Quotes About Not Brushing Hair

“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

“He was lounging in a cubicle beside an outdated computer, hands shoved into the pockets of his faded jeans.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

“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

“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

“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

“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

“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

“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

“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

“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

“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

“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

“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

“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