Quotes & Sayings About Not Brushing Hair

He makes a face and tosses the flower at me. It lands on my cheek, and I pick it up and twirl it between my fingers. I could lie out here all day, not moving an inch, feeling the sun above and the grass below. With a contented sigh, I stretch my arms wide, raking the grass with my fingers - and find myself brushing Aladdin's hand with my own. I pull it away quickly, my cheeks warming. He laughs a little.
"Sometimes," he says, "I forget you're supposed to be four thousand years old. You act as shy as a girl of sixteen."
"I do not!" I sit up and glare at him.
He grins and shrugs, sliding his hands under his head. There are bits of grass stuck in his hair, and after a moment's hesitation, I reach over and flick them away.
Aladdin watches me silently, his throat bobbing as he swallows. I drop my gaze. — Jessica Khoury

, It'd taken her several seconds to react to the sight of them together. She'd been almost hypnotized by the scene as Lothaire drank. Chase's masculine face had been tense, his gray eyes focused on the ground. Lothaire's face had been starkly beautiful, his pale blond hair brushing Chase's shoulder.
Light and dark. One terrible, one tragic.
And Lothaire had been ... hard. "Oh, gods!" She cried as she ran back along the trail. Hot poker for my eyes! Hot poker! — Kresley Cole

While I was brushing my hair the half hour went. But there was until the three quarters anyway, except suppose seeing on the rushing darkness only his own face no broken feather unless two of them but not two like that going to Boston the same night then my face his face for an instant across the crashing when out of darkness two lighted windows in rigid fleeing crash gone his face and mine just I see saw did I see not goodbye the marquee empty of eating the road empty in darkness in silence the bridge arching into silence darkness sleep the water peaceful and swift not goodbye I — William Faulkner

The funny thing about children is that, whichever room we're in, that's where they'll be. If I'm in the bath, they'll want to be in there too, playing with the toothbrush pot or brushing my hair. — Keeley Hawes

Prejudice is like a hair across your cheek. You can't see it, you can't find it with your fingers, but you keep brushing at it because the feel of it is irritating. — Marian Anderson

Some days my thoughts are just cocoons
all cold, and dull, and blind, They hang from dripping branches in the grey woods of my mind; And other days they drift and shine
such free and flying things! I find the gold-dust in my hair, left by their brushing wings. — Karle Wilson Baker

I choose not to believe in superstitions. On race day, I have plans that I follow. I don't necessarily think about brushing my hair a certain way or doing certain things that make no sense as it relates to my performance. — Mark De Jonge

When I finally calmed down, I handed her the Ewok. "Can you go back and give it to him" I said. "Oh, honey," she answered. "That's so sweet of you. But Isabel can clean the Lego set. It'll be good as new for Auggie, don't worry." "No, for the other kid," I answered. She looked at me a second, like she didn't know what to say. "Via said he doesn't speak any English," I sai. "It must be really scary for him, being in the hospital." She nodded slowly. "Yeah," she whispered. "It must be." She closed her eyes and hugged me again. And then she took me over to the security desk, where I waited until she went back up the elevator and, after about five minutes, came back down again. "Did he like it?" I asked. "Honeyboy," she said softly, brushing the hair out of my eyes. "You made his day. — R.J. Palacio

Ask me about my childhood, and I will tell you to walk to the edge of the woods with a choir of crickets chirping from every direction, a hot, humid breeze brushing through your hair, your feet, bare and callused. Stand there, unmoving, and watch the dance of ten thousand fireflies blinking on and off in the darkness. Inhale the scent of cured tobacco, freshly plowed southern soil, burning leaves, and honeysuckle. Swallow the taste of blackberries, picked straight from the bushes, and lick your teeth, the after-taste still sweet in your mouth. Now, stretch out on the ground and relax all your muscles. Watch nature's festival of flickering lights. — Brenda Sutton Rose

Sorry, he said, kissing me lightly once more and brushing my hair from my face. I'd never seen a less sorry person in my life. — Annabel Monaghan

Had she been born 500 years sooner, Raphael would have chosen her as a model for his cherubs. Tendrils of bright red hair framed her face, a spray of freckles powdered her nose, and she was as plump as a perfectly ripened peach. Raphael probably would have painted out the freckles, and that would have been a mistake. Like brushing cinnamon off cinnamon toast. — E.L. Konigsburg

Sailing is the closest I can get to nature - it's adrenaline, fear, a constant challenge and learning experience, an adventure into the unknown. And of course there is nothing better than wearing the same T-shirt for days and not brushing my hair for weeks. — Daria Werbowy

Well." Giving a sniff, I tossed my hair back and walked through the door. "That's the last time I ever offer you a shoulder to cry on."
"Hallelujah," he muttered.
Ingrate.
But he nudged my shoulder, leaned down, mouth right by my ear, T-shirt brushing against my sleeve, and whispered, "Thanks, K. You're sweet, you know that?"
It was so unexpected that I felt my cheeks burn. — Erin Lynn

Shaving your head is acceptable. It's when you start wearing toupees and brushing your hair over that things go wrong. — Moby

A long time later, after the bath had cooled, Lottie dressed in a fresh white nightgown and approached the bedroom table, where Nick was standing. She felt herself color as he stared at her with a half-smile. "I like the way you look in this," he said, brushing his fingers over the high-necked bodice of the gown. "Very innocent."
"Not any longer," Lottie said with an abashed smile.
He lifted her against his body, his face rubbing into the cool dampness of her hair. His beguiling mouth found her neck. "Oh, yes, you are," he said. "It's going to require a great deal of time and effort to debauch you completely."
"I have every faith you'll succeed," she said, and sat before a plate loaded with ham, vegetable pudding, potatoes, and open-faced tarts.
-Nick & Lottie — Lisa Kleypas

I can't wait until this show gets on the road," he said. "You and me are going to have so much fun, Rose. Picking out curtains, doing each other's hair, telling ghost stories ... "
The reference to "ghost stories" hit a little closer to home than I was comfortable with. Not that choosing curtains or brushing Christian's hair was much more appealing. — Richelle Mead

Feel Tobias brushing my hair back before the first simulation. I hear him telling me to be brave. I hear my mother telling me to be brave( ... ) I am brave. — Veronica Roth

His hair was longer now, brushing the tops of his shoulders, and the weight of it made it hang straight and shiny. He'd lost more weight and gotten kind of tan. He looked about five years older.
And then there was me, dressed as sushi. — Jennifer Castle

He was lounging in a cubicle beside an outdated computer, hands shoved into the pockets of his faded jeans. A wavy lock of hair covered his forehead, brushing against thick lashes. His lips curled into a half smile. "I was wondering if you were ever going to find me." He made no move to clear up any space in the tiny 6x6 hole.
I dropped my bag outside the walls and hopped up on the desk opposite him. "Embarrassed someone would see you and think you're capable of reading?"
"I do have a reputation to maintain."
"And what a lovely reputation that is."
He stretched out his legs so that his feet were under mine. "So what did you want to talk about" - his voice lowered to a deep, sexy whisper - "in private?"
I shivered - and it had nothing to do with the temperature. "Not what you're hoping."
Daemon gave me a sexy smirk. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

You still excite me after all this time, probably even more so now than in the beginning." My voice is a low threatening growl as the fingers on my free hand slide her panties over to reveal what I already know to be true; she is wet. "I love the way your body responds to me." I pull her from the wall and lead her to the fainting couch adorning the sitting area in my office. Brushing her hair back from her ear, I lean in and whisper, "Turn around, bend over, and put your hands on the end of the couch. I don't care what I do to you, those hands better not fucking move out of position. — Suzanne Steele

You have no time for the prayer meeting, but you have time enough to be brushing your hair to all eternity; you have no time to bend your knee, but plenty of time to make yourselves look smart and grand. — Charles Spurgeon

she's in town, I'll find her." Michael grabbed hold of her, brushing his hand against her hair and kissed her affectionately. "Thanks, Em. I know we said we'd give her some space, but we'd feel a lot better if we just knew she was okay." He walked her to the front door. Emily moved to leave, but he grabbed her again planting another kiss. — Starla Silver

And you're about to pay for that, baby." Furi spun Syn around and pushed his chest against the door. "Furious," Syn groaned when he felt his sweater being roughly yanked over his head. Furi's hand pressed hard into the center of his back, keeping him pinned against the front door. "Yes, punish me." Syn froze when Furi's assault on his body stopped immediately after he said that. Oh no. Furi's hair was brushing against Syn's face as he leaned in to whisper in his ear, "You ever been handcuffed, Sergeant? Restrained." Syn shivered, his cock leaking in his tight jeans. "Oh fuck." "Don't — A.E. Via

Founders Day tradition dictated a peck on the cheek, but Travis had never been a follower. He lowered his head and took advantage of her surprise. Her lips were soft as a rose petal and just as pliable. He'd meant it to be a quick, comforting brushing of lips, but then she responded. Just the faintest movement. The yielding lit a fire in his belly that wouldn't be extinguished anytime soon. He went back for seconds. I've missed you so much. He took her face in his hands, wanted to thread his fingers through that long thick hair and pull her closer. But then two palms planted into his chest and pushed hard. Her eyes spat sparks. She dragged the back of her hand across her lips as if wiping the kiss away. Won't be as easy as that, darlin'. — Denise Hunter

If I'm really working on something, writing or painting or really concentrating, I don't even think about brushing my hair. — Patti Smith

What we love is too much in the past, consists too much in the time that we have spent together for us to require the whole woman; we wish only to be sure that it is she, not to be mistaken as to her identity, a thing far more important than beauty to those who are in love; her cheeks may grow hollow, her body thin, even to those who were originally most proud, in the eyes of the world, of their domination over beauty, that little tip of a nose, that sign in which is summed up the permanent personality of a woman, that algebraical formula, that constant, is sufficient to prevent a man who is courted in the highest society and is in love with her from being free upon a single evening because he is spending his evenings in brushing and entangling, until it is time to go to bed, the hair of the woman whom he loves, or simply in staying by her side, so that he may be with her or she with him, or merely that she may not be with other people. — Marcel Proust

Sometimes, it's like a hair across your cheek. You can't see it, you can't feel it with your fingers, but you keep brushing at it because the feel of it is irritating. (regarding prejudice and discrimination) — Marian Anderson

Well, on that day I ceased cleansing my body. No more brushing my teeth, no more washing my hair, no baths, no soap, no water. Thirty days of debris build. I stopped shavin' and I was 18, had a little scraggly beard, really looked like a hippie ... Then two weeks before, I stopped eating any food with nutritional value ... Then a week before, I stopped going to the bathroom. I did it in my pants. poop, piss the whole shot. My pants got crusted up. — Ted Nugent

She faced Chaol. The wind ripped a few strands of hair from her braid, and she tucked them behind her ears.
"No matter what happens," she said quietly, "I want to thank you."
Chaol tilted his head to the side. "For what?" Her eyes stung, but she blamed it on the fierce wind and blinked away the dampness.
"For making my freedom mean something." He didn't say anything; he just took the fingers of her right hand and held them in his, his thumb brushing the ring she wore.
"Let the second duel commence," the king boomed, waving a hand toward the veranda. Chaol squeezed her hand, his skin warm in the frigid air.
"Give him hell," he said. — Sarah J. Maas

You turn me on." He cups my face, brushing my hair away from my eyes and a tear off my cheek."
"God, you turn me on. You're driving me crazy. I want you to need my hands on you. Do you? — Penelope Douglas

I hope she can't tell that I'm appraising her and that I'm completely worried by what I see. She's excitable and strange. She's ten. What do people do during the day when they're ten? She runs her fingers along the window and mumbles, "This could give me bird flu," and then she forms a circle around her mouth with her hand and makes trumpet noises. She's nuts. Who knows what's going on in that head of hers, and speaking of her head, she most definitely could use a haircut or a brushing. There are small tumbleweeds of hair resting on the top of her head. Where does she get haircuts? I wonder. Has she ever had one before? She scratches her scalp, then looks at her nails. She wears a shirt that says I'M NOT THAT KIND OF GIRL. BUT I CAN BE! I'm grateful that she isn't too pretty, but I realize this could change. — Kaui Hart Hemmings

Ash pulled me back against him, brushing my hair from my neck. His mouth skimmed my shoulder, up my neck, sending butterflies swarming through my insides. "If you want to rest, then do so," he murmured against my skin. "The rain will not touch you, I promise. — Julie Kagawa

Ash pulled me closer, his eyes gentle as they gazed into mine. "Meghan, I'm going to tell you something someone once told me, when I was afraid of what was to come." He lowered his head, soft strands of his hair brushing my skin. "Nothing is certain," he murmured. "The future is constantly changing, and no one can predict what will happen next. We have the power to change our destiny, because fate is not set in stone, and we are always free to make a choice." His fingers came up to brush my hair back, tucking it behind one ear. "A very powerful seer told me that, once. And she was right. That's why I'm not afraid of the oracle's prophecy, or the future. We are only slaves to fate if we let it control us. There is always a choice. — Julie Kagawa

It's like we made promises last night, and you're not sure you can keep them." "Yeah," Carson confessed, his lips brushing Dale's chest. Dale pulled him tight against his chest and dropped a kiss on his hair. "Don't be scared, baby. We'll find a way. I'm not a fan of letting go. — Amy Lane

As Leo leaned down to deposit her on the bed, she tightened her grip on him, not letting him pull away. "Kiss me," she demanded.
"I shouldn't."
"Shouldn't didn't stop you earlier this evening."
"Earlier this evening you weren't incapacitated."
"We can work it off. If we take it slow, I'll be fine. Just don't expect me to swing from a chandelier. The last time I did that, the whole ceiling came down," she confided.
"I'd really rather not hear about your sexual exploits," he growled.
A jealous Leo was adorable.
"Oh, I didn't do it for sex. We were playing Tomb Raider. And I would have gotten away with the treasure, too, if the bolts would have held."
"You are something else," he muttered, brushing the hair from her face, his strokes so gentle.
"I'm yours," she muttered as her lashes fluttered shut, her battle with them lost. — Eve Langlais

She must be very secure in herself, I suppose, in them, for it not to bother her, to walk where another woman has walked before. She obviously doesn't think of me as a threat. I think about Ted Hughes, moving Assia Wevill into the home he'd shared with Plath, of her wearing Sylvia's clothes, brushing her hair with the same brush. I want to ring Anna up and remind her that Assia ended up with her head in the oven, just like Sylvia did. — Paula Hawkins

I think, maybe, this is what true love means.

Maybe true love is warming someone up from the cold, or tenderly brushing a hair away, because you care about them with every bone in your body even though you know what's between you won't last. — Taylor Jenkins Reid

He climbed into the bed behind her and spooned his body to hers, pulling the covers up over them both. "Sleep, sweetheart." Brushing her tangled hair off her face, he whispered a promise against her ear. "You're safe. — Julie Miller

What shall we say when people ask us how we met?"

The corners of her mouth twitched. "We'll say I was in my nightrail, brushing my hair in peaceful solitude, when you climbed up to my balcony and - "

"Do you even have a balcony?"

She pursed her lips. "You're not invited upon it, regardless."

He gave her a slow, naughty smile. "No one's ever *invited* to scale a balcony. — Erica Ridley

I glanced upward once, to see Brianna glowing, still smiling from ear to ear. Jamie was behind her, also smiling, his cheeks wet with tears. He said something to her in husky Gaelic, and brushing the hair away from her neck, leaned forward and kissed her gently, just behind the ear — Diana Gabaldon

Sweet baby Jesus, Blue Eyes was ...
He was gorgeous in all the ways that made girls do stupid things. He was tall, a good head or two taller than me and broad at the shoulders, but tapered at the waist. An athlete's body - like a swimmer's. Wavy black hair toppled over his forehead, brushing matching eyebrows. Broad cheekbones and wide, expressive lips completed the package created for girls to drool over. And with those sapphire-colored eyes, holy moley ... — J. Lynn

Four years of sitting in your room reading, and now you're out here with the common folk," I say. "What did inspire you to suddenly make the trip?"

"I would have come sooner," she says, brushing her hair out of her face. "You just never invited me. — Will Leitch

It is far, far better never to have been beautiful.
If you're gorgeous you're going to get by absolutely fine everyone will always want you in the room and you'll be lavished with attention, which you'll do very little to earn. Whereas, if you look like a sack of offal thats been dropkicked down a lift-shaft into a pond, you're going to spend many of your formative years alone. this may seem miserable - but you'll have space, space that you can constructively use to discover and hone your skills, learn a language, develop an interest in cosmology, practice the oboe, do whatever you fancy, really, so long as it doesn't involve being looked at or snogging anyone. And you'll very likely emerge from your chrysalis aged twenty-five as a highly accomplished young thing ready to take on the world. meanwhile, The Beautiful Ones will have been so busy having boyfriends and brushing their hair that they'll just be ... who they always were. — Miranda Hart

And Gray ... Gray was finished. Done for. Completely and hopelessly lost in the softest, most tender embrace he'd ever known. He held her face in his hands, brushing light kisses over her lips. Kissing her slowly, carefully, as though he were only just learning about kissing-because he was. Not learning how to kiss, but learning why to kiss. Not in persuasion, not as a prelude to further liberties. Simply to discover the taste of her, delicate and fresh and exquisitely sweet. To tell her things he didn't dare express in words. To tell her things he had no words to express. He kissed her for no greater pleasure than to kiss, because at that moment, kissing her felt like the greatest pleasure imaginable.
He pressed his lips to her cheeks, her brow, her eyelids, her hair, interspersing his kisses with little endearments in every language he knew. Then, eyes closed, he rested his forehead against hers and waited. Leaving the choice to her. — Tessa Dare

Pain stabs through me as everything I am made of collapses, my entire world dismantled in a moment. The pavement scrapes my knees. If I lie down now, this can all be done. Maybe Eric was right, and choosing death is like exploring an unknown, uncertain place. I feel Tobias brushing my hair back before the first simulation. I hear him telling me to be brave. I hear my mother telling me to be brave. The Dauntless soldiers turn as if moved by the same mind. Somehow I get up and start running. I am brave. — Veronica Roth

Ren," I whispered. "I want-"
And then I was leaning over him, my cropped hair brushing against his cheeks as I bent to kiss him. Our lips met and I felt like I was diving into oblivion. The kiss grew deep, inmediate and hungry. He lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist, molding my body against his. — Andrea Cremer

I watch her do the simplest things: brushing her hair into a ponytail, feeding the dog, tying Sophie's shoelaces, and I want to tell her what she means to me, but I never actually say the words. After all, to acknowledge Delia as a drug, I'd have to face the fact that one day I might have to go without her and this I can't do. — Jodi Picoult

Are you all right, he whispered, his lips brushing the tips of my spiky hair. Granted, I knew he was only being discreet so as to save poor Hillary from being reamed again, but my knees didn't know the difference. They betrayed me, buckling under his hot breath on my ear and the deep whisper that tickled my senses. — Gwenn Wright

Redhead
All over the house
Strands of copper hair
Like filaments from a cobweb
Collect.
If you and I
Were ever to part
For months, perhaps years,
I'd be combing out,
Brushing or picking up
Strands of significance,
Traces of you
In my life — John Geddes

We spent afternoons kicking around in the sand, picking through the seaweed for shells, making headdresses of washed-up fishing ropes and hats from Styrofoam cups. Beach rats, we were called.

We stopped brushing our hair, and it hung in tangles spun by the salt air. We sprayed Sun-In across our heads and let it turn our hair orange in patches. Our skin peeled, and we didn't much care.

We woke up to the feel of sand in our sheets. We covered ourselves in baby oil and iodine and let the sun bake our skin. We smelled like Love's Baby Soft perfume, like summer all year long. We were tanned, with freckles across our noses. — Ilie Ruby

You're so beautiful to me," he says against my mouth.
I pull back to look him in the eyes. "To you?"
He often says that, and part of me wonders if others have said something contrary to him.
"To me." His fingers trace the curve of my shoulder, brushing a lock of hair over it. "When we're together, it's just you and me. No one else exists. — Kristen Callihan

The discovery of a grey hair when you are brushing out your whiskers of a morning - first fallen flake of the coming snows of age - is a disagreeable thing ... — Alexander Smith

But not now. Now it was gentle, and the sun was kissing him, like Joe ... like Joe ... . Joe swallowed. His chest swelled in that faintly familiar breath-stopping, overwhelming way, and he made a faint sound, a gasp really, as he remembered the last time he'd felt that, and knew with total assurance what it was. It was when Jeannie had held his hand in church, when he was six and love was so simple, and so uncomplicated, and God was the reason you loved until you cried. For the first time in twenty-seven years, Joe felt the existence of God. He was in Casey's smile, his eyes, the way he looked at his lover, the way he greeted the dogs. God was there, in the sunshine brushing Casey's hair, and warming his skin, and Joe ... . Joe wanted to touch him. — Amy Lane

Like the Baron, Mathilde developed a formula for acting out life as a series of roles - that is, by saying to herself in the morning while brushing her blond hair, "Today I want to become this or that person," and then proceeding to be that person.
One day she decided she would like to be an elegant representative of a well-known Parisian modiste and go to Peru. All she had to do was to act the role. So she dressed with care, presented herself with extraordinary assurance at the house of the modiste, was engaged to be her representative and given a boat ticket to Lima.
Aboard ship, she behaved like a French missionary of elegance. Her innate talent for recognizing good wines, good perfumes, good dressmaking, marked her as a lady of refinement. — Anais Nin

Wolves are hosting wedding feasts and witches are brushing their hair today." Presence — Helen Oyeyemi

Her hair is tucked behind her ears, a few stray strands lazily brushing her cheek. I suddenly have the strongest sensation of wanting to reach out and curl them in place behind her ear. — Liz Kessler

Sexual predators often start with nonsexual touch to desensitize their targets. It might be "accidental" touch, or hugs, pats, strokes, hair-brushing, holding. A — Gavin De Becker

I wondered if they had rehearsed this weird three-way-talking thing they had going on. I imagined them sitting in a circle in their dorm room, brushing their hair and saying, Okay, so I'll say we feel bad, and then you'll say that your hot boyfriend thinks she's pathetic. — Rachel Hawkins

There's one more thing I need to tell you before we go," he said.
"What?" I asked in a clipped voice, wanting to get back to a safe place and away from the seductive spirits that lingered here.
He leaned down, lips brushing my cheek as I opened the door. "I like your hair. — Andrea Cremer

Hey," he replied. "You look beautiful today."
I glanced down and laughed. Along with my limited wardrobe, I was also discovering that not doing laundry decreased my clothing options even further. I was in jeans and a plain black T-shirt today, and my hair had been lucky to get a quick brushing, let alone any real styling. I'd overslept and figured beachcombing didn't require much primping anyway.
"Liar," I said. "I practically rolled out of bed this morning."
"You forget that I've seen you in just about every state imaginable. You don't have to have every detail primped and perfect. You're beautiful even when you're disheveled. Sometimes more so. — Richelle Mead

He tucked my hair behind my ear, his fingertips brushing feather light across my temple, his thumb at the line of my jaw. I have my own team. — Janet Evanovich

Brushing a girl's hair
behind her ear
once a day
will solve more problems
than all those
therapists
and drugs. — Atticus Poetry

Being in love is a very strange thing. Your thoughts constantly drift towards this other person, no matter what you're doing. You could be reaching for a glass in the cupboard or brushing your teeth or listening to someone tell a story, and your mind will just start drifting towards their face, their hair, the way they smell, wondering what they'll wear, and what they'll say the next time they see you. And on top of the constant dream state you're in, your stomach feels like it's connected to a bungee cord, and it bounces and bounces around for hours until it finally lodges itself next to your heart. — Pittacus Lore

A pony who lives outdoors usually has healthy skin and hair and does not need to be groomed daily, except to get him clean for riding and for special occasions. He should be checked over and have his feet picked out every day, whether he is ridden or not, and his eyes, nose and dock should be cleaned. In some parts of
the country, he should be checked for ticks, especially in his mane and tail. Besides that, he will only need currying and brushing with the dandy brush to make his coat smooth. The body brush will not do much good on a pony that rolls every day, and you do not want to remove the natural grease and scurf from his coat, as it protects him from getting wet and cold. After riding, sweat marks should be brushed out or rubbed out with a towel.
Controlling — Susan E. Harris

Mara, I have never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. And when you're ready for me to show you," he said, brushing my hair to the side, "I'm going to kiss you." His thumb grazed my ear and his hand curved around my neck. He leaned me backward and my eyes fluttered closed. I breathed in the scent of him as he leaned in and kissed the hollow under my ear. My pulse raced under his lips.
"And I won't settle for anything less. — Michelle Hodkin

For a second his dark eyes are on mine, and he's quiet. Then he touches my face and leans in close, brushing my lips with his. The river roars and I feel its spray on my ankles. He grins and presses his mouth to mine. I tense up at first, unsure of myself, so when he pulls away, I'm sure I did something wrong, or badly. But he takes my face in his hands, his fingers strong against my skin, and kisses me again, firmer this time, more certain. I wrap an arm around him, sliding my hand up his neck and into his short hair. — Veronica Roth

Her hair rustled, brushing her shoulders. There are many days when all the awful things that happen make you sick at heart, when the path before you is so steep you can't bear to look. Not even love can rescue a person from that. Still, enveloped in the twilight coming from the west, there she was, watering the plants with her slender, graceful hands, in the midst of a light so sweet it seemed to form a rainbow in the transparent water she poured.
"I think I understand."
"I love your honest heart, Mikage. The grandmother who raised you must have been a wonderful person."
I smiled. "She was."
"You've been lucky," said Eriko. She laughed, her back to me. — Banana Yoshimoto

I believe people should study a little bit every day. It should become habitual, like brushing your teeth, combing your hair, having a shower or getting dressed. Study the mind, the laws of the universe and paradigms. There's enough information on those subjects to keep a person studying forever. — Bob Proctor

I suppose that by this time they had finished their dressing. Roger Scurvilegs tells us nothing on such important matters; no doubt from modesty. "Next morning they rose," he says, and disappoints us of a picture of Udo brushing his hair. — A.A. Milne

Jeb smiles - a genuine Jebediah Holt grin, complete with dimples. Such a beautiful distraction. "I love you, skater girl."
The nickname winds through me, comforting and sweet. I smooth my palm across his shoulder. "Say it again."
"I love you."
"No ... the other part," I plead.
He pulls my body to his, so our mouths come together in a warm, soft kiss. "Skater girl," he whispers against me, brushing hair from my face. — A.G. Howard

All I had to do was die a little, and you get a new planet!"
I expected her to laugh, or at least smile. I did not expect her to slap my arm. "You stupid idiot!" she says, smacking me again. "I don't want the new planet without you!"
Her eyes round as she realizes what she just said. Anytime we'd gotten this close to talking about us before, Amy has shied away from the topic. But now, instead of drawing away from me, she leans closer. Her hair spills over her shoulders, brushing my chest as she leans down. Her fiery joy at learning about the planet is replaced with something else, something warmer like a slow-burning but steady flame.
"It wouldn't be worth it without you," she says, her voice low. — Beth Revis

How many books did you get through?" he asked. She sat up in bed, brushing a few strands of long blond hair off her face. "Three hundred and forty nine." Blaise blinked. "That's very precise. Are you sure it wasn't three hundred and forty eight?" "Yes, I'm sure," she said seriously, then smiled. "In fact, it was 138,902 pages and 32,453,383 words. — Dima Zales

Don't give me some stupid lecture about war when the person we're talking about losing is you!" I said, surprised by the savagery in my tone. At least my voice didn't shake.
His face blurred and I tasted salt on my lips. It was warm, warm like Pritkin's hands coming up and framing my face, his thumbs brushing over my eyelids, soft as his fingers in my hair. "One person is not so important in the scheme of things", he said, and his voice was gentle, gentle when it never was, and that almost broke me.
But you are important, I thought. And yet he couldn't see that. In Pritkin's mind, he was an experiment gone wrong, a child cast out, a man valued by his peers only for his ability to kill the things they feared. Just once, I wished he could see what I did.
"Then neither is this", I said, leaning in and pressing my mouth to his, the kiss lightened by desperation and weighted down by everything he meant to me. — Karen Chance

The girl who signed her papers in lipstick
leans against the drugstore, smoking,
brushing her hair like a machine — Billy Collins

One of the odder services the Villa Candessa provided for its long-term guests was its "likeness cakes" - little frosted simulacra fashioned after the guests by the inn's Camorr-trained pastry sculptor. On a silver tray beside the looking glass, a little sweetbread Locke (with raisin eyes and almond-butter blond hair) sat beside a rounder Jean with dark chocolate hair and beard. The baked Jean's legs were already missing. A few moments later, Jean was brushing the last buttery crumbs from the front of his coat. "Alas, poor Locke and Jean." "They died of consumption," said Locke. — Scott Lynch

I used to hate my hair. Now I love it. I spend hours brushing my hair out after it dries. I love it when it's big. — Petra Collins

As Tom walked away, every step more awful, Lucy pursued him, arms still outstretched. 'Dadda, wait for Lulu,' she begged, wounded and confused. When she tripped and fell face down on the gravel, letting out a scream, Tom could not go on, and spun around, breaking free of the policeman's grip.
'Lulu!'
He scooped her up and kissed her scratched chin.
'Lucy, Lucy, Lucy, Lucy,' he murmured, his lips brushing her cheek.
'You're all right, little one. You'll be all right.'
Vernon Knuckey looked at the ground and cleared his throat.
Tom said, 'Sweetheart, I have to go away now. I hope - ' He stopped. He looked into her eyes and he stroked her hair, finally kissing her.
'Goodbye, littlie. — M.L. Stedman

His hand trailed down the side of her face, brushing back spiraling tendrils of hair. Come, shei'tani, dance the skiles with your mate. — C.L. Wilson

And cruelly, surely, I said to her, "Did you love this child?" I will never forget her face then, the violence in her, the absolute hatred. "Yes." She reached for the locket even as I clutched it. It was guilt that was consuming her, not love. It was guilt -that shop of dolls Claudia had described to me, shelves and shelves of the effigy of that dead child. But guilt that absolutely understood the finality of death. There was something as hard in her as the evil in myself, something as powerful. She touched my waistcoat and opened her fingers there, pressing them against my chest. And I was on my knees, drawing closer to her, her hair brushing my face. — Anne Rice

Birthday present number three," he murmurs, brushing my hair back off my face.
"I'm still yet to get you anything."
"I got all my twelve the moment you agreed to be mine. — Samantha Towle