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“I brushed it until it shone and looked somewhat like it used to look,
only far thinner, and less glorious.”
― V.C. Andrews, Flowers in the Attic

“You want us to bargain with a lizard?â€�
“They’re not lizards, Father. They’re extraordinary creatures who were
here long before any human was crawling on this earth. They are warriors
and scholars and—�
“He has long hair like a woman,â€� one of Sigmar’s sons blathered”
― G.A. Aiken, What a Dragon Should Know

“Soon Rapunzel's hair spilled out around her like a silver pond sparkling in the sunlight, or a frozen one in the moonlight. When the breeze shifted the branches above, the sun hit her tresses and its light scattered everywhere. The whole area under the tree was illuminated with shifting, dappled scintillations.
Rapunzel wondered what it would look like from far away, from high above: would she look like a funny star? Were all the stars out there maidens with strange hair?”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“She sprang out of bed, the ornaments in her hair tinkling and jingling, making tiny versions of the noises of the chimes above her.
And that was Rapunzel's most striking beauty: her hair.
Bound in plaits and whorls and buns and knots and twists as tightly as she could manage. Some of the braids were so long they hung in loops that she put her arms through; they hung at her sides like giant sleeves or tippets from an ancient dress.
Decorating all of this were dozens of charms-- also silver, like her hair, but some with exotic stones like lapis and turquoise. Bells, tiny moons, hands, suns, six-pointed stars, eyes, and anything else Mother Gothel could lay her hands on at her daughter's request.
By these amulets Rapunzel definitely tried to control her hair, bind her hair, disempower her hair, and unenchant her magic hair.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“She waved desperately, putting her hand out the window, but wasn't sure anyone would be able to see it.
"What can I do? What can I do to show them that I'm alive?" she wailed.
Pascal just looked at her.
"Oh, right," she said. "Not thinking at all. Thanks, buddy."
She gathered up as much of her hair as she could and flung it through the window. Hard.
Like a thousand baby spiders parachuting into the sky, it glittered and sparkled-- completely unmagically, just because of the sunlight-- before falling down to hang along the wall of the tower, rippling in the wind.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Apparently long hair was enough to make you a faggot in Chicago in â€�68.”
― Paul Monette, Becoming a Man

“Her hair was longer than it used to be, and it veiled her shoulders like a shawl. She used it for protection.”
― Sarah Addison Allen, Garden Spells

“I'll ring for someone to take my hair down." The tremor in her voice grew stronger and struck both a primal and protective chord in him.
"No." He held up his hand to keep her from crossing to the bell at the door. The idea of someone invading their privacy was actually physically painful for him. "I'll do it."
"Take my hair down?" Her eyes widened. "You?"
Nodding, he motioned to the dressing table. She sat and he found himself staring down at the crown of black satin that was her elaborate hairstyle. Had he ever taken a woman's hair down? He didn't think so, but the scent of lavender that seemed to hang around her addled his mind and filled his senses until he couldn't have moved if she paid him good money.
Slowly, he eased his fingers into her hair and she let out a long sigh as he massaged her scalp.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked, surprised he could breathe, let alone speak.
"N-No." In the mirror, her eyes darkened and dilated.
If that was her reaction to his touch, he planned to take her hair down each and every night. With trembling fingers, he set about finding the pins. Finally, her hair cascaded down her back in a long, flowing cloak. It wafted out sweetness as a few strands brushed his legs and fell to her hips. He might have believed he'd died and was in heaven if he weren't so aware of his body's sinful reactions to touching her.
"Brush," he requested softly.
She complied with shaking hands.
Stroke by stroke, he glided the brush bristles through her hair- gently, so as not to hurt her, he smoothed the waves. How had he not known how erotic a woman's hair could be? He prided himself on his experience, but for the first time in a long time, he questioned his prowess.
It affected her, too. In the mirror he could see her shut her eyes, and apparently try to bite back soft moans each time his hands weaved through her hair. Triumph coursed through his every nerve and vein.”
― Jenna Petersen, Scandalous

“Of course she could have just dropped the length of hair down, but she liked getting it to sail through the air, unraveling its coils prettily as it went, a silver streak in the sky like a rain cloud spun into yarn. The end of the braid, soft and fringed like the tail of a fairy-tale donkey (the only kind Rapunzel knew), just brushed the ground before falling back against the tower with an incredibly satisfying thwack.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Are you and him...'

'Nah,' said Collins, and glanced at her sidelong. 'I, um, I prefer... long hair.”
― Emma Törzs, Ink Blood Sister Scribe