“I’m not waiting until my hair turns white to become patient and wise. Nope, I’m dyeing my hair tonight.”

“I growl with frustration at my reflection in the mirror. Damn my hair – it’s fifty shades of fucked up. The situation I’m in is fifty shades of fucked up. I’m supposed to be studying for my finals; my roommate, Kathleen, should be the one fussing with her hair in front of the mirror right now. Instead, I’m trying to brush my hair into submission. Why is my hair so kinky? I need to stop sleeping with it wet, because it always ends up out of control. As I brush my long, brown hair, the girl in the mirror with blue eyes too big for her head stares back at me. Wait...I don’t have blue eyes! Then I realize I haven’t been looking into the mirror. I’ve been staring at a poster of Kristen Stewart for five minutes. My own hair is actually fine.”

“We all grasp on to a single idea of ourselves, the way aging people dye their hair. It’s no matter that this dye doesn’t fool you. My lady, you don’t dye your hair to decieve other people, or to fool yourself, but rather to cheat your image in your mirror a little.”

“My friends are gone and my hair is grey.I ache in places I used to play.And I’m crazy for love but I’m not coming on.I’m just paying my rent every day in the tower of song.”

“Can I help it if I’m the only one keeping my eyes on the big picture?” Loki flashed a condescending smile. “The best poker players are patient. They wait until it’s a hand they know they can win.”

“You made me cut and dye my hair.”Surely he understands that we face greater problems? “I thought it would greatly improve your looks,” I snap.“Shorn hair is a sign of shame. You humiliate me greatly.”“I’ll light a candle tonight in honor of your dead tresses.”