Leg Hair Quotes & Sayings

And so to my fool's bed. What was that? No, no, not a girl crying in the garden. No one, cold, hungry, and banished, was shivering there, longing and not daring to come in. It was the chains swinging at the well. It would be folly to get up and go out and call again: Psyche, Psyche, my only love. I am a great queen. I have killed a man. I am drunk like a man. All warriors drink deep after the battle. Bardia's lips on my hand were like the touch of lightning. All great princes have mistresses and lovers. There's the crying again. No, it's only the buckets at the well. "Shut the window, Poobi. To your bed, child. Do you love me, Poobi? Kiss me good night. Good night." The king's dead. He'll never pull my hair again. A straight thrust and then a cut in the leg. That would have killed him. I am the Queen; I'll kill Orual too. — C.S. Lewis

Right now I want you naked against me," Dean says. "I want to wake up cold because you've hogged all the blankets. I want to feel your leg between mine, your hair in my face, your arm flung across my chest. I want to find myself on the edge of the bed in the morning because you've sprawled all over the mattress. I want to sleep with you. — Nina Lane

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

I used to wonder why I had hair on my legs, but now I know it's for my toddler sons and daughters to pull themselves up off the ground with as I scream in pain. — Jim Gaffigan

Well, don't you look lovely," his voice dripped behind me, his breath tickling my ear as his words trickled in my brain.
Turning slowly, I saw him in his usual attire, a white t-shirt and jeans, but he looked incredible. His dark hair appeared darker in the dimmed lighting, his eyes shone with eagerness.
"You're here," I said dumbly. Like he didn't know he was here. I was such an idiot sometimes.
"I am," he said, a sexy smirk showing on one side of his mouth. "Wanna dance?" he asked, his leg shaking nervously, his eyes desperately searching mine for an answer.
I nodded, unable to speak. We'd kised, but only a couple of times. He grabbed me, pulling me to a spot close to where we stood. Warm fingers of one hand circled around my waist, while the others held my had. He pulled me close, every inch of our bodies touching. His eyes never left mine as we swayed and spun. I was lost in all that was Cade Kelling. — Felicia Tatum

Oh, I burned it with my straightener."
"You burned your leg with your straightener? How long is your leg hair? — Cora Carmack

I pushed passed him. He grabbed my hand and swung me back towards him. Then he pushed me against the wall and ... he kissed me.
He ran his thumb along my jawline and down my throat, hips pinning me to the wall. He kissed me slowly and with intensity, and once I got over the mind-numbing shock and comprehended what was actually happening, it was incredible. I had never been kissed like that before. We melted together. Every movement of mine was somehow perfectly mirrored by his. My heart was pounding so hard I knew he must be able to feel it and I was sure my legs were giving way, but he held me up, pushed me harder against the wall.
I grabbed a handful of his hair, remembering all the times I'd dreamed of doing it. I let my hand drift down his back and pulled him even closer to me. It all happened so quickly. I heard him make a low kind of growl and lean into me. His hand slid down my leg behind my knee, drawing it to him. I moaned and felt him tense. — Jessica Shirvington

There is his right leg over my right leg, my left leg over his right leg, his left arm under my back, my right arm around his head, his right arm across my chest, my left arm across his right arm, and my right hand stroking his right temple. Now it becomes difficult to tell what part of what body is actually mine and what part his. I rub his head as it lies pressed against mine, and I hear the strands of his hair chafing against his skull as though it is my own hair chafing against my own skull, as though I now hear with his ears, and from inside his head. — Lydia Davis

Maya wrapped one leg around him, writhing against him as she threaded her fingers through his hair and held him to her, urging him on.
"Never stop touching me that way," Maya rasped. — Sara Humphreys

Zane lifted his knee higher, gasping when it pulled Ty deeper. Ty groaned, unable to continue merely rocking his hips any longer. His hand left Zane's hair to slide up the back of his leg instead, fingers digging in as he pulled back and thrust in. Zane — Abigail Roux

I'd love to be in the '70s. I'd love to have a big, long wig parted down the middle with flat-ironed hair and bell-bottoms. They're actually very flattering for my figure. The wider the leg, the better for a person with a booty. — Sarah Paulson

The part that wasn't a jackpot was his baseball mound of red pubic hair that looked like it had literally been attached with a glue gun. I couldn't believe how much there was, and wondered how he had never heard of scissors, or
more appropriate for that kind of growth
hedge trimmers. I didn't understand what porn he was watching to not be aware of the trimming that was happening all across the world among his compatriots. I'm not a finicky person when it comes to pubic hair maintenance and I certainly don't expect men to shave it all off, leaving themselves to look like a hairless cat. That's even creepier then than seeing what Austin had, which could really only be compared to one thing: A clown in a leg lock. — Chelsea Handler

I used to be teased for the way I wore my hair at school. I used to do things like wear a different-colored sock on each leg. — Florence Griffith Joyner

Whatever her name was, she was pretty. She had a thick, careless braid of chestnut hair, a quick smile, and dark, merry eyes. She wore some kind of a fuzzy lavender pullover, and when she crossed her legs and lifted her guitar onto her lap, she had an interesting way of tucking the foot of the bottom leg back under her chair that made Hector feel melty. He looked away in self-preservation. — Lynne Rae Perkins

Afternoon experience: autographing exposed legs, outstretched in lines like matchsticks.
Afternoon epiphany: Those with smooth, hairless legs would soon lose all evidence of my contact when the sweat causes the ink from the marker to run. I am ephemeral. Skepticism would be the reaction to those with thick leg hair, as their curls frazzle the lines of my name outward illegibly. Among the scaly-legged, I flaked off immediately, like I never was at all. — Benson Bruno

Why do magazines do this to women?" Miranda complains now, glaring at Vogue. "It's all about creating insecurity. Trying to make women feel like they're not good enough. And when women don't feel like they're good enough, guess what?"
"What?" I ask, picking up the grocery bag.
"Men win. That's how they keep us down," she concludes.
"Except the problem with women's magazines is that they're written by women," I point out.
"That only shows you how deep this thing goes. Men have made women coconspirators in their own oppression. I mean, if you spend all your time worrying about leg hair, how can you possibly have time to take over the world? — Candace Bushnell

You will leave now," she said softly, " or I will drag you out of here by your hair."
The man had breath like a day-old tuna sandwich. "I hate dykes. You always think you're tougher than you really
"
Xhex grabbed the man's wrist, turned him in a little circle, and cranked him arm up to the middle of his back. Then she clipped her leg around his ankles and shoved him off balance. He landed like a side of beef, the wind getting knocked out of him on a curse, his body plowing into the short-napped carpet. In a quick move, she bent down, buried one hand in his gelled-up hair, and locked the other on the collar of his suit jacket. As she draggep him face-first to the side exit, she was multitasking : creating a scene, commiting both an assault and a battery, and running the risk of a brawl if his buddies in the Hall of Fucktards got involved. But you had to put on a show every once in a while. To keep the peace, you had to get your hands dirty every once in a while. — J.R. Ward

She uses that shampoo," he sighed.
"What shampoo?"
"The one with honey in it."
Ric's eyes crossed. "Oh, my God."
"She was sitting in that tree, her leg bleeding out, and all I could think about was how good her hair smelled. — Shelly Laurenston

I wish the fire burned my leg hair off — John O'Callaghan

Spoon!" James said, running at his uncle Gabriel and jabbing him in the thigh. Gabriel mussed the boy's hair affectionately.
"You're such a good boy," he said. "I often wonder how you could possibly be Will's."
"Spoon," James said, leaning against his uncle's leg lovingly.
"No, Jamie," Will urged. "Your honorable father has been impugned. Attack, attack! — Cassandra Clare

Some days I don't have time for a full workout, but I do have to dry my hair, right? So rather than just stand there blow-drying, I do several kinds of leg squats at the same time. I believe in multitasking. — Christie Brinkley

The stinkiest hair products have got to be any sort of perm, and Nair. In fact, they smell remarkably similar. Do you think that Nair is just a souped-up version of a perm that makes your leg hair super-curl until it falls off? And can anything that smells that bad be good for you? — Anita Renfroe

As a matter of fact, we had already been warned against sliding down the marble banisters, not out of fear that we might break a leg or an arm, for that never worried our parents-which was, I think, why we never broke anything-but because they feared that since we were growing up and gaining weight, we might knock over the busts of ancestors placed by our father on the banisters at the turn of every flight of stairs. Cosimo had, in fact, once brought down a bishop, a great-great-great-grandfather, miter and all; lie was punished, and since then he had learned to brake just before reaching the turn of a flight and jump off within a hair's-breadth of running into a bust. — Italo Calvino

I really started getting my body ready when I was a freshman in high school. I had just been skating so much, and just started getting so annoyed with leg hair and arm hair, because I was falling so much when I was learning. So I would get scabs on my legs, and the hair would get caught in it. It just became a nuisance. And from that point on, I continued to shave my arms and legs and tried to stay sleek. — Ryan Sheckler

We start home, his hand on my leg again and my hand over his. We are quiet, but this time it's the dark blue kind, the midnight kind, the sink-in-until-you-lose-yourself kind. And some where in the deep blue silence, I can taste the sweetness of mint chocolate, and feel the gentle tug of fingers in my hair, and hear the quiet thud of my own heart. — Brad Barkley

But the truth of the matter is, girls do not groom for men, but for other women. A man will deal with a hairy leg but another woman will use that hair to strangle your self-worth. — Christy Leigh Stewart

Interviewer: 'So Frank, you have long hair. Does that make you a woman?'
Frank Zappa: 'You have a wooden leg. Does that make you a table? — Frank Zappa

Day appears again. This time he leans in close enough for his hair to brush, light as silk, against my cheeks. He pulls me towards for a long kiss. The scene vanishes, replaced abruptly by a stormy night and Day struggling through the rain, blood dripping from his leg and leaving a trail behind him. He collapses onto his knees in front of Razor before the whole scene disappears again. — Marie Lu

The next thing Jordana says makes me realize that it's too late to save her.
"I've noticed that when you light a match, the flame is the same shape as a falling tear."
She's been sensitized, turned gooey in the middle. I saw it happening and I didn't do anything to stop it. From now on, she'll be writing diaries and sometimes including little poems and she'll buy gifts for her favourite teachers and she'll admire the scenery and she'll watch the news and she'll buy soup for homeless people and she'll never burn my leg hair again. — Joe Dunthorne

He stowed a bottle of a local rotgut called Five Island Gin - nicknamed Five Ulcer Gin - in radioman Harry Brooks's gas mask holster. When an MP tapped Brooks's hip to check for the mask, the bottle broke and left Brooks with a soggy leg. It was probably for the best. Louie noticed that when he drank the stuff, his chest hair spontaneously fell out. He later discovered that Five Island Gin was often used as paint thinner. After that, he stuck to beer. — Laura Hillenbrand

Even though Liz might have been at the bottom of our class in P&E, she is the best person I've ever seen at getting me out of bed, which is saying something, considering the woman who raised me. Macey was asleep in her headphones, so Liz felt free to yell, "We're doing this for you!" as she pulled on my left leg and Bex went in search of breakfast. Liz put her foot against the mattress for leverage as she tugged. "Come on, Cam. GET. UP. " "No!" I said, burrowing deeper into the covers. "Five more minutes. " Then she grabbed my hair, which is totally a low blow, since everyone knows I'm tender-headed. "He's a honeypot. " "He'll still be one in an hour, " I pleaded. Then Liz dropped down beside me. She leaned close. She whispered, "Tell Suzie she's a lucky cat. " I threw the covers aside. "I'm up! — Ally Carter

In '87, I was about 9 years old, and so at that point I was wearing, like, fluorescent green T-shirts and acid-wash jeans and leg warmers, and my hair was in a ponytail with a scrunchie and I had the teased bangs that were up in a rainbow shape. It was crazy. — Malin Akerman

I would miss the horse. I've never liked walking. If God had meant man to walk he wouldn't have given us horses. Wonderful animals. I think of them as the word escape, covered in hair and with a leg at each corner. — Mark Lawrence

I've actually felt sad for myself, picturing my slim, naked, pale body, floating just beneath the current, a colony of snails attached to one bare leg, my hair trailing like seaweed until I reach the ocean and drift down down down to the bottom, my waterlogged flesh peeling off in soft streaks, me slowly disappearing into the current like a watercolor until just the bones are left. — Gillian Flynn

15. WHENEVER I WENT OUT TO PLAY, MY MOTHER WANTED TO KNOW EXACTLY WHERE I WAS GOING TO BE
When I'd come in, she'd call me into her bedroom, take me in her arms, and cover me with kisses. She'd stroke my hair and say, 'I love you so much,' and when I sneezed she'd say, 'Bless you, you know how much I love you, don't you?' and when I got up for a tissue she'd say, 'Let me get that for you I love you so much,' and when I looked for a pen to do my homework she'd say, 'Use mine, anything for you,' and when I had an itch on my leg she'd say, 'Is this the spot, let me hug you,' and when I said I was going up to my room she'd call after me, 'What can I do for you I love you so much,' and I always wanted to say, but never said: Love me less. — Nicole Krauss

Her armpits were still slightly wet & she examined them one by one. No hair. This was one of her greatest assets over her sister who had underarm hair.Her slender arms & long legs were also free of hair. She had only a little bit of pubic hair, she noticed. It must be terrible to have lots of ugly underarm & thick coarse arm & leg hairs that you had to shave off daily, she thought. A bit more pubic hair, she wouldn't mind, she decided. But they tended to tickle men's nostrils & make them sneeze.[MMT] — Nicholas Chong

In mid-February, when she turned ten, Liesel was given a used doll that had a missing leg and yellow hair. "It was the best we could do," Papa apologized. "What are you talking about? She's lucky to have that much," Mama corrected him. — Markus Zusak

I love the way she feels in
the curve of my arm. I love
her unpretentious beauty,
her intelligence, her nerve.
But could I ever love her?
The concept of falling in love
is completely foreign, something
I can't bring myself to accept.
Her hair pillows my cheek and
her hand on my leg is warm.
I care about you, Conner,
and I hate to see you hurting.
I want to respond but can't
find the pretty words I need. — Ellen Hopkins

He didn't need to get up and look in the ornate, gilt-edged mirror over the massive fireplace to know that calamitous was the accurate word for his face. His right eye drooped, and the right half of his face was a gnarled mess of scar tissue. He was missing a small chunk of his nose on the right side, and he wore his hair shaggy to conceal the scar where his right ear used to be. But no amount of hairstyling could conceal the fact that his right arm was missing below the elbow. And his right leg, also injured in the blast, would always cause him to walk with a slight limp. Once a handsome young man, he was now a monster. A beast. — Katy Regnery

The steel door of the incinerator went up and the muted hum of the eternal fire became a red roaring. The heat lunged out at them like a famished beast. Then Rahel's Ammu was fed to it. Her hair, her skin, her smile. Her voice. They way she used Kipling to love her children before putting them to bed: We be of one blood, though and I. Her goodnight kiss. The way she held their faces steady with one hand (squashed-cheeked, fish-mouthed) while she parted and combed their hair with the other. The way she held knickers out for Rahel to climb into. Left leg, right leg. All this was fed to the beast, and it was satisfied.
She was their Ammu and their Baba and she had loved them Double. — Arundhati Roy

If I feel ragged, my prep team seems in worse condition, knocking back coffee and sharing brightly colored little pills. As far as I can tell, they never get up before noon unless there's some sort of national emergency, like my leg hair. — Suzanne Collins

I may not be funny. I may not be a singer. I may not be a damn seamstress. I may have diabetes. I may have really bad vision. I may have one leg. I may not know how to read. I may not know who the vice president is. I may technically be an alien of the state. I may have a Zune. I may not know Excel. I may be two 9 year olds in a trench coat. I may not have full control of my bowels. I may drive a '94 Honda Civic. I may not "get" cameras. I may dye my hair with Hydrogen Peroxide. I may be afraid of trees. I may be on fire right now. But I'm a fierce queen. — Justin Johnson

Alright baby." I grab the soup and my purse. "I think I'm ready to go repel a sad boy. I got my ring, my hickey, a naked face, glasses, and conservative hair, unless you also need to pee on my leg to ensure he picks up your scent? — Gisele Walko

He put his foot on one pedal, scooted a few yards and swung his other leg over the saddle. He soared left into the vertiginously sloping hillside road and sped, without touching his brakes ... The hedgerows and sky blurred; he imagined himself in a velodrome as the wind whipped his hair clean ... — J.K. Rowling

I'm sorry you got dragged into this." He waved a hand to indicate he meant the house, the entire situation. "Having to stay here, with me, when you should be home with your family." A pang of homesickness hit her as she thought of her parents and how disappointed they'd been that her leave had been "cancelled". That wasn't his fault though.
To ease his concern, she put on a smile. "Yeah, but hey, I could've done way worse in terms of roommates." She gave his leg a playful nudge with her hand.
His eyes warmed at her words and touch. The firelight brought out the deep bronze undertones in his hair, flickering in tones of gold and orange. She wanted to run her fingers through it to find out if it was as soft as it looked.
He shook his head slightly at her, looking amused. "Why'd you have to be so sweet?"
She shrugged and countered, "Why'd you have to be so damned good looking? — Kaylea Cross

You truly are the most astonishingly beautiful hobbit I've ever seen," he said, and Tamsyn froze.
"Hobbit??"
"Um, yes?" he said, and Tamsyn looked down at herself in panic. Her suit had disappeared and been replaced by a straight dress in a rustic homespun fabric of a drab, brownish grey. Her hair still looked the same, she established when she grabbed a handful and held it up in front of her face, but when she scrabbled up and caught a glimpse of her feet, her legs immediately lost their strength again. She thudded back down hard and grabbed her left leg, yanking her foot up to her eyes.
It was bare, large and very, very hairy.
She checked her other foot as well, hoping against all laws of probability that it would be different, and groaned in consternation when it looked the same as the left one.
"This can't be true!" she wailed, scrambling to get up again. "I'm a hobbit! — Erica Dakin

How could I not see you? With all these huge muscles ... " I sling a leg across his thighs and slide a hand under his jacket, over his stomach. "And this six pack ... "
"It's an eight-pack," he mutters, eyes sliding shut.
"And this adorable messy hair ... "
"Don't ruin it with the wrong adjectives."
"Fine, no more compliments. Just facts. I love you, Crosbie Lucas."
"I love you too," he replies. — Julianna Keyes

He leaned in. I felt his breath against my neck, then the press of his mouth against my skin just above the collar, almost a sigh.
"Don't," I said. I drew back, but he held me tighter. His hand went to the nape of my neck, long fingers twining in my hair, easing my head back. I closed my eyes.
"Let me," he murmured against my throat. His heel hooked around my leg, bringing me closer. I felt the heat of his tongue, the flex of hard muscle beneath bare skin as he guided my hands around his waist. "It isn't real," he said. "Let me."
I felt that rush of hunger, the steady, longing beat of desire that neither of us wanted, but that gripped us anyway. We were alone in the world, unique. We were bound together and always would be.
And it didn't matter.
I couldn't forget what he'd done, and I wouldn't forgive what he was: a murderer. A monster. A man who had tortured my friends and slaughtered the people I'd tried to protect. I shoved away from him. "It's real enough. — Leigh Bardugo

My leg hurts, I wonder if it's cancer? There's a bump. I'm starting to sweat. Stop sweating. I've got to stop sweating.
Can she see it dripping down my forehead? She looked at my hair line. She thinks I'm bald. — Charlie Kaufman

The Poodle
The poodle -- nature's most perfect food -- was invented by Otto Van Plotsberg in 1872. According to Van Plotsberg he had only just begun experimenting with kinky hair and extra toes when he happened upon the formula for poodles. Van Plotsberg's first poodles sported only one leg -- a stumpy appendage protruding from the center of the body. These crude early versions (commonly inverted and used as hat stands) were soon abandoned in favor of the superior French model, which featured a winning smile and four limbs positioned strategically around the torso. Thus began the dizzying proliferation of the modern-day poodle -- hampered temporarily by a 1909 decree which stated that "Henceforth all poodles shall bear the name Svee," marking a slight decline in the population until the edict was overturned. Today, poodles inhabit every corner of the earth. Witness the African Killer Poodle, The Wild Poodles of Borneo, and the elusive Giant Swamp Poodle of Denchai. — Elyse Friedman

The door partly opens, and Deacon rests his hip on the frame and looks me up and down as if he has no idea who I am. He's wearing gray sweatpants with CORVALLIS UNION HIGH SCHOOL printed up the leg, his hair all askew. He's shirtless, whether for effect or for comfort I'm not sure. — Suzanne Young

Lizzy, Will thought. Lizzy P. 'You n me gonna be buddies, darlin'. He stretched one hand to Elly's hair, and circled Donald Wade's rump with his free arm and touched Thomas's leg, on the far side of Elly. And he smiled at Lizzy P. and thought, Heaven's got nothin' on being the husband of Eleanor Dinsmore. — LaVyrle Spencer

I am the cockroach, I am my leg, I am my hair, I am the section of brightest light on the wall plaster - I am every Hellish piece of myself - life is so pervasive in me that if they divide me in pieces like a lizard, the pieces will keep on shaking and writhing. I am the silence etched on a wall, and the most ancient butterfly flutters in and looks at me: just the same as always. From birth to death is what I call human in myself, and I shall never actually die. But this is not eternity, it is condemnation.
How opulent this silence is. It is the accumulation of centuries. It is the silence of the cockroach looking. The world looks at itself in me. Everything looks at everything, everything experiences the other; in this desert things know things. — Clarice Lispector

I left Kiki in the yard, and fetched my pick and brushes.
She lifted her leg and I dislodged the stone then pulled the shedding blade through her copper hair. After a while, I removed my cloak. When I finished, clumps of horse hair clung to my sweaty clothes.
You're beautiful and I need a bath, I said to her. Pasture or stall?
Stall. Nap time.
And what about your snooze before I groomed you?
Pre nap. — Maria V. Snyder

He let go and stood back,eyeing me.I could tell he didn't want to say anything to destroy my confidence,but he was afraid he'd created a monster.
"Don't worry.I'm ready to play the game." I nodded solemnly.
"One more thing," he said. "If you do fall-"
I cringed. Some pep talk!
"-If something terrible happens,you still won't lose everything.Now you have good friends,and nothing will ever change that.You're not that girl."
"Oh,Nick." I threw myself at him,literally. He wrapped me in his arms and brushed my hair aside to kiss my forehead again.
I squeezed him hard,then drew away and punched him on his padded arm. "Go ahead,and don't break a leg. — Jennifer Echols

I study her," Patch said. "I figure out what she's thinking and feeling. She's not going to come right out and tell me, which is why I have to pay attention. Does she turn her body toward mine? Does she hold my eyes, then look away? Does she bite her lip and play with her hair, the way Nora is doing right now?" Laughter rose in the room. I dropped my hands to my lap. "She's game," said Patch, bumping my leg again.
Of all things, I blushed. — Becca Fitzpatrick

It is commonly said that a good horse should have fifteen properties and conditions, namely: three of a man, three of a woman, three of a fox, three of a hare and three of an ass: like a man, he should be bold, proud and hardy; like a woman, he should be fair breasted, fair of hair and easy to lie upon; like a fox, he should have a fair tail, short ears and go with a good trot; like a hare, he should have a great eye, a dry head and run well; and like an ass, he should have a big chin, a flat leg and a good hoof. — Ian Mortimer

Lucy: I don't feel like talking about college. It increases my stress level.
James: And increased stress levels lead to hair loss.
Lucy: My head-hair volume is fine.
James: You say that like I should be concerned about leg-hair volume. — Kristen Tracy