C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.
Hair
Gray hairs are death’s blossoms.
When you see fair hair, be pitiful.
The ungrown glories of his beamy hair.
Sweet girl graduates, in their golden hair.
Robed in the long night of her deep hair.
Thy fair hair my heart enchained.
Fair tresses man’s imperial race ensnare.
Her luxuriant hair;—it was like the sweep of a swift wing in visions!
The robe which curious Nature weaves to hang upon the head.
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!
Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands upright.
Make false hair, and thatch your poor thin roofs with burthens of the dead.
Loose his beard and hoary hair streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air.
For deadly fear can time outgo, and blanch at once the hair.
There seems a life in hair, though it be dead.
Whose every little ringlet thrilled, as if with soul and passion filled!
The hoary head is a crown of glory if it be found in the way of righteousness.
A large head of hair adds beauty to a good face, and terror to an ugly one.
His hair is of a good color,—an excellent color; your chestnut was ever the only color.
By common consent gray hairs are a crown of glory; the only object of respect that can never excite envy.
Long, glorious locks, which drop upon thy cheek like gold-hued cloud-flakes on the rosy morn.
Give me a look, give me a face that makes simplicity a grace—robes loosely flowing, hair as free!
Her hair was not more sunny than her heart, though like a natural golden coronet it circled her dear head with careless art.
The hair is the finest ornament women have. Of old, virgins used to wear it loose, except when they were in mourning.
The redundant locks, robustious to no purpose, clustering down—vast monument of strength.
A large bare forehead gives a woman a masculine and defying look. The word “effrontery” comes from it. The hair should be brought over such a forehead as vines are trailed over a wall.
Her golden locks she roundly did uptie in braided trammels, that no looser hairs did out of order stray about her dainty ears.
Her head was bare, but for her native ornament of hair, which in a simple knot was tied above—sweet negligence, unheeded bait of love!
Gray hair is beautiful in itself, and so softening to the complexion and so picturesque in its effect that many a woman who has been plain in her youth is, by its beneficent influence, transformed into a handsome woman.
God doth bestow that garment, when we die, that, like a soft and silken canopy, is still spread over us. In spite of death, our hair grows in the grave; and that alone looks, fresh when all our other beauty’s gone.
Look on beauty, and you shall see ’tis purchased by the weight; which therein works a miracle in Nature, making them lightest that wear most of it: so are those crispèd snaky golden locks which make such wanton gambols with the wind upon supposed fairness, often known to be the dowry of a second head, the skull that bred them in the sepulchre.
Hair is the most delicate and lasting of our materials, and survives us, like love. It is so light, so gentle, so escaping from the idea of death, that, with a lock of hair belonging to a child or friend, we may almost look up to heaven and compare notes with the angelic nature,—may almost say, “I have a piece of thee here not unworthy of thy being now.”