A Quote by Pablo Neruda

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. — © Pablo Neruda
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
Everything is a self-portrait. A diary. Your whole drug history’s in a strand of your hair. Your fingernails. The forensic details. The lining of your stomach is a document. The calluses on your hand tell all your secrets. Your teeth give you away. Your accent. The wrinkles around your mouth and eyes. Everything you do shows your hand.
Your writing voice is the deepest possible reflection of who you are. The job of your voice is not to seduce or flatter or make well-shaped sentences. In your voice, your readers should be able to hear the contents of your mind, your heart, your soul.
If you've ever sang in falsetto, you know that your throat is between your voice and your mouth. In a standard voice, you sing from your belly. And when you sing in a falsetto, you're blocking that. It gives it a filter. It gives it a character. It's less revealing.
After awhile you realize that putting your actions where your mouth is makes you less likely to have to put your money where your mouth is.
To remove product buildup from your hair, mix a tablespoon of vinegar in your hand with your favorite shampoo and rub through your hair. Concentrate on applying from the ends up and leave in for three to five minutes for beautifully clean hair with amazing shine!
I think that, as a black girl, you grow up internalizing all these messages that say you shouldn't accept your hair or your skin tone or your natural features or that you shouldn't have a voice or that you aren't smart.
When you do laugh, open your mouth wide enough for the noise to get out without squealing, throw your head back as though you were going to be shaved, hold on to your false hair with both hands and then laugh till your soul gets thoroughly rested.
I do wear my hair up. To be honest with you when you are working with children you spend most of your time with your hair up, unless you want custard in your hair or some kind of baby sick hanging off the back of your shoulder.
That god forbid, that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave, Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure.
Close your mouth, block off your senses, blunt your sharpness, untie your knots, soften your glare, settle your dust. This is the primal identity.
Finding your voice is something you have to keep working at. Your voice as a comic evolves the same way that you evolve. You have to find out what works for you. How can you express your opinion, your take on the situations in a way that feels natural to you? That's where you find your voice.
So you say, with your shiny hair and pouty lips - and those breasts - just wait till you start dropping whelps, they'll be at your ankles one day, big as they are - not the whelps, the breasts. The whelps will be in your hair - no, not the shiny hair on your head, well, yes, that hair, but only as a manner of speech.
Your voice is not your instrument. Your voice is the character that you build, your innermost feelings, the things that you want to say, and your instrument is the vehicle that you use to carry the message.
Relaxing your hair is like being in prison. You're caged in. Your hair rules you. You didn't go running with Curt today because you don't want to sweat out this straightness. You're always battling to make your hair do what it wasn't meant to do.
By your words, you form your destiny - what you say within yourself determines the end promise of your life! Your future lives in your mouth!
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