Old age adds to the respect due to virtue, but it takes nothing from the contempt inspired by vice; it whitens only the hair.
I never dye my own hair, I don't know if I could get every spot, and I have a good bit of grey.
I mean, I've always been a libertarian. Leave everybody alone. Let everybody else do what they want. Just stay out of everybody else's hair.
So many of the kids on television have really nice clothes, perfect skin and hair.
For years I had my hair parted down the middle in a ponytail, tucked down around the sides... Well, I went and cut the bangs, and I've been wearing them ever since. They say it's my trademark.
My favourite beauty look is definitely '70s beauty - sun kissed skin, wavy hair and defined eyes.
Old age is far more than white hair, wrinkles, the feeling that it is too late and the game finished, that the stage belongs to the rising generations. The true evil is not the weakening of the body, but the indifference of the soul.
I've got a couple of grays in my beard and maybe a little salt and pepper in my hair. If I let my hair down and go through it, you'd see a good bit of grays. Maybe from the stress of the road and the crazy business I'm in.
I never had long hair before I got busted. I never had a beard before I got busted.
They called me the sexiest economist in America, and that was years ago, when I had hair and body mass and my teeth were shiny.
Hair on a guy is something that attracts me first; if you've got a good head of hair, and you're able to style yourself in a way that's presentable, I think that's really important.
With a lot of hair and make-up then I'm possibly, remotely attractive. But it's rare, I don't think I'm ugly but I'm nothing particularly special. I'm not a yoga and health girl. I don't exercise that much and I eat crap and smoke and bite my nails.
Because my hair is colored, I always make sure to find shampoos and conditioners that don't contain sulfates.
I dyed my hair blonde in that movie, so my head doesn't match my grill.
In mainstream romantic comedies, I'm usually tearing my hair out. It's just a devastatingly difficult genre for me.
I think anytime with your mom, whether she's famous or not, you're watching what she's doing when you're growing up. She also taught me the basics: Make sure you use a good moisturizing shampoo and conditioner, and then use a detangler to comb through your hair. And don't overdo the heat styling.
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.
My hair was famous before I was.
My hair is a safety net for me, so I love to have it down and full and relaxed.
When I was 12, every little girl in Russia was trying to wear her hair like mine and playing tennis.
I had an investor who said to me he'd keep his money with me as long as I didn't have a girlfriend and I didn't start combing my hair.
I was used to getting changed in pub toilets before going on set. Then suddenly I had studios in L.A. advising me on my hair.
I'm not a natural redhead, but I enjoy having red hair.
I go to the hamam and put henna on my skin and hair. Even when I go to New York, I let the shower run hot to create a steam hamam at my hotel. But when I finish with the bath, I put on expensive French creams.
One thing I noticed when I moved to America, people don't really know about me, so a lot of them question why I look like a boy or dress like a boy, or why I didn't have longer hair, or what's with the tattoos.
I've never had a haircut where I've gone to a hair cutting place and they gave me an incorrect haircut. So I've been pretty lucky.
I always enjoyed school, and I enjoyed being focused on learning - and I know that sounds nerdy, but there were so many wonderful elements of going to school with just girls. I wouldn't brush my hair.
But quite honestly, personally, I was much more concerned - I mean, there's not much I can do about my appearance obviously other than spending four hours in hair and makeup.
When I did stand-up at U.C.B., and I had a blog for a couple of years that started my writing career, 'Totally Confident and Completely Insecure,' it was the same kind of self-deprecating humor and stories about being out in L.A. and being treated like a loser at a hair salon because you are not famous.
Red hair stigmatizes you.
When I first started in the industry back home in Australia at 18, there was a lot of push and shove as to how I should dress, if I was allowed to cut my hair short, if I had too many tattoos. If I didn't get a campaign, or if I didn't get a role, they would always come back to, 'Well, she dresses like a boy.'
I have blonde hair and blue eyes, and whenever I tell people I'm Greek, they don't believe me.
Rick Rubin's undulating face hair is just as famous as his body of work. In homage to the yogis he read about as a boy on Long Island, Rubin hasn't shaved since he was 23. It's long been his registered trademark.
I know that I've got big ears and a big forehead and that my hair sticks up. But I'm happy with myself. I'm not necessarily trying to win a beauty pageant here.
It's cheesy, but having a pimple or a bad hair day isn't going to matter in five years. I don't always remember that, but I try.
I hate the only one of my book jackets when I was made up professionally, my hair made into a smooth bell.
