among de stones Are nine-and-fifty swans. Viviane looks at him adoringly. "Sounds beautiful!" she says. "Who's it by?" "Yeats." "Never heard of him. — Nancy Huston

A rumor began, possibly started by a certain dark-haired archer, that William had tragically lost his true love and had vowed to live with a broken heart. — Eli Easton

If life is a battle, then my inner scars are medals for valor, for swiftness, for courage, for passion. Evil is the dark-haired brother of Good; they walk hand in hand - always. — Storm Constantine

Of the three Highwood sisters, she was the only dark-haired one, the only bespectacled one, the only one who preferred sturdy lace-up boots to silk slippers, and the only one who cared one whit about the difference between sedimentary and metamorphic rocks.
The only one with no prospects, no reputation to protect. — Tessa Dare

I am death. My touch brings it. Where Kat Forrest was a tanned, lovely, blond-haired princess of life, I was a dark-haired, pale-skinned angel of death. Her green eyes represented life; my bluer ones represented winter and the end of that life. Worse — Robert J. Crane

Before Luce could reply, a skinny, dark haired girl appeared in from of her, wagging her long fingers in Luce's face.
"Ooooooh," the girl taunted in a ghost-story-telling voice, dancing around Luce in a circle. "The reds are watching youuuu."
"Get out of here, Arriane, before I have you lobotimized," the attendant said, though it was clear from her first brief but genuine smile that she had some coarse affection for that crazy girl.
It was also clear that Arriane did not reciprocate the love. She mimed a jerking-off motion at the attendant, then stared at Luce, daring her to be offended. — Lauren Kate

football today," the coach said, turning the insect eyes back at Ty so that he could see two dark-haired — Tim Green