Greying Hair Quotes & Sayings

Mirabelle? Mirabelle Bevan? Well, I'll be blowed!"
Mirabelle started, almost spilling her drink. It took her a moment to realize who the handsome man was, now his hair was greying at the edges and he was out of uniform. Puffing laconically on a cigarette, martini in hand, he wore a lounge suit and an understated silk tie with a discreet regimental insignia woven into the fabric.
"Eddie," she smiled. "What are you doing here? — Sara Sheridan

Thomas Cromwell is now about fifty years old. He has a labourer's body, stocky, useful, running to fat. He has black hair, greying now, and because of his impermeable skin, which seems designed to resist rain as well as sun, people sneer that his father was an Irishman, though really he was a brewer and a blacksmith at Putney, a shearsman too, a man with a finger in every pie, a scrapper and a brawler, a drunk and a bully, a man often hauled before the justices for punching someone, for cheating someone. How the son of such a man has achieved his present eminence is a question all Europe asks. — Hilary Mantel

Sometimes it feels like one is breathlessly, hopelessly waiting for the real life to begin. As if all that is happening in the now is but a badly crafted dream and real, intense, passionate life is still waiting to be claimed. One feels young, eager and almost impatient with the waiting only to wake up to a wrinkled face, greying hair, dull eyes and the realisation that life is almost over. And, yet this illusionary hope persists, conflicting continuously with reality. The ache of unmet promise of the lives one wants to live but never did, cutting sharply through the daily dullness. — Srividya Srinivasan

presentation, she looked drawn, as old as the limestone hills behind her property. Her facial skin was marbled, hair greying at the roots. She had grown frail, as though she might disintegrate at the first touch; she was a desiccated, vulnerable shadow of her former self and it was hard to — Carol Drinkwater

She reached forward and lifted her uncle up into her arms. He was still too weak to resist, and she comforted him with a stroke of her fingers through his greying hair, softly kissing his lips, tasting the blood with a shiver of anticipation, and moving her kisses to his cheek, the line of his jaw, the crook of his neck where his pulse thundered to push the shadowy blood to its destinations.
"Know that, when I do this, I'm doing it, to ease your suffering," she whispered, lips pressed to his skin, her fangs pressing behind them hungrily. — Carmen Dominique Taxer

Her messy bun was too full and evenly greying to be her real hair; the way it splayed out behind her beak-nosed face made her look like a Polish chicken. — Madison Key

When I look in the mirror, I see my late mother: I have her nose, her dark eyes - I call them chocolate eyes - I have her colouring, and my hair is greying the same way, although I use colour and she didn't. — Marie Osmond

They met middle-age together-a time when women are necessary to one another-and all the petty but grievous insults of greying hair, crowsfeet, and the loathed encumbrances of unwanted flesh, seemed less sordid when faced and fought (though fought spasmodically and with weak wills) gaily together. — Elizabeth Taylor