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Hair: Quotations from Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations

Guilt's a terrible thing.— BEN JONSON — Bartholomew Fair. Act IV. Sc. 1.

These false pretexts and varnished colours failing, Rare in thy guilt how foul must thou appear.— MILTON — Samson Agonistes. L. 901.

How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!— POPE — Eloisa to Abelard. L. 230.

Haste, holy Friar, Haste, ere the sinner shall expire! Of all his guilt let him be shriven, And smooth his path from earth to heaven!— SCOTT — Lay of the Last Minstrel. Canto 5. St. 22.

And then it started like a guilty thing Upon a fearful summons.— Shakespeare — Hamlet. Act I. Sc. 1. L. 148.

O, she is fallen Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea Hath drops too few to wash her clean again.— Shakespeare — Much Ado About Nothing. Act IV. Sc. 1. L. 141,

Let guilty men remember, their black deeds Do lean on crutches made of slender reeds.— JOHN WEBSTER — The White Devil; or, Vittoria Corombona. Act V. Sc. 6.

A land of levity is a land of guilt.— YOUNG — Night Thoughts. Night VII.

Preface. How use doth breed a habit in a man! This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, I better brook than flourishing peopled towns,— Shakespeare — Two Gentlemen of Verona. Act V. Sc. 4. L. 1,

Dear, dead women, with such hair, toowhat's become of all the gold Used to hang and brush their bosoms?— ROBERT BROWNING — Men and Women. A Toccata of Galuppi's. St. 15.

Those curious locks so aptly twin'd, Whose every hair a soul doth bind.— CAREW — TO A. L. Persuasions to Love. L. 37.

An harmless flaming meteor shone for hair, And fell adown his shoulders with loose care.— ABRAHAM COWLEY — Davideis. Bk. II. L. 803.

His head, Not yet by time completely silver'd o'er, Bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youth, But strong for service still, and unimpair'd.— COWPER — The Task. Bk. II. The Timepiece. L. 702.

Tresses, that wear Jewels, but to declare How much themselves more precious are.— RICHARD CRASHAW — Wishes to his

(supposed) Mistress. When you see fair hair Be pitiful. C.— GEORGE ELIOT — The Spanish Gypsy. Bk. IV.

Beware of her fair hair, for she excels All women in the magic of her locks; And when she winds them round a young man's neck, She will not ever set him free again.— GOETHE — Scenes from Faust. Sc. The Hartz Mountain. L. 335.

Shelley's trans. Loose his beard, and hoary hair Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air.— GRAY — The Bard. I. 2. L. 5.

It was brown with a golden gloss, Janette, It was finer than silk of the floss, my pet; 'Twas a beautiful mist falling down to your wrist, 'Twas a thing to be braided, and jewelled, and kissed- Twas the loveliest hair in the world, my pet. CHAS. G. HALPINE (MILES O'REILLY)— Janette's Hair

And yonder sits a maiden, The fairest of the fair, With gold in her garment glittering, And she combs her golden hair.— HEINE — The Lorelei. St. 3.

I pray thee let me and my fellow have A hair of the dog that bit us last night.— JOHN HEYWOOD — Proverbs. Pt. I. Ch. XI. L. 424. L. 424.

The little wind that hardly shook The silver of the sleeping brook Blew the gold hair about her eyes, - A mystery of mysteries. So he must often pause, and stoop, And all the wanton ringlets loop Behind her dainty ear-emprise Of slow event and many sighs.— W. D. HOWELLS — Through the Meadow.

Her cap of velvet could not hold The tresses of her hair of gold, That flowed and floated like the stream. And fell in masses down her neck.— LONGFELLOW — Christus. The Golden Legend. Pt. VI. L. 375.

Though time has touched it in his flight, And changed the auburn hair to white.— LONGFELLOW — Christus.

The Golden Legend. Pt. IV. L. 388. Fair tresses man's imperial race insnare, And beauty draws us with a single hair.— POPE — Rape of the Lock. Canto II. L. 27.

Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn thy ravish'd hair Which adds new glory to the shining sphere; Not all the tresses that fair head can boast Shall draw such envy as the lock you lost, For after all the murders of your eye, When, after millions slain, yourself shall die; When those fair suns shall set, as set they must, And all those tresses shall be laid in dust, This Lock the Muse shall consecrate to fame, And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name.— POPE — Rape of the Lock. Canto V.

Last lines. Golden hair, like sunlight streaming On the marble of her shoulder.— J. G. SAXE — The Lover's Vision. St. 3.

Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer.— Shakespeare — Troilus and Cressida. Act I. Sc. 2. L. 154.

And her sunny locks Hang on her temples like a golden fleece.— Shakespeare — Merchant of Venice. Act I. Sc. 1. L. 169.

Bind up those tresses. O, what love I note In the fair multitude of those her hairs! Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen, Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends Do glue themselves in sociable grief, Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, Sticking together in calamity.— Shakespeare — King John. Act III. Sc. 4. L. 61.

Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands upright.— Shakespeare — Henry VI. Pt. II. Act III. Sc. 3.

I. 15. Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow: If that be all the difference in his love, I'll get me such a colour'd periwig.— Shakespeare — S. Two Gentlemen of Verona. Act IV. Sc. 4. L. 194.

His hair is of a good colour. An excellent colour; your chestnut was ever the only colour.— Shakespeare — As You Like It. Act III. Sc. 4. L. 11.

How ill white hairs become a fool and jester !— Shakespeare — Henry IV. Pt. II. Act V. Sc. 5. L. 52.

Thy fair hair my heart enchained.— SIR PHILIP SIDNEY — Neapolitan

Villanell. Her long loose yellow locks lyke golden wyre, Sprinckled with perle, and perling flowres atweene, Doe lyke a golden mantle her attyre.— SPENSER — Epithalamion. St. 9.

Ah, thy beautiful hair! so was it once braided for me, for me; Now for death is it crowned, only for death, lover and lord of thee. C.— SWINBURNE — Choriambics. St. 5.

The Father of Heaven. Spin, daughter Mary, spin, Twirl your wheel with silver din; Spin, daughter Mary, spin, Spin a tress for Viola.— FRANCIS THOMPSON — The Making of Viola. St. 1.

Come let me pluck that silver hair Which 'mid thy clustering curls I see; The withering type of time or care Has nothing, sure, to do with thee.— ALARIC ALEX WATTS — The Grey Hair.

Her hair is bound with myrtle leaves, (Green leaves upon her golden hair!) Green grasses through the yellow sheaves Of Autumn corn are not more fair.— OSCAR WILDE — La Bella Donna della

Cui flavam religas comam Simplex munditiis? For whom do you bind your hair, plain in your neatness?— HORACE — Carmina. I. 5. 4.

Milton's trans.