Fair tresses man’s imperial race ensnare, And beauty draws us with a single hair.
Alexander Pope (1688-1744) English poet.
The hair in the head is worth two in the brush.
Oliver Herford (1863-1935) American poet, illustrator.
The only thing that can stop hair falling is the floor.
Will Rogers (1879-1935) American humorist.
Hair, in fact, is probably the bane of most women’s lives.
Joan Collins (b.1933) British film and television actress.
The lovely hair that Galla wears Is hers who could have thought it? She swears this hers; and true she swears, For I know where she bought it!
Martial (c.40-c. 104) Roman Poet.
Esau my brother is a hairy man, and I am a smooth man.
Bible, Genesis.
The hair is the richest ornament of women. Of old, virgins used to wear it loose, except when they were is mourning.
Luther.
Her head was bare, but for her native ornament of hair, which in a simple knot was tied; sweet negligence unheeded bait of love.
Dryden.
Fair tresses man’s imperial race ensnare, and beauty draws us with a single hair.
Pope.
By common consent gray hairs are a crown of glory; the only object of respect that can never excite envy.
Bancroft.
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!.
Shakespeare.
Soft hair, on which light drops a diadem.
Massey.
Those curious locks, so aptly twined, whose every hair a soul doth bind.
Carew.
Beware of her fair locks, for when she winds them round a young man’s neck, she will not set him free again.
Goethe.
Her sunny locks hang on her temples like a golden fleece.
Shakespeare.
The hairs of age are messengers which bid us to repent and pray. Of death they are the harbingers that do prepare the way.
Vaux.
Hair, “tis the robe which curious nature weaves to hang upon the head, and to adorn our bodies. When we were born, God doth bestow that garment. When we die, then like a soft and silken canopy it still is over us. In spite of death, our hair grows in the grave, and that alone looks fresh, when all our other beauty is gone.
Decker.
My hair is gray, but not with years,
Nor grew it white
In a single night,
As men’s have grown with sudden fears.
BYRON, The prisoner of chilian.
Babies haven’t any hair;
Old men’s heads are Just as bare;-
Between the cradle and the grave
Lies a haircut and a shave
Not Ten Yoke Of Oxen
Have the power to dram us
Like a women’s hair.
Alexander Pope (1688-1744) English poet.
The hair in the head is worth two in the brush.
Oliver Herford (1863-1935) American poet, illustrator.
The only thing that can stop hair falling is the floor.
Will Rogers (1879-1935) American humorist.
Hair, in fact, is probably the bane of most women’s lives.
Joan Collins (b.1933) British film and television actress.
The lovely hair that Galla wears Is hers who could have thought it? She swears this hers; and true she swears, For I know where she bought it!
Martial (c.40-c. 104) Roman Poet.
Esau my brother is a hairy man, and I am a smooth man.
Bible, Genesis.
The hair is the richest ornament of women. Of old, virgins used to wear it loose, except when they were is mourning.
Luther.
Her head was bare, but for her native ornament of hair, which in a simple knot was tied; sweet negligence unheeded bait of love.
Dryden.
Fair tresses man’s imperial race ensnare, and beauty draws us with a single hair.
Pope.
By common consent gray hairs are a crown of glory; the only object of respect that can never excite envy.
Bancroft.
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!.
Shakespeare.
Soft hair, on which light drops a diadem.
Massey.
Those curious locks, so aptly twined, whose every hair a soul doth bind.
Carew.
Beware of her fair locks, for when she winds them round a young man’s neck, she will not set him free again.
Goethe.
Her sunny locks hang on her temples like a golden fleece.
Shakespeare.
The hairs of age are messengers which bid us to repent and pray. Of death they are the harbingers that do prepare the way.
Vaux.
Hair, “tis the robe which curious nature weaves to hang upon the head, and to adorn our bodies. When we were born, God doth bestow that garment. When we die, then like a soft and silken canopy it still is over us. In spite of death, our hair grows in the grave, and that alone looks fresh, when all our other beauty is gone.
Decker.
My hair is gray, but not with years,
Nor grew it white
In a single night,
As men’s have grown with sudden fears.
BYRON, The prisoner of chilian.
Babies haven’t any hair;
Old men’s heads are Just as bare;-
Between the cradle and the grave
Lies a haircut and a shave
Not Ten Yoke Of Oxen
Have the power to dram us
Like a women’s hair.