Hair

"Let the black locks spring thick and strong and grow like reeds upon thy head."

"Change it [white hair] with something but avoid black."

"Let him kindle the sacrificial fire while his hair is still black."

"Indeed it was a tradition of Ibn Abbas (Allah accept of him!) that the Apostle said, 'Whoso cutteth his hair on a Friday, the Lord shall avert from him threescore and ten calamities'"

"Why dost thou pluck each hair from thy aged cunt Ligia? Why rouse the embers of thy deadened lust? Such delicacy befits girls; for now thou canst not appear even an old woman. This, believe me, Ligia, Hector's mother, does not with grace, but Hector's wife. Thou art wrong if thou thinkest it a cunt, at which no prick can stand. Wherefore if thou hast a particle of shame, Ligia, beard not the dead lion."

"In that you pluck each hair from your breast, from your legs, from your arms; in that your prick is shaven, and covered with short hairs; we all know of course, Labienus, that you do this for your mistress. But to whom do you offer your arse, which you shave, Labienus?"

"Her pubic hair grew like a patch of grass that had been trampled by a passing army."

"Depending upon shock tactics is easy, whereas writing a good play is difficult. Pubic hair is no substitute for wit."

"Why pluck the bristles from your worn out cleft, Hoary and grizzled by time's onward march? For wanton tricks you've no excuses left, Age should be all propriety and starch. Let blooming girls their tender pussies trim, Those pouting buds expect some pleasure after; My wife might charm me if she dressed her quim, But my grandmother would provoke my laughter. That is no cunt at which no prick can stand, The whitened embers of young lust's spent force; Then cast the tweezers from your palsied hand. Nor beard the once fierce lion's rotting corse."

"i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes over parting flesh ...."

"A happy vicar I might have been Two hundred years ago, To preach upon eternal doom And watch my walnuts growBut born, alas, in an evil time, I missed that pleasant haven, For the hair has grown on my upper lip And the clergy are all clean-shaven."

"BEARD, n. The hair that is commonly cut off by those who justly execrate the absurd Chinese custom of shaving the head."

"His gaze went again to her unruly locks, which at first glance he had thought to be red. Now he saw that they were neither red nor yellow but a glorious compound of both colors. He gazed spell-bound. Her hair was like elfin-gold; the sun struck it so dazzlingly that he could scarcely bear to look upon it."

"Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air."

"These curious locks, so aptly twined, Whose every hair a soul doth bind, Will change their auburn hue and grow White and cold as winter’s snow."

"Lo! where the Giant on the mountain stands, His blood-red tresses deepening in the Sun, With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon;"

"Norwegian pirates, buccaneering Danes, Whose red-haired offspring ev’rywhere remains,"

"His heer, his berd was lyk saffroun, That to his girdel raughte adoun;"

"Their tresses, like the crocus’ flamy hue, In waving radiance round their shoulders flew."

"And her sunny locks Hang on her temples like a golden fleece."

"Hoary whiskers and a forky beard."

"Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn thy ravish'd hair Which adds new glory to the shining sphere; Not all the tresses that fair head can boast Shall draw such envy as the lock you lost, For after all the murders of your eye, When, after millions slain, yourself shall die; When those fair suns shall set, as set they must, And all those tresses shall be laid in dust, This Lock the Muse shall consecrate to fame, And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name."

"Ere on thy chin the springing beard began To spread a doubtful down, and promise man."

"The hoary beard is a crown of glory if it be found in the way of righteousness."

"Tarry at Jericho until your beards be grown."

"Golden hair, like sunlight streaming On the marble of her shoulder."

"His hair is of a good colour. An excellent colour; your chestnut was ever the only colour."

"Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand an-end, Like quills upon the fretful porpentine."

"And his chin new reap'd, Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home."

"How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!"

"Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands upright."

"Bind up those tresses. O, what love I note In the fair multitude of those her hairs! Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen, Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends Do glue themselves in sociable grief, Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, Sticking together in calamity."

"What a beard hast thou got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my fill-horse has on his tail."

"Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer."

"Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow: If that be all the difference in his love, I'll get me such a colour'd periwig."

"Thy fair hair my heart enchained."

"Her long loose yellow locks lyke golden wyre, Sprinckled with perle, and perling flowres atweene, Doe lyke a golden mantle her attyre."

"Ah, thy beautiful hair! so was it once braided for me, for me; Now for death is it crowned, only for death, lover and lord of thee."

"But, rising up, Robed in the long night of her deep hair, so To the open window moved."

"The Father of Heaven. Spin, daughter Mary, spin, Twirl your wheel with silver din; Spin, daughter Mary, spin, Spin a tress for Viola."

"Come let me pluck that silver hair Which 'mid thy clustering curls I see; The withering type of time or care Has nothing, sure, to do with thee."

"Her hair is bound with myrtle leaves, (Green leaves upon her golden hair!) Green grasses through the yellow sheaves Of Autumn corn are not more fair."

"I pray thee let me and my fellow have A hair of the dog that bit us last night."

"But she is vanish'd to her shady home Under the deep, inscrutable; and there Weeps in a midnight made of her own hair."

"Cui flavam religas comam Simplex munditiis?"

"One hair of a woman can draw more than a hundred pair of oxen."

"The little wind that hardly shook The silver of the sleeping brook Blew the gold hair about her eyes,— A mystery of mysteries. So he must often pause, and stoop, And all the wanton ringlets loop Behind her dainty ear—emprise Of slow event and many sighs."

"My mother bids me bind my hair With bands of rosy hue, Tie up my sleeves with ribbands rare, And lace my bodice blue; For why, she cries, sit still and weep, While others dance and play? Alas, I scarce can go or creep, While Rubin is away."

"Though time has touched it in his flight, And changed the auburn hair to white."

"Her cap of velvet could not hold The tresses of her hair of gold, That flowed and floated like the stream. And fell in masses down her neck."