Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Combes. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Combes Quotes And Sayings by 91 Authors including Jason A. Myers,Solomon Northup,Henry Vaughan,Fiddles Mcmonkeypants,Homer for you to enjoy and share.
Six biscuits, crow, hydrant!
woollyheads and silvergrays, and am unable to understand
Some syllables are swords.
Painted mafritty fritters frittering fitty fitty scented candelabra abra cadaver. Candle blah blah.
What is this word that broke through the fence of your teeth, Atreides?
Feather by feather the goose is plucked.
She looks like she combs her hair with an egg beater.
Pitches that rhyme are more sublime.
The falcon and the dove sit there together, and the one of them doth prune the other's feather.
How impossibly clean-cut, with its twin sets of twelve, neat as walnut shells.
We wail, batten, sport, clip, clasp, sunder, dwindle, die:
I say and maintain, that of all torcheculs, arsewisps, bumfodders, tail-napkins, bunghole cleansers, and wipe-breeches, there is none in the world comparable to the neck of a goose ...
Cock-a-doodle-do! Any cock will do!Cock-- Larry Kramer
Dylan Quinn's knickers,
Bird of Wide Experience I
With thimble and thread And wax and hammer, and buckles and screws, And all such things as geniuses use; - Two bats for patterns, curious fellows! A charcoal-pot and a pair of bellows.
What: is the jay more precious than the lark because his feathers are more beautiful?
Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the Stooks arise Around; up above, what wind-walks! what lovely behavior Of silk-sack clouds! Has wilder, willful-waiver Meal-drift molded ever and melted across skies?
In eighteenth-century England, there was a practice of hiring a picturesque hermit who would inhabit the beautiful ruin on your estate. To me it rhymes with certain kinds of pop-music entertainers and eccentrics - both touted and tolerated.
And later we'll have action from the men's cockles pairs.
The cicadas pierce the air with their searing one-note calls; dust eddies across the roads; from the weedy patches at the verges, grasshoppers whir. The leaves of the maples hang from their branches like limp gloves; on the sidewalk my shadow crackles.
The method preferred by most balding men for making themselves look silly is called the comb over.
cosine wherry, a wooden rowboat hand
Gust of British wind tousles my hair. (Top of the morning! Oh, no, wait, that's Irish.) It's
uncomplicated things
Why, Tea Cake? Whut good do combin' mah hair do you? It's mah comfortable, not yourn." "It's mine too. Ah ain't been sleepin' so good for more'n uh week cause Ah been wishin' so bad tuh git mah hands in yo' hair. It's so pretty. It feels jus' lak underneath uh dove's wing next to mah face.
Sun-struck,
stuck in mid tropic strut, it sometimes stands
as if considering how to cool avian plastic,
dive into the mown lagoon of lawn;
how take flight on dayglow flap-
doodle wings, no matter
if it is ball-bald going nowhere fast.
Dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins - now the crows own the field ...
He says tools but somebody will mention the cutting edges of things and one will see billhook, scythe, fauchard, debris, wood chips and sketches all entangled like words in summertime, when crickets and corn, lives and vines, sunflowers and stormy hours touch and quench one another.
'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's tongue, you bull's pizzle, you stock-fish! O for breath to utter what is like thee! you tailor's-yard, you sheath, you bowcase; you vile standing-tuck!
The smylere with the knyf under the cloke.
The sand swallows burst out of their scupper holes in the bluffs and out over the transparent drown of the water, back again to the white, to the brown, to the black, from moving to stock-still sand waves and water-worked woods and roots that hugged and twisted in the sun.
flibbertigibbets - and
That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.
Keelhaul the poets in the vestry chairs.
It's only at first sight,when the mind's a blank slate,that you get the purest look.
So I fold the flap back,and write:
Tumbleweeds.
Nico's hair was combed straight up, stiff with mousse, the tips dyed the color of traffic cones.
Bill Door was impressed. Miss Flitworth could actually give the word "revenue", which had two vowels and one diphthong, all the peremptoriness of the word "scum.
rashers of bacon.
Barber!" "Adagio for Strings,
I've been lucky with my hair. I couldn't deal with it if I'd run out of barnet. Imagine me with a Bobby Charlton comb over.
Thunderstorms and rainbows wrapped together in a convenient pocket-sized parcel.
Garlick maketh a man wynke, drynke, and stynke.
crenellations, the scarlet and the pale, the airy stone and the
[P]enmanship as pretty as a row of tulips
Combing her thoughts, yanking them into a pigtail.
Categories No. 4 and No. 5: Three small cards to a straight and two small cards with an ace.
bowls of cornflakes,
One hat, one hatter.
The materials for the nest must be collected and woven strand by strand ... Such a birdy method may at first seem absurd to the forward-thinking nest maker, but soon it will be found that the pleasures of the project are not derived from efficiency.
Very bright teeth as big and orderly as piano keys.
Everything was windswept and octagonal and finger-combed.
Something Fane fully
Wet catkins fur the twigs of a willow.
The box opens and the razors slide out, whisper sweet.
Used to be that my whole body was my canvas-hot cuts licking my ribs, ladder rungs climbing my arms, thick milkweed stalks shooting up my thighs.
Chris Eagles flew in on Shaun Wright-Phillips, so hard he almost broke the hyphen.
My Little Pegasus pyjamas, the
her hair was piled up under a broad-brimmed
What need for feathers now? What need to confirm their loss? While the womb-red sky swelled with the promise of tomorrow, and he rode the warm, crimson currents, skimming, wheeling and gliding.
Moss; A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush; A cripple in the right way, will beat a racer in the wrong; Make hay while the sun shines; 'T is hard to carry
CSL - cock- sucking-lips.
I've got feathers in my hair,
I get down to beat poetry.
It is for homely features to keep home,- They had their name thence; coarse complexions And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply The sampler and to tease the huswife's wool. What need a vermeil-tinctur'd lip for that, Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn?
Butterflys are free
Noseless and Handless, the Lannister Boys.
The dispersal of juniper seeds is effected by the plum and cherry plan of hiring birds at the cost of their board, and thus obtaining the use of a pair of extra good wings.
I got niggaz lookin' for Websters like George Papadopolis'
In my own recent String Trio I attempt to superimpose two quite different sets of formal strategies, both of which, ultimately, refer back to historical precedent.
A pair of jaybirds came up from nowhere, whirled up on the blast like gaudy scraps of cloth or paper and lodged in the mulberries, where they swung in raucous tilt and recover, screaming into the wind that ripped their harsh cries onward and away like scraps of paper or of cloth in turn.
What is more beautiful than a sea of water with a number of white-winged boats skirting its surface? Poetry and beauty contesting with the wind and the waves!
Fine feathers, they say, make fine birds.
One-and-twenty sorts of birds," said Ser Kyle.
"One-and-twenty sorts of bird droppings," said Ser Maynard.
"You have no poetry in your heart, ser."
"You have shit upon your shoulder.
coveralls to the
She scissored the curls away, and - toms, grow easily sentimental over their haircuts, but I remember this sensation very vividly - it was not like she was cutting hair, it was as if I had a pair of wings beneath my shoulder-blades, that the flesh had all grown over, and she was slicing free ...
Oh, a mermaid's comb. Heavy stuff, but safe enough as long as you don't use it around water. Or a busy highway. You're not planning to lure any young men to their doom, are you?
How embarrassing! I shook my head, blushing.
Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare; And beauty draws us with a single hair.
How vainly men themselves amaze To win the palm, the oak, or bays; And their uncessant labours see Crown'd from some single herb or tree. Whose short and narrow verged shade Does prudently their toils upbraid; While all flow'rs and all trees do close To weave the garlands of repose.
Words and feathers the wind carries away.
Only love could pick a nested pair of steel Bramah locks.
Who when examining in the cabinet of the entomologist the gay and exotic butterflies, and singular cicadas, will associate with these lifeless objects, the ceaseless harsh music of the latter, and the lazy flight of the former - the sure accompaniments of the still, glowing noonday of the tropics.
Dust webbed the window and the showtrays. Dust darkened the toiling fingers with their vulture nails. Dust slept on dull coils of bronze and silver, lozenges of cinnabar, on rubies, leprous and winedark stones.
Counterweights - brushed
Your feather are drooping. - Evaline
...
Drat. - Mina
Gently I stir a white feather fan,
With open shirt sitting in a green wood.
I take off my cap and hang it on a jutting stone;
A wind from the pine-tree trickles on my bare head.
Swift speedy time, feathered with flying hours, Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow.
A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead.
The wooden hairbrush has two practical uses, the bristle side to be used on her silken locks, and the harsh, wooden side to be used on her shapely seat of learning
Madeline Hatter. Her lavender-streaked teal hair exploded around her in messy curls. The polka-dotted, striped, and lacy layers of her skirt were bunched and fluffed. Her teacup hat tilted low over one ear. "Whoops,
Her hair is troublesome and curly ... It falls in long, black strands, but each strand has a gentle, complicated undulation travelling through it, like a mild electric shock or a thrill, hat gives it a life of its own; it is visually analogous to a tremolo on a musical note.
A male frigate bird blows up a wild red pouch on his neck. He can keep it puffed up for hours. It is his way of impressing the girls.
Lawn as white as driven snow; Cyprus black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses.
What's with the hair today?" He pokes it for good measure.
"I was tired this morning."
"Uh-huh. I can tell. You look like you brushed it with a fork."
"Worked for Ariel."
"Doesn't work for you.
Ll dark hair and blue smudges in the moonlight.
soaring with the eagles leaving the turkeys behind
Lin-da." He parted the syllables very slightly, as with a comb.
your hands
humming hurricanes
of beauty.
A duodene of bird notes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hand. Brightly the keys, all twinkling, linked, all harpsichording, called to a voice to sing the strain of dewy morn, of youth, of love's leave-taking, life's, love's morn.
Cockmotherhumpershitpissbodoinkeewacker,
So down thy hill, romantic Ashbourn, glides The Derby dilly, carrying three INSIDES.
I like things in my hair - big feather pieces.