Hair - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Sarah's hair moved much as soft beach grass in the wind, back and forth, revealing and hiding the gold of her eyes.
One hand scrunched into that tumble of hair, those curls that defied rules and gravity with equal contempt. As she pondered, that great brain of hers solving problems that had defied geniuses for all our age and more, she'd never been more beautiful... my philosopher...
If a beam of light could weave itself into a strand, that was her hair; I always felt it glowed from within rather than relying on the sunshine. It was as if the universe had conjured her matter in a ripple of laughter - as if all she was composed of was a sort of musical and loving happiness.
As she turned to continue gathering the berries her cinnamon hair caught the early morning light and shone in a way that it would not have even on the brightest of days back in the sprawling metropolis. There it had hung limp under the weight of the pollutants, dry, lifeless. But here without even the drug-store shampoo it was vibrant with health. And then I realized what we'd done, we'd exchanged convenience and ill-health for the wellness of our bodies and minds. The fact that it was hard work didn't bother either of us, we'd each left behind several dead end jobs that broke our sleep into spells of only a few snatched hours here and there.
Ryan's hair that had once been coiffured and held in place with gel was now shaven to barely a few millimetres in length. A few acquaintances had commented on the transformation but no-on who actually knew him did. He had always been the pretty boy and the rebel, shallow, avoiding long term attachments, a way perhaps to mark himself out as different from the older brother who did everything right. How he had believed himself to hate him. Now he lay cold with a slab of granite bearing his name and the span of his short life. In that frozen moment when his father called to break the news he realized that he had loved him so much, idolized him so deeply, that he'd shut him out the way he did with everyone else. That night he bought a pair of hair clippers and shaved it off. The perfumed locks crammed the waste paper bin and on top lay products he'd spent so much money on.
I had curled my dark locks, that always danced in between a black and brown, so that they hung in more waves than curls that could sit atop Shirley temples head.
She described the hair of her youth as a tangled mess of curls that it was impossible to put a brush through. Many times had her mother given up and chopped it all off. But now, as a teenager, she had learnt how to tame it with various hair care products and her tight curls were the envy of the girls at college.
Make those locks as smooth as you like, add a garland of those scarlet, star-shaped blossoms hanging from the bush behind you - crown yourself as you crowned old Cla-cla - but the crazed look will remain just the same.
An avalanche of dark chocolate hair tumbled out of her swim cap in a tousled mess, framing her freckled elfin features.
Aunt Sophie had nice hair. Long, shining, and perfect. She used to have waist length Rapunzel locks, but after the baby was born, she chopped it to a sensible shoulder length. My sister Mimi had hair like that, dark and glossy, but she dyed it a brilliant red and and shaved it during her rebellious phase
I could just make out his once brown, sable hair turned rich auburn by the winter Merseyside sun.The darkness prevented any further detail but I could clearly picture him in my head - his rich bronze hair retaining in it's place with the use of wax, ocean-blue eyes deep enough to swim in and a close trimmed beard shook me through the fading light, he used his innocent authority to rebuild my confidence and taught my feet once again how to walk as he linked his arm through my own and escorted me to the house.
The curtains in front of the window suddenly shifted as a young woman peered out, deep red hair fanning over her shoulders like a settling dust cloud.
A suspicion of silver in his crown of dark hair only added dignity to his bearing;
Aaron looked at the odd, round, dark muzzle of the girl. She had had her hair bobbed, and it hung in odd dark folds, very black, over her ears.
On this floor, then, Doto stood erect, holding the reins; her yellow hair had become unbound, and was floating like a flag behind her, and her beautiful face, far from displaying any alarm, was flushed with pleasure and pride.
His hair could best be described as sparse, perhaps thinning would be more polite. But the mottled scalp was clearly visible through the wispy white strands that had been so carefully combed over the top.
She would describe her hair as unruly and unmanageable, but all anyone else saw were the lustrous curls that bounced as she walked.
She seemed to be dressed in a single garment which fell to her knees, and appeared to fit tightly about her body, but as she came nearer, Tommy, watching her, petrified by this latest apparition, discovered that it was woven of her own hair, which must have been of immense length, for it fell naturally to her shoulders, and thence was woven into this close-fitting material, a fringe an inch or two in length extending beneath the selvage.
Like a great shaggy lion's mane, hair that stuck up in the air in sharp spikes, cropped hair, cut off hair, swathes of loose glossy hair, sable hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, slicked back, combed straight back, unruly hair, bushy hair.
Marve looked down at the dark locks that had been attached to his head moments before. He ran his hand through the stubble that stretched over his scalp, thicker than a freshly harvested field. It was coarse to the touch, all trace of softness gone. He smiled. This was the new him. He could be soft on the inside all he wanted, but his outside had to be tough and composed. It was about time nice guys finished first, even if they had to look tough on the outside.
Travis ran his hands through his hair and it stuck in clumps, the paths of his fingers still visible right down to the scalp. Perhaps it was time for a wash after all, there was only so much the cologne could mask anyway. He broke the habit of a lifetime and kept looking in the mirror longer than was strictly necessary. He was a fixer-upper at best, but who wanted the job? There was hardly a queue forming.
In the summer sun Rachel's hair had bleached to a lighter shade of gold; not evenly, but in streaks, leaving warm caramel's in-between. Against her honeyed skin it was more beautiful than any salon-perfect “do.” But today wasn't a day to be self conscious, she tied it up behind her head and in its messiness it was even more attractive to Adam. He watched her head out of the door, just a silhouette of her scrubs against the morning light,
Gabriel was so proud of her hair but it wasn't the best thing about her. It fell in red ringlets about her pale skin, so striking that it was the only thing anyone every commented on. But Ryan barely noticed it. He could drink in her words like a strong wine and enjoy feeling tipsy. He watched her like she had the stars in her hands and soft petals at her feet. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let go. But first things first, he had to ask her out on a date and his nerves were so bad he shook at just the thought.
Dull and coarse as straw, dark blonde, hint of ginger, mottled scalp, receding, tightly curled, white, sparse, thick, strong, straight, thatch of black hair, red hair, pale hair with a hint of auburn framing face.
Tortoiseshell slide, swarovski crystal hair slide, crocodile clip. French plait, up-do.
Unusual colour, between rich russet and gold, thick wavy, pulled back into a ponytail. Greying erratically. Strands of pale gold streaked with white. Sparse hair, carefully parted, combed to one side. Grey silver-streaked, expensively styled. Hair fine as a baby’s, thinning hair, glimpses of pink scalp. Caveman-like bushy eyebrows.
shiny, slicked back, dyed, spiky, anime-like, streaked, dirty, greasy, shaved, crew cut, punk, rat's tail, mullet
flecks of dandruff, fringe, bangs, side burns, beard, goatee, expensive cutting, bad hair cut, roots showing, bleach blonde, greying, first hints of grey, undisciplined forelock, balding, braid, pony tail, bunches.
Her hair was like swirls of buttermilk.
His hair was like a fresh winter morning when sparkling snow has just fallen on the ground. No footsteps have tarnished the pristine beauty of the season. It’s perfect, and all I want to do is run through it, enjoying myself.