A Quote by John Flanagan

You will be getting a haircut, won't you?" Halt ran his hand through his hair. It was getting a little long, he thought. I'll give it a trim," he said, his hand dropping unconciously to the hilt of his saxe knife. This time, Pauline did look up. You'll get a haircut," she said. Her gaze was steady and unwavering. I'll get a haircut," he agreed meekly.
I've said for quite a long time I'd like him to have a different haircut. I quite like my hair being short. You know, we've been away two years, let's f*** around with his outfit, let's f*** around with his haircut, let's do something different.
The true test of a man's style is the haircut. There are some men who look good no matter how their hair is styled, whether it's trendy or not. A man can change his haircut many times, but to pull off any haircut, you have to be very chic. Like Brad Pitt.
One of the worst. I can't begin to explain... I literally ask them all the time, 'Why doesn't Will, maybe he shaves his head?' But really, did everyone have that haircut in the '80s? Who would choose to have that haircut?
As he gave a sleepy, growling groan, that hand disappeared under the sheet. Arizona's lips parted, and her heartbeat tripped up. She cleared her throat. "Spencer?" Freezing, without moving any other body part, he opened his eyes and met her gaze. She frowned at him. He didn't look super-startled, and he said nothing. He just started at her. With his hand still under there. "Yeah..." Semi-satisfied with his frozen reaction, she nodded at his lap. "You weren't going for a little tug, were you? Because as your spectator, I'd just as soon not see it." -Arizona and Spencer
The urge at that moment to reach across and touch Willow--to link his fingers through hers as she rested her hand on her thigh, or stroke her bright hair back from her temple--was almost overpowering. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Yep, definitely time for a coffee break," he said, closing his eyes. "You see right through me.
Oh, I am getting married," Raisa said sleepily. "You promised me that if I agreed to marry you, that you would make it happen." She extended her hand, the one with the ring Han had given her, and waved it under his nose. "So. It's time to pay up.
He took something out of his jacket and handed it to her. It was a long thin dagger in a leather sheath. The hilt of the dagger was set with a single red stone carved in the shape of a rose. She shook her head. "I wouldn't even know how to use that--" He pressed it into her hand, curling her fingers around it. "You'd learn." He dropped his voice. "It's in your blood." She drew her hand back slowly. "All right." "I could give you a thigh sheath to put that in," Isabelle offered. "I've got tons." "CERTAINLY NOT," said Simon.
raking a hand through his hair, he forced his attention to the text she'd left on the coffee table, refusing to dwell on the disconcerting fact that a part of him had taken one look at the lass in such proximity to his bed and said simply: Mine
I remember working with Agyness Deyn. At the time, she was the only one who had short hair as a model. I remember being so envious of her because we would all be getting our hair pulled for two hours backstage, and she was getting a new haircut almost every other show.
I still miss the days when a haircut was just a haircut. It was only your mates you had to face. Now there's a whole industry centred around people analysing your 'look'. I just cannot understand how anyone could get so worked up by... hair.
Suddenly reminded, she clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh- Simon!" "No, I'm Jace," he said patiently. "Simon is the weaselly little one with the bad haircut and dismal fashion sense.
I grew up in the D.C. area, and I used to wear a Redskins jersey just walking around. I just had kind of a bowl haircut for a long time and no sense of style or personal hygiene. But the main thing was the haircut. You know, when you see a haircut of yourself from around 12 or 13, it's rough. I also had really bad acne.
God, I love you," he said, and laid his head on her belly, his arms locked around her hips. Madelyn slid her fingers into his hair. "It took you long enough," she said gently. "What I lack in quickness, I make up in staying power." "Meaning?" "That I'll still be telling you that fifty years from now." He paused and turned his head to kiss her stomach.
All my friends in art school used to run around with this sort of what you call Beatles haircut. And my boyfriend then, Klaus Voormann, had this hairstyle, and Stuart liked it very, very much. He was the first one who really got the nerve to get the Brylcreem out of his hair and asking me to cut his hair for him.
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
She reached out and touched the king’s face, cupping his cheek in her hand. “Just a nightmare,” he said, his voice still rough. The queen’s voice was cool. “How embarrassing,” she said, looking at his maimed arm. The king looked up then, and followed her gaze. If it was embarrassing to wake like a child screaming from a nightmare, how much more embarrassing to be the reason your husband woke screaming. A quick smile visited the king’s face. “Ouch,” he said, referring to more than the pain in his side. “Ouch,” he said again as the queen gathered him into her arms.
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