A Quote by Douglas Adams

The little waiter's eyebrows wandered about his forehead in confusion. — © Douglas Adams
The little waiter's eyebrows wandered about his forehead in confusion.
His hands skim my bare arms. “Just bounce a little when you walk,” he says, kissing my forehead, “and pretend you’re afraid of their guns” —another kiss between my eyebrows— “and act like the shrinking violet you could never be ”—a kiss on my cheek— “and you’ll be fine.
His eyebrows drew together. He was perilously close to unibrow; I guess nobody had held him down and administered a good plucking to the caterpillar climbing across his forehead.
Mr Beach was too well bred to be inquisitive, but his eyebrows here not. 'Ah!' he said. '?', cried the eyebrows. '? ? ?' Ashe ignored the eyebrows. ... Mr Beach's eyebrows were still mutely urging him to reveal all, but Ashe directed his gaze at that portion of the room which Mr Beach did not fill. He was hanged if he was going to let himself be hypnotized by a pair of eyebrows into incriminating himself.
He gives me a conflicted look and touches his lips to my forehead, right between my eyebrows. I close my eyes. I don't understand this, whatever it is. But I don't want to ruin it, so I say nothing. He doesn't move; he just stays there with his mouth pressed to my skin, and I stay there with my hands on his waist, for a long time.
My daddy's face is a study. Winter moves into it and presides there. His eyes become a cliff of snow threatening to avalanche, his eyebrows bend like black limbs of leafless trees. His skin takes on the pale cheerless yellow of winter sun; for a jaw he has the edges of a snowbound field dotted with stubble; his high forehead is the frozen sweep of the Erie.
Of all time, my craziest fan experience was signing a little baby's forehead, like a newborn baby. The parents came up to me, they wanted me to sign his forehead.
But when my grandmother saw me plucking [my eyebrows] she said: 'Don't. You will regret it. One day you will wake up with no eyebrows and think how stupid you were. Your eyebrows are the most beautiful thing about you.'
No female iniquity was more severely condemned than the habit of plucking eyebrows and the hairline to heighten the forehead.
[Donald trump] was steamed about [Hillary] Clinton's suggestion that he might not be as rich as he says. So he ditched the email stuff and instead spend a couple of minutes defending the greatness of his income, his company, his debts, his bankers, his buildings - and then sort of forgot what he was talking about and wandered off into a riff about how terrible our infrastructure is.
Well, isn't Bohemia a place where everyone is as good as everyone else - and must not a waiter be a little less than a waiter to be a good Bohemian?
He closed his eyes, dropping his forehead against hers. “You’ll be the death of me, Elena.” She smiled. “You need a little excitement in that boring old life of yours.
I also talk a lot in Deeper Reading about the importance that confusion plays. When my students come to me, they think confusion is bad. They are wrong. Confusion is the place where learning occurs.
I have become a bit obsessed with eyebrows, I used to never have any and then I realised big eyebrows are good and now I'm an eyebrow fiend. Everyone comes to me to get their eyebrows done.
I have become a bit obsessed with eyebrows. I used to never have any, and then I realised big eyebrows are good, and now I'm an eyebrow fiend. Everyone comes to me to get their eyebrows done.
The camera hound of the future wears on his forehead a lump a little larger than a walnut.
Bear with me on this, Evanlyn. I know you're anxious about Horace." WIll was a little puzzled by Halt's words. "No more anxious than the rest of us, surely," he said. Halt turned away and raised his eyebrows as his gaze met Selethen's. Sometimes, he thought, his former apprentice could be remarkably slow on the uptake. He saw the Arridi's slow nod of understanding. ~Halt & Will about Evanlyn and Horace
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