Forehead Quotes

“The spirit of arrogance most definitely makes you shine. It paints a bright red target on your own forehead.”
― Criss Jami, Killosophy

“Every morning when I wake up, I kiss her forehead as symbol of gratitude and appreciation and she repays me back with a lovely smile.”
― M.F. Moonzajer, A moment with God ; Poetry

“My Country
I don't have any caps left made back home
Nor any shoes that trod your roads
I've worn out your last shirt quite long ago
It was of Sile cloth
Now you only remain in the whiteness of my hair
Intact in my heart
Now you only remain in the whiteness of my hair
In the lines of my forehead
My country
-Nazim Hikmet”
― Fatima Bhutto, Songs of Blood and Sword: A Daughter's Memoir

“Hold my hands; kiss my forehead, hug me and look in my eyes; maybe today is the last day you can do this.”
― M.F. Moonzajer

“Whitewash on the forehead hardens the brain into a state of obstinacy, perhaps.”
― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

“Violinists wear the imprint on their necks with pride
For they are the players of harmony.

Pilgrims, too, wear the imprint on their foreheads with pride
For they are the conductors of unity.

And Lovers? Why, they are made humble by the imprint on their hearts
For they are merely the instruments of rhapsody.”
― Kamand Kojouri

“It's time to shop high heels if your fiance kisses you on the forehead.”
― Amit Kalantri, Wealth of Words

“While he himself was marking out lines and courses on the wrinkled charts, some invisible pencil was also tracing lines and courses upon the deeply marked chart of his forehead.”
― Herman Melville, Moby-Dick or, The Whale

“...the face before him was like nothing he had ever seen before. It was smooth, with a black strip of cloth tied over its forehead, and yet it was deeply furrowed, like the sea, that can have tall waves but not a wrinkle on the surface. The eyes were like dark chasms and yet they were the eyes of a human being and not empty sockets. The skin was a greenish olive colour and looked as if it were made of bronze...”
― Gustav Meyrink, The Green Face

“He leaned in, held his breath so as not to make a noise, went close to her, inhaled the scent that emanated from the pores of her forehead; inhaled the air that bounced back from her head. He stopped there, listening intently to the blood flowing, heart beating, pulse pulsating, her hair drifting slowly below her ear resting where the carotid artery was. He closed his eyes as if picturing everything. Like a dexterous doctor discerning the malfunction in a patient or an adroit maestro listening to every note to discern where the one note is missing.
He stacked everything neatly in his head, still the intent hearing continued. Finally, a smile came to his face just as easily as breath came to him. A ecstatic smoke rose in his head, he had heard the murmur of her thoughts, she was in a peaceful world now. She had drifted into slumber, through the doors to the dream worlds, nothing was troubling her now.
He was filled with an air of comfort and triumph, he was there when she needed it. He was happy that nothing bothered her anymore, how he wanted to ostracize the world just a few moments before!? He wanted to drag this drab world out of her dreamy gleaming eyes, petal covered, almond eyes.
She was stumbling in her own world now, as he sat beside her bed.
He kissed her forehead, whisked the world with those thin lips of his; he whisked that pile of rubble.
He leaned to the side and below, not knowing which side; right or left, it didn't matter; whispered in her ear: "I love you". A smile played on her lips as if she heard that. Again he kissed her forehead, had a good look at her closed eyes. His taverns, he thought; where he got drunk, placed so adjacent to each other.
He was happy, that she was happy, she was happy so he was happy. The rest of the world didn't matter; No! No! There was no "Rest" she was his world the whole and entire of it, there was no "Rest of the world".
He got up collected his phone, which played slow Beethoven, turned it off, switched the lamp off, pulled the blanket over her, got up, patted the dog along, made out of her room; into her balcony. He didn't want to go yet, he stood there as many thoughts danced in front of him, slow in the moonlight.”
― Teufel Damon

“Come on, I want to add. But doing so would be like tattooing “I am up to no good” on my forehead.”
― Sabaa Tahir, An Ember in the Ashes

“Lost in the golden glimmer of her muddy moonradish eyes her kiss soothes my heart feeling myself melt into her love. Brushing my fingertips against her dark eyebrows and pressing my lips to her forehead I then see her perfect smile tasting again her marvelous lips.”
― Luca Evola, Arabala

“The shortest solution of every problem is to minimize the distance between your forehead and the floor.”
― M.Rehan Behleem

“The coolest definition of "High Heels Footwear"
Its the thing invented by short girls who were bored of being kissed on the forehead.”
― Nitya Prakash

“Stepping outside, all finished, gold porchlight kissed my forehead. The animated nighttime island was a concrete jungle wild with promise, and around any cobblestone corner my big break might exist, disguised as a simple café, waiting for me to open the door.”
― Aspen Matis, Your Blue Is Not My Blue: A Missing Person Memoir

“Foreheads have more stars than the night sky.”
― Michael Bassey Johnson, Night of a Thousand Thoughts