quote by ASAP Rocky

You ready? I have gold teeth, I have braids, I'm wearing Rick Owens moon boots, I have rips in my denim, a biker vest, I love artsy girls, my favourite artists are Jimi Hendrix and John Lennon. I'm obsessed with being different.

— ASAP Rocky

Most Powerful Braids quotations

One of the things I have tried to do with this book and with all of them really is avoid that simple, easy, reductionist view of motivation and to show we do things for a complex net of reasons, a real braid of reasons.

Sabrina fair, Listen where thou art sitting Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, In twisted braids of lilies knitting The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair.

The little bee returns with evening's gloom, To join her comrades in the braided hive, Where, housed beside their might honey-comb, They dream their polity shall long survive.

The little bee returns with evening's gloom, To join her comrades in the braided hive, Where, housed beside their might honey-comb, They dream their polity shall long survive. Charles Tennyson Turner - A Summer Night in the Bee Hive The happiness of the bee & the dolphin is to exist. For man it is to know that & to wonder at it.

The nights were long, like the braids of a pretty girl, and the days were short, like a girl's sense. ("The North")

It's all those stories and how they braid together that tells us who and what and where we are

What is crucial is the provision of opportunities for telling all the diverse stories, for interpreting membership as well as ethnicity, for making inescapable the braids of experience woven into the fabric of America's plurality.

It's too hot for me to bother with wearing my hair down in the summer.

I'd rather pin it up in braids, or throw it in a top knot so I don't have to think about it the rest of the day.

As she fled fast through sun and shade The happy winds upon her play'd, Blowing the ringlet from the braid.

I know I look like a piece of sausage to those lions. A sausage with braids.

When I'm not working, I spend a lot of time on my hair.

When it's time for my hair to get some rest, I either wear it in a ponytail, bun or my favorite "milkmaid" braid.

Everything that I have is natural - braid, nails - I practically never use cosmetics. They often ask me in the provinces about my braid.

I remember the first time I saw you. Your hair was in two braids instead of one. And I remember when you... you sang in the music assembly and the teacher said... "Who knows The Valley Song?" and your hand shot straight up. After that, I... I watched you going home every day...

When a woman grabs my braids and says "How cute!" I crab her breast and say "How cute!" She never touches me again!

When you write ,it's like braiding your hair.

Taking a handful of coarse unruly strands and attempting to bring then unity.

I went through a real punk stage-I had braids, red hair, pink hair, green hair, I cut it into a Mohawk, the lot. Then about five years ago, I dyed it dark and stayed out of the sun to get pale, because I hated looking like everyone else, all blonde hair and tanned skin.

The music, and the banquet, and the wine-- The garlands, the rose odors, and the flowers, The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments-- The white arms and the raven hair--the braids, And bracelets; swan-like bosoms, and the necklace, An India in itself, yet dazzling not.

Whenever I go on vacation I like to change up my hair - I'll braid it or get dreads - but my favorite is just keeping it short and curly.

There is no lock strong enough nor wall thick enough to keep Death out," he murmured, his lips close to my ear so that I could feel the puff of his breath against my skin. The ends of a couple of his braids had found their way under the collar of my flannel night-shirt and tickled the base of my neck. "Are you speaking literally or metaphorically?

When I first caught sight of (Mount Shasta) over the braided folds of the Sacramento Valley I was fifty miles away and afoot, alone and weary. Yet all my blood turned to wine, and I have not been weary since.

When May, with cowslip-braided locks, Walks through the land in green attire.

And burns in meadow-grass the phlox His torch of purple fire: And when the punctual May arrives, With cowslip-garland on her brow, We know what once she gave our lives, And cannot give us now!

When I first came out, I was a film student and my mom sewed clothes.

I was already doing a million things then, whatever it took to survive. If I had to braid someone's hair to get one pound for my lunch money, that's what I did. But I did it in the most creative way possible.

Keep braiding one's wavelengths back into oneself.

That way they gain all the more external power and surround us with a huge affective and protective zone. Don't talk about this. Never talk about our secret methods. If we talk about them, they stop working.

Many a night I saw the Pleiads, Rising thro' the mellow shade, Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies, Tangled in a silver braid.

It's fun singing with other people who are really good singers.

There's something kind of poignant about braiding a couple vocals.

I crush her against me. I want to be part of her. Not just inside her but all around her. I want our rib cages to crack open and our hearts to migrate and merge. I want our cells to braid together like living thread.

And all meet in singing, which braids together the different knowings into a wide and subtle music, the music of living.

My first words were 'Seconds, please.

' Most kids in kindergarten napped on a little rug. I had a braided 9 x 12.

Nancy According to astronomers, every atom in my body was forged in a star.

I am made, they insist, of stardust. I am stardust braided into strands and streamers of information, proteins and DNA, double helixes of stardust. In every cell of my body there is a thread of stardust as long as my arm.

They dream of men with gentle hands, eloquent with tenderness, fingers that brushed along a cheek, that outlined open lips in the lovers' braille. Hands that sculpted sweetness from sullen flesh, that traced breast and ignited hips, opening, kneading. Flesh becomes bread in the heat of those hands, braided and rising.

Heaven and earth conspire that everything which has been, be rooted and reduced to dust. Only the dreamers, who dream while awake, call back the shadows of the past and braid nets from the unspun thread.

Their horses were of great stature, strong and clean-limbed;

their gray coats glistened, their long tails flowed in the wind, their manes were braided on their proud necks.

Voshak's hair, a pale blond braid, which he bleached, was his trademark.

It made him memorable. That's how the slavers operated. They adopted costumes and personas, trying to make themselves larger-than-life and hoping to inspire fear. They counted on that fear. One could fight a man, but nobody could fight a nightmare.

But her name was Esmé. She was a girl with long, long, red, red hair. Her mother braided it. The flower shop boy stood behind her and held it in his hand. Her mother cut it off and hung it from a chandelier. She was Queen. Mazishta. Her hair was black and her handmaidens dressed it with pearls and silver pins. Her flesh was golden like the desert. Her flesh was pale like cream. Her eyes were blue. Brown.