Hair Symbolism Quotes

The Beatles set the rules. And the rules were: now just because we have long hair doesn't mean that we're rebellious.

I made a braid because Chinese old people, they say that the God will take you by the hair to join you with - but God didn't take me, so I cut the braid.

The wildlings seemed to think Ygritte a great beauty because of her hair; red hair was rare among the free folk, and those who had it were said to be kissed by fire, which was supposed to be lucky.

Long hair is considered bohemian, which may be why I grew it, but I keep it long because I love the way it feels, part cloak, part fan, part mane, part security blanket.

Here's the thing, men have to also mature in how they see women, too. Because they need to understand that it's not just about how we look, it's about who we are. And I am going to tell you like this, 'If you can't love me with short hair, and you telling me I got to have long hair to be loved, guess what, I ain't the one for you.'

My hair is God's aura. Everything went up when I got home from the penitentiary. One night I went to lie down next to my wife, and my hair started popping and uncurling all on its own - ping, ping, ping, ping! I knew that it was God telling me to stay on the righteous path so he could one day pull me up to be there with him.

Women of African descent, since the beginning of time, have altered their hair, decorated it and used it to designate status.

Throughout history, every great warrior-the Greeks, the Samurais, the American Indians, the Mongolians, you name it-had long hair and would dress it before battle.

I decided to grow my hair out during college, and it's kind of stuck ever since. Even when I thought about cutting it or trimming it, common sense kicks in, and I don't think the fans would recognize me; people wouldn't know who I am. It would almost be like Santa Claus losing his powers.

I did something that's a no-no in the music industry. I cut my hair. For years, my hair was my stamp. 'Oh, that's the long-haired guy from the Black Eyed Peas.' But when I did it, it was like a breath of fresh air.

When I shaved my hair, my friends asked me to keep it, maybe make my own wig out of it, but I wanted the old hair to go; it was not mine. I wanted to let go.

I cut off my dreadlocks, but I couldn't face throwing them away. They were so hard to grow, man. There's a lot of work goes into those things. Some people keep a diary or a photo album to remind them of their past lives - well, I've got hair. Who knows? One day, maybe my grandchildren might want to see it.

What people don't get is that hair is such a big part of our identity.

When women let their hair down, it means either sexiness or craziness or death, the three by Victorian times having become virtually synonymous.

All my brothers and my dad at one point had dreadlocks.

The thing about spending a lifetime under a long, bushy cloud of curls is that people naturally began associating me with my hair.

My hair is always going to be purple; that's kind of my thing. It doesn't matter what length I make it, as long as it's purple.

What my mom failed to understand was that I didn't even want long hair -- I needed long hair. And my desire for protracted, flowing locks had virtually nothing to do with fashion, nor was it a form of protest against the constructions of mainstream society. My motivation was far more philosophical. I wanted to rock.

I'm superstitious about my hair. I don't like to cut it before big fights.

I always wanted to be a Klingon princess. They were so pretty, and their hair was fire. My hair is Klingon, I feel like.

Whether or not cutting my hair was the right decision, it empowered me. But now I have no hair to wash men out of when I go through a breakup, so I'm going to have to get a new tattoo or something when that happens.

But her name was Esmé. She was a girl with long, long, red, red hair. Her mother braided it. The flower shop boy stood behind her and held it in his hand. Her mother cut it off and hung it from a chandelier. She was Queen. Mazishta. Her hair was black and her handmaidens dressed it with pearls and silver pins. Her flesh was golden like the desert. Her flesh was pale like cream. Her eyes were blue. Brown.