Quotes & Sayings About Hair Length

His hair has gone grey. He passes every day. They say he walks the length of the city. — Lin-Manuel Miranda

When she leaned forward to mess with the AC vents, her hair brushed against my leg and it was really soft. It made remember all over again. It made it hard to stay pissed and keep her at arm's length the way I'd planned. It was pretty near damn impossible. When I was near her, I just wanted to grab her and hold her and kiss the shit out of her. Maybe then she'd forget about my asshole of a brother. — Jenny Han

This new guy had shoulder-length, darkish hair and a face so perfectly handsome he could've been a movie star. — Joanna Wylde

In the reflection I see my shoulder-length curly brown hair. My lime-green pajamas. My striped slippers. — Sarah Mlynowski

He moved like a bird; twitching and bunching his shoulders. His head angled back and forth to watch me, and as he did, his biceps tightened. His dark hair was chin length and concealed most of his face. His mouth was wide in a disturbing smile that displayed his perfectly white teeth; the upper and lower canines sharpened to fine points. — J.D. Stroube

She had streaked blonde hair, long and straight, parted in the middle framing high cheek bones, an aquiline nose and beautiful deep blue eyes. She was young, around 30, tall and lithe with a good body, athletic, not skinny. She wore a sleeveless black dress that exposed her toned arms and shoulders, indicating regular workouts or yoga. There was a hint of vein running the length of her lean muscle. This girl stood out like an arabian in a corral full of draft horses. — Nick Hahn

Is it really possible that the finest sensations in life are simple: the delicate brush of Lou's hair across my chest, for instance? Yes. It is possible. Or was it the feeling I felt in each length as they drifted over me, the love I perceived in their gentle tickle? Yes. That was possible too. With Lou's soft first kiss, wasn't it mainly the miracle of its happening at all which made it so wondrous, so plainly impossible? And was I waiting on the stair for the world's wind to do the same, to display for me that rare union of meaning, gesture, and understanding, which the artist gnaws up knuckles to achieve? O. Oooh ... the decades I've done in and then abandoned without even waiting for the wounds to bleed! — William H Gass

The nearest arched window poured its soft light over him, allowing me to see
every inch. Dressed smartly in black loafers and slacks, he wore a thigh-length, black
coat. He'd brushed his golden hair back, tucked behind his ears, and his cheeks looked
flushed, no doubt due to the bitter, evening air.
He looks like an angel in the winter snow. The thought made me growl in irritation.
"Hello, Magpie."
I couldn't move. "Adrian. — Elizabeth Morgan

I sighed.
Tink was sitting on the couch beside me and he'd commandeered my laptop at some point. The Walking Dead was on the television - well, it was on the Amazon Fire Stick TV thingy that the little bastard had ordered a few days ago unbeknownst to me. On my laptop, he was watching old episodes of Supernatural. I think he was on season three judging by the current length of Sam Winchester's hair.
At least it wasn't Harry Potter andTwilight this time, because I was getting really tired of hearing him quote Edward Cullen and Ron Weasley at the same time. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

Come here into the warmth," he said easily. He reached for her, taking her hand and pulling her toward him. "I've been waiting for you." He stroked her hair, shifting a bit to let the light fall on her. "For a very long time."
She, too, reached for him, following a line in the air along the length of the forming scar that marred his chest. A corona flared around him until she moved past the point where the sunlight hit her eyes. She stared at his chest, at the gashed and ill-healed flesh, and he, seeing her attention, took her hand and brought her fingers to his mouth. She felt the warmth of his breath, the pressure of his lips, soft and warm. "I wish you had never been wounded," she said. "Even though it brought you home to me. — Carolyn Jewel

At length her hair came loose and whisked my face. I did not mind such blond whips of sunlight. — Daniel Kraus

My concern today is not with the length of a person's hair but with his conduct. — Richard M. Nixon

Loving oneself isn't hard, when you understand who and what 'yourself' is. It has nothing to do with the shape of your face, the size of your eyes, the length of your hair or the quality of your clothes. It's so beyond all of those things and it's what gives life to everything about you. Your own self is such a treasure. — Phylicia Rashad

I'll see you in Hell first." Deirdre threw back her head and laughed. Her floor-length white hair twitched around her ankles. "This is Hell, Broc. — Donna Grant

He had fallen head over heels for a devil with blue eyes and waist-length blonde hair and a body that would tempt a man into sin and death. — Francine Rivers

Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding land and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak. — James Joyce

The boy really needed a haircut. Didn't he know that shoulder-length hair on guys just wasn't sexy unless you looked like Johnny Depp? — Jody Morse

Hair Growth Want long and luscious hair? We all know how long it can take to grow hair so here is a spell/potion to help quicken up the process. You will need: 1 clove of garlic 1 onion A pair of scissors Directions: On the night of a full moon crush up one garlic clove and one onion until it is of paste like consistency. Cut a small chunk of your hair and cover it in the garlic and onion mixture. Find a willow tree and bury the hair beside it. Each night visualize the moon shining down on the place where you buried your hair. Imagine the piece of hair growing longer and longer. Do the above visualization each night until your hair reaches your desired length. — Black Cat Press

I have never known courage to be judged by the length of a man's hair. Or, for the matter of that, whether he has any hair at all. — Lloyd Alexander

Griffin? You ever heard of knocking?"
Griffin sniffed and tucked his chin-length hair behind his ears. "We're family, dude, I don't need to knock."
I sighed, not sure if Kellan could argue that point or not - not since Griffin had impregnated my sister. He really was family now. Lord help me. — S.C. Stephens

Sometimes I felt the bloated Toad, hideous and pampered with the poisonous vapours of the dungeon, dragging his loathsome length along my bosom: Sometimes the quick cold Lizard rouzed me leaving his slimy track upon my face, and entangling itself in the tresses of my wild and matted hair: Often have I at waking found my fingers ringed with the long worms which bred in the corrupted flesh of my Infant. — Matthew Gregory Lewis

And David and Goliath I have done before, but this time there is a difference. David holds the head at arm's length and looks disgusted. And onto Goliath's severed head, I put my own features. The head hangs in darkness so that the black hair and beard framing the face blend off into the shadows, and there are four thin ropes of dark blood trailing down into space from the neck. And in one eye of the freshly severed head, there is still the faint glimmer of life.
That's me and that's the last painting I ever did.
Spectator, viewer, audience, however you care to call yourself; I address you here, with this, my final picture.
Cast a cold eye on it all, and on my work. I am still alive. — Christopher Peachment

Then eventually Westwood arrived. He looked nothing like Reacher expected, but the reality fit the bill just as well as the preconceptions had. He was an outdoors type, not a lab rat, and sturdy rather than pencil-necked. He looked like a naturalist or an explorer. He had short but unruly hair, fair going gray, and a beard of the same length and color. He was red in the face from sunburn and had squint lines around his eyes. He was forty-five, maybe. He was wearing clothing put together from high-tech fabrics and many zippers, but it was all old and creased. He had hiking boots on his feet, with speckled laces like miniature mountain-climbing ropes. He was toting a canvas bag about as big as a mail carrier's. — Lee Child

She wore her brown hair chin-length and was dressed for — Rod Hoisington

The secret to my 5 o'clock shadow is a little device called the George Michael 3000 Custom Beard Trimmer and Personal Massager. Just kidding. I actually shave every morning, and thanks to my vast knowledge of Eastern philosophy and mysticism, I will my facial hair to grow to the exact same length each day. Dave Grohl taught me that one. — Reid Scott

I tuck a strand of my dyed blonde hair behind my ear. It's waist-length and has a habit of being everywhere all the time. Like right now. I am pretty much swaddled in it. I empathize greatly with Rapunzel. She had it rough. — Krista Ritchie

Kate stared at the paven in the hall outside the door.He was incredibly tall and broad like Nicholas,but that's where the comparison ended.His jaw-length white hair was a stark contrast to his piercing light brown eyes and black lashes.And though he was alarmingly,almost shockingly good-looking,everything about him,every intake of breath,every movement of his gaze,his chin,his mouth fairly screamed hostility.Like an animal who'd been tortured over and over and knew only biting as a response to anyting. — Laura Wright

She tore off the kerchief from her head and let down her plentiful hair. The weight, the length, the glory was all there. She took careful stock of herself, then combed her hair and tied it back up again. — Zora Neale Hurston

Rachel, determined to become invisible, wore no make up, had cut her shoulder length brown hair short and hid her trim figure under a baggy shirt dress. Sarah simply wore again the skirt and t shirt that she had flung over the chair the night before and had yet to brush her hair. — Mary Grand

From the moment I met Christina Georgia, I knew why Mr. Bradshaw had chosen her. She was incredibly smart and thoughtful, and her emerald green eyes were huge and wise. Her wispy blond hair was beautiful and shoulder-length, and her bubblegum pink lips stood out on her pale face. She was awesome, and we were friends after about two minutes of talking. — Embee

He made quick work of undoing Syn's belt and dropping his pants and briefs to his ankles. Furi took Syn's length all the way to the back of his throat and held him there. "Augh. Furious!" Syn yelled, grasping at Furi's shoulders. Furi had to take the edge off for his lover and then he had to get to work. And he had to take care of himself too, since his dick was just as hard and aching. Syn fucked Furi's mouth while he unbuttoned his jumpsuit and anxiously dug inside his jeans, pulling himself free. He moaned deep in his throat at the first contact of cool air on his hot dick. No doubt the vibration drove Syn crazy because he grasped Furi's hair and started slamming his cock in and out, the rhythm of his hips already faltering. "Gonna — A.E. Via

Years ago, she had told her girl self to wait for her in the looking glass. It had been a long time since she had remembered. Perhaps she'd better go look. She went over to the dresser and looked hard at her skin and features. The young girl was gone, but a handsome woman had taken her place. She tore off the kerchief from her head and let down her plentiful hair. The weight, the length, the glory was there. — Zora Neale Hurston

That whole shoulder length hair thing is a thing! — Ross Mathews

I was examining the perfumed, coloured candles guaranteed to bring good fortune with continued use when a lovely mocha-skinned girl came in from the back room and stood behind the counter. She wore a white smock over her dress and looked about nineteen or twenty. Her wavy, shoulder-length hair was the colour of polished mahogany. A number of thin, silver hoops jingled on her fine-boned wrist. "May I help you?" she asked. Just beneath her carefully modulated diction lingered the melodic calypso lilt of the Caribbean. — William Hjortsberg

Green Gables has been translated into Swedish and Dutch. My copy of the Swedish edition always gives me the inestimable boon of a laugh. The cover design is a full length figure of Anne, wearing a sunbonnet, carrying the famous carpet-bag, and with hair that is literally of an intense scarlet! — L.M. Montgomery

The guilt passes?"
Jonah nodded, his eyes grave. "Mostly." He took off his hat and ran a hand through his shoulder-length blond hair. "Hard to be grieving one wife and yet developing love for another." He put his hat back on. "Confusing as all get-out."
Erik let out a slow breath, relieved to be understood. "Yes."
"You can treasure the memory of one and love the reality of the other. — Debra Holland

soon as he finished up here, he intended to ride out and pick a big bundle of those purple flowers, tie their stems together with a length of yellow ribbon he'd purchased a month ago because the color had reminded him of Sadie's shining hair, and he'd hand 'em right over in front of everybody tonight when she finished her final song. His heart set up a double beat just thinking about how she'd blush pink and give him her special smile. Then, while she was smiling and feeling appreciative, he'd take her aside and set her straight on how he felt about her and how much her paying attention to the sheriff hurt him. He and Sadie had a relationship years in the making. She'd only known the sheriff a few weeks. She'd pick him over McKane. He just knew it. — Kim Vogel Sawyer

I don't need these," Ian said, flashing emerald in his turquoise gaze for a split second, "when I have this."
With a casual swipe of his hand, he ripped his shirt open, causing buttons to fly everywhere. Another swipe took his sleep mask all the way off. Finally, he finger-combed his shoulder-length hair and smiled at his reflection in the rearview mirror.
"I am, after all, irresistible."
I couldn't contain my snort. "I resisted you just fine the day we met, or don't you remember me sticking a knife in your chest?"
Ian smiled with lazy wickedness. "I remember, but you seem to have forgotten that you kissed me first. And thoroughly enjoyed it. — Jeaniene Frost

I had never seen hair that purely black. It was glossy and slightly long, the ends drifting over his collar. That sexy length was the crowning touch of bad boy hotness over the successful businessman, like whipped cream topping on a hot fudge brownie sundae. As my mother would say, only rogues and raiders had hair like that. (Eva about Gideon) — Sylvia Day

My captivity with Dimitri. The way his mouth - so, so warm, despite his cold skin - had kissed mine. The feel of his fangs pressing into my neck and the sweet bliss that followed ...
He looked exactly the same too, with that chalky white pallor and red-ringed eyes that so conflicted with the soft, chin-length brown hair and otherwise gorgeous lines of his face. He even had a leather duster on. — Richelle Mead

Enid was a terrific person, Elizabeth thought, and absolutely not a nerd, no matter what Jessica said. With her shoulder-length brown hair and large green eyes, she was really pretty. — Francine Pascal

Women did such things and went on doing them while the sun died because in all of women's lives there were so many moments that would kill the mind if one thought about them, which would suck the heart and the life out of one, and engrave lines in the face and put gray in the hair if ever one let one's mind work; but there was in the rhythm and the fascination of the stitches a loss of thought, a void, a blank, that was only numbers and not even that, because the mind did not need to count, the fingers did, the length of a thread against the finger measured evenly as a ruler could divide it, the slight difference in tension sensed finely as a machine could sense, the exact number of stitches keeping pattern without really the need to count, but something inward and regular as the beat of a heart, as the slow passing of time which could be frozen in such acts, or speeded past. — C.J. Cherryh

He knelt between her legs and flicked his tongue up the length of her slick folds.
And knew what heaven was when she slid her fingers into his hair, moaning his name like a prayer. — Katie Reus

Clasped in his arms like some dead dancing partner was a bloated, festering corpse, a seaweed tangle of hair swirling around a fright mask of a face, ragged clothing hanging to an almost entirely skeletal frame.
David could almost hear mocking laughter issuing from the cavernous, busted hole mouth, and feel grasping bony fingers clinging to him, as the scream began to bubble out of him into the water. He dropped it and felt what was left of the bloated water-logged flesh began to come easily away from the bone.


From 'In the Darkest Hour'-as yet unpublished full length — Jim Goforth

In the early Seventies, I had shoulder-length hair, bell-bottom pants, love beads and shirts that laced up at the front. But then I smartened up. — Tom Ford

You speak of sacrifice, but it is not my sacrifice I offer. It is yours I ask of you," he went on. "I can offer you my life, but it is a short life; I can offer you my heart, though I have no idea how many more beats it shall sustain. But I love you enough to hope that you wil not care that I am being selfish in trying to make the rest of my life - whatever length - happy, by spending it with you. I want to be married to you, Tessa. I want it more than I have ever wanted anything else in my life." He looked up at her through the veil of silvery hair that fell over his eyes. "That is," he said shyly, "if you love me, too. — Cassandra Clare

I actually will always stop and watch [Friends episodes], not for the whole thing, but usually because I've forgotten a lot of the episodes. It's sort of fun for a second, I'm like, what's this one? And sometimes it comes back to me. I always know what year it was by what length my hair was or what color. — Jennifer Aniston

I went to the flea market in the morning and charged tourists money to take pictures of me. I looked pretty wild, with hair down to my waist, Indian robes, a floor-length fur coat. There must be lots of photos of me out there. — Wolfgang Beltracchi

Her wavy, shoulder-length hair was the colour of polished mahogany. — William Hjortsberg

I will go," he said. "I will go to Troy."
The rosy gleam of his lip, the fevered green of his eyes. There was not a line anywhere on his face, nothing creased or graying; all crisp. He was spring, golden and bright. Envious death would drink his blood, and grow young again.
He was watching me, his eyes as deep as earth.
"Will you come with me?" he asked.
The never-ending ache of love and sorrow. Perhaps in some other life I could have refused, could have torn my hair and screamed, and made him face his choice alone. But not in this one. He would sail to Troy and I would follow, even into death. "Yes," I whipsered. "Yes."
Relief broke in his face, and he reached for me. I let him hold me, let him press us length to length so close that nothing might fit between us.
Tears came, and fell. Above us, the constellations spun and the moon paced her weary course. We lay stricken and sleepless as the hours passed. — Madeline Miller

Ross stared a moment at the piece of flotsam he had brought home and hoped to salvage. She was standing there in her ragged shirt and three-quarter-length breeches, her matted hair over her face and the dirty half-starved puppy at her feet. She stood with one toe turned in and both hands loosely behind her back, staring across at the library. He hardened his heart. Tomorrow would not do. — Winston Graham

I'm about 5' 10, and my hair is the length of my whole body now. We grow our hair because of faith, but it's getting heavy. Most of the rastas I know with hair my length are elders, and they keep it tied up, but for a young person who's active and running around, the weight is a big thing. So to play sports, I put it in a backpack. — Damian Marley

Incens'd with indignation Satan stood Unterrify'd, and like a comet burn'd That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge In th' arctic sky, and from his horrid hair Shakes pestilence and war. — John Milton

But when the call came from Shirley Pedler to help in organizing the Utah Coalition Against the Death Penalty, she knew she would go out in the world again with her freaky blond hair, blond to everyone's disbelief - at the age of fifty-four, go out in her denims and chin-length-hanging-down-straight vanilla hair to that Salt Lake world where nobody would ever make the mistake of thinking she was a native Utah lady inasmuch as Utah was the Beehive State. The girls went big for vertical hair-dos, pure monuments to shellac. — Norman Mailer

Furi feverishly jerked his own cock. His hand moving so fast on his length, it was a blur. Syn wished he could see his lover's face, see him in the throes of passion. His head was too heavy to lift and Furi's face was buried in his damp pubic hair, his red, swollen mouth still hovering near Syn's sensitive dick, panting hot breaths on him as he howled his own release into the red-lit room, coating Syn's thigh with wet heat. Furi dropped between his thighs and rested his head on his groin, his chest rapidly rising and falling as his orgasm left him weak as well. Syn absently ran his hand through Furi's long tresses, while they both came back down to earth. Syn — A.E. Via

That's where she saw Matt. It couldn't be him, she reasoned. He was in New York. Yet, it was him, she was sure. Same height, same broad shoulders, same mid-length, dark blonde hair. He dug an item out of his jean's pocket, crouched and looked around furtively. That's when he saw her. Putting the item back into his pocket, he rose, and walked to her slowly. "Am I dreaming?" she asked, barely breathing. He stopped inches from her. "We must be sharing the same dream." He bent and kissed her. It was a kiss full of longing after a difficult absence, full of love, warmth, and delicacy. She let him go and rested her head against his chest. "I — Anna Adams

about to knock again when the inside door is pulled open to reveal a sinewy woman dressed in what appears to be layers of old sweaters and an ankle-length denim skirt. Her long hair held back in an elastic that leaves the ends bunched and brittle as the head of a broom. Brown eyes wide and alive, — Andrew Pyper

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

Jilly looked at it with a sinking heart. It was difficult enough when the exotic, undeniably gorgeous creature of her fantasies had turned out to be an obnoxious bully. Of course he had to have a Harley, as well, completing the perfect bad-boy image. With the tattooed teardrops on his high cheekbones and spiky, waist-length, flame-colored hair and his long, leather-clad legs and pointy-toed cowboy boots, he was almost irresistible, despite his manners.
A Harley sealed the deal. He was all her adolescent fantasies come true.
And it was time to grow up. — Anne Stuart

Throughout the movie, we moved to eat popcorn, shifted to get comfortable, only to end up uncomfortable; an awkward dance of keeping my hands and parts from familiar and unfamiliar areas of Echo's divine body. I was capable of being a gentleman for the length of one movie, at least. The credits roled and my left hand, which I'd placed behind my head to avoid her tempting tummy, tingled with numbness.
My patience finaly snapped. "This is ridiculous." I swept her up and swung her over my shoulder, her bare feet dangling in front of me.
Tinkling laughter filed the room. "What are you doing?" I tossed her onto the bed. Her fire-red hair sprawled over the pilow. My siren smiled up at me.
"Getting comfortable," I said. " -Noah's POV — Katie McGarry

She had the face of an angel, and the hair of the Devil's handmaiden. The freshly washed locks flowed around her in a waist-length curtain, waves and curls of molten red that contained every shade from cinnamon to strawberry-gold. It was the kind of hair that nature usually bestowed on homely women to atone for their lack of physical beauty.
But Vivien had a face and form that belonged in a Renaissance painting, except that the reality of her was more delicate and fresh than any painted image could convey. Now that her eyes were no longer swollen, the pure blue intensity of her gaze shone full and direct on him. Her mouth, tender and rose-tinted, was a marvel of nature. — Lisa Kleypas

He burst from the water. He was facing her now. The muscles bunched on his arms as he slicked his wet, shoulder-length hair back from his face. The mist swirled amber over the surface of the water, adorning his gleaming skin as if he were the tributary god of this ruined garden. Her pity evaporated, burned away by the sudden realization that she had it all wrong. He was ... She swallowed. Good Lord. He was magnificent. — Elizabeth Hoyt

When I came out, the dress was waiting. I didn't know what I was expecting, but a full-length, white, gauzy dress fit for a Roman goddess, wasn't it. The dress was one-shouldered and had a thick, ropey silver belt around the waist. It was beautiful and set off my dark hair. — Stormy Smith

Him jump a little inside whenever they roamed his way. Her hair - off-limits to touch, but not to his other senses - entranced him, jet black, shoulder-length, tightly coiled like powerful springs, smelling slightly of chemicals and cinnamon, the beads at the end of each braid clicking together as she walked. — Barry Lyga

You hear this kind of thing, rednecks and their guys and--"
"Don't call them that," I say. "They're just assholes. Most people you run into around here...well, maybe they won't like the length of your hair, but they'll keep their feelings to themselves. — Charles De Lint

Keepers and Seekers were not permitted to do more than trim their hair to elbow length. Ashyn said they ought to be grateful they weren't like the spirit talkers, who weren't ever allowed to cut their hair or their nails. Personally, Moria would be more concerned with the "eyes plucked out, tongue cut off, and nostrils seared" part of being a spirit talker, but she could see that the uncut nails might be inconvenient as well. — Kelley Armstrong

We shouldn't be doing this. We shouldn't have done this. She's my sister."
"Don't say that," Silas murmurs into my hair, voice genuinely pleading. "Please don't ever say that."
"We're hunters," I choke.
"Yes. Of course we are. We're ... we're more ... but ... " He shakes his head and pushes me out to arm's length, lowering his head to look me in the eyes. "I didn't mean for us to hurt her, Rosie, but I wouldn't take any of it back. I couldn't take any of it back - I love you too much. — Jackson Pearce

The first thing you need to know is that the hair on your head is worthless. The color, the length, the thickness, everything. You will never see anyone on TV sporting their own God-given hair, unless it's on, like, a sad miniseries about factory workers in East Germany. The same goes for hair color. Yes, your natural color may be appropriate for your skin tone, but this isn't the land of appropriate - this is Hollywood, baby. — Mindy Kaling

The face that looked back was narrow, and although it was not beautiful, it was not ugly. I am nondescript, she thought. Nondescript features with shoulder-length dark hair. Hmm. She opened the robe and looked critically at her body. Lots of adjectives beginning with the letter S are appropriate here, she thought grimly. Short. Scrawny. Small breasts. Skinned knees (although presumably those were only temporary). — Daniel O'Malley

The builder has ginger curly hair on top of his head, and a thick moustache. He has the look of a McDonald's manager from 1970 who spends his evenings sitting in the smoky back row of theatres in Soho. He's tall and muscular with hands the size of shopping baskets and, on the one occasion I did briefly meet him, I stared into his eyes and was shocked by their darkness. His nose is broken in three places and is the size and shape of a chicken nugget. A deep scar runs the length of his cheek hinting at a violent past.
Old tattoos fade on his arms.
The builder may have killed another human being at some point in his life. — Craig Stone

YOU WERE MY FAVORITE THING
AND IN IMAGINATION YOUR DEATH WILL NOT EXIST
IT IS ALL 'AS IF' FROM NOW ON
AS IF YOU ARE NOT GONE
YOU WILL BE THE GIRL BESIDE ME
NEVER MORE THAN A HEARTBEAT LENGTH AWAY
THE WOMAN WHO WILL BE THE HILL OF MY BED
A CLIMB TO THE TOP
AND SUCH VIEWS TO MAKE LITTLE THINGS OF
LITTLE US THAT WILL BE PART YOU AND PART ME
AND WHOLE IN THOSE TWO THINGS
AS IF YOU ARE NOT GONE
AND WILL BE WITH ME TO GET THE WRINKLES
THE WHITE HAIR
THE SPINE SHAPED LIKE A ROCKING CHAIR
AS IF YOU ARE NOT GONE
AND SO WILL HAVE THE LOVE OF GOING IN MY ARMS
WARM AND WITH ME
YES, YOU ARE MY FAVORITE THING
YOU ALWAYS WILL BE. — Tiffany McDaniel

The pale whiteness of her upturned face as she choked on the smoke; the tangled length of her hair as she tried to shake the flames from it; the beauty of her cherry-blossom robe as it burst into flame: it was all so cruel, so terrible! — Ryunosuke Akutagawa

Best workout ever." Darius sat next to her and rested his back against the soft mat.
She laughed and fumbled to put on her bra. He lifted the weight of her hair from her back and helped her pull down her silk shirt.
For a moment, he held the length of her hair in his hand as he had the swing rope. He tugged gently to turn her face to his, and then released it. His face was open and relaxed, his pale blue eyes warm and content.
His knees fell open to rest against hers. The feel of skin on skin, bone to bone, was easy, the most natural thing in the world. "Next time we should try the pommel horse."
Mei laughed. "You still got pommeling on your mind?"
"Oh yeah." He signed and tilted his chin to the ciling, exposing the length of his throat. "Some pommeling and tumbling would be good. We've got time to make up for. — Susannah Scott

Anita Kleinman was a slight woman in her seventies. Her hair was thinning and white with a touch of pink, and was swept back from her face in unbroken waves. She wore a full-length Chinese silk gown covered with bright gold dragons on a blue background. Her fingers were tipped with long red nails and heavy with gold rings. She held out her arms in an expression of welcome and perhaps to show me the full extent of her dragons. — Frederick Weisel

Slowly. Very slowly, sliding my nails along the entire length of the hair. Ah. The satisfactions were immense, incalculable. All that powder flying off of me! The storms, the blizzards, the whirlwinds of whiteness! It was no easy job, let me tell you, but little by little every trace of the O'Dell's would disappear. The do would be undone, and by the time the last bell rang and the teacher sent us home, my scalp would be tingling with happiness. It was as good as sex, mon vieux, as good as all the drugs and drink I ever poured into my system. Five years old, and every day another orgy of self-repair. No wonder I didn't pay attention at school. I was too busy feeling myself up, too busy doing the O'Dell's diddle. — Paul Auster

We walked the length of Jackson Square, stopping to look at the work of a couple of artists who'd set up their sidewalk shops for the day.
"Look." Eugenie stopped in front of an acrylic painting of a mustached man with curly dark hair, hooded eyes, and a big hooked nose. He looked like he'd steal the hubcaps off your grandmother's Cadillac.
"It's Jean Lafitte, our most famous pirate," the artist said. "He was quite a character."
She had no idea. She also had badly missed the mark on his looks. His hair wasn't that curly, he'd been clean-shaven the whole time I'd known him, his nose was straight and in perfect proportion to the rest of his features, and he didn't have hooded black eyes. Still, he might find it entertaining. "How much?" I asked. — Suzanne Johnson

With a paring knife she hacked off her waist-length hair just below the chin. Kit felt a shiver of misgiving. How would she net a talking fish now, or tether a dragon? How would she escape from her tower? — Marina Fiorato

I sit down next to him, and he pulls me to his side. Then he lies down so that I'm draped across him. My hip is tucked between him and the back of the couch. "I don't want to go home yet," he says quietly. He pulls my head down to his chest, and I press my face against it. His hand settles on the back of my head, and he starts to stroke down the length of my hair. "Then don't go," I say quietly. He doesn't. He just threads his fingers into my hair and drags them down my back, over and over, until my eyelids grow heavy and I fall asleep on his chest. I wake up the next morning tucked into my own bed, the covers pulled up to my chin. I sit up and look around. Beside me on the pillow is a note. I open it up and read. Are you in love with me yet? — Tammy Falkner

Her shoulder length hair was the color of pitch and looked like it only had casual relationships with the brushes it knew. — Matt Abraham

My gaze slid across every face and stopped abruptly when I saw an Angelic faced woman who appeared to be in her early 20s. She had waist length hair as black as night.
And eyes that were emerald green with a gold tint to them. When her gaze met mine, she screamed and fell to her knees her gaze never leaving mine. I didn't realize that I too was on my knees until Mark bend down asking if I was alright. I didn't answer him, because I didn't know for all I knew I was in heaven looking into an Angel's eyes.

- Matthew Michaelson — Katerina Chenevert