To make a fine gentleman, several trades are required, but chiefly a barber.

Whatever you hear at the barber shop, stays at the barber shop.

Being a barber is about taking care of the people.

Beware of the young doctor and the old barber.

I did study the art of being a barber because I wanted to figure out what my routine would be. Do you start in the front or back? Top or bottom? Swivel the chair or walk around? What I did discover is there’s no such thing as the perfect haircut!

Never ask a barber if you need a haircut.

If you keep walking past the barbers, eventually you’ll get a haircut.

When you go into your customary barber shop, you will wait for the man who gives you a little better shave, a little trimmer hair-cut. Business leaders are looking for the same things in their offices that you look for in the barber shop.

You can find out a lot sitting in the barber’s.

I don’t have any beauty shop memories. I remember the barber shop.

I resent my barber when he charges the full cost after he cuts my hair, but he says he’s charging me for finding it.

I must to the barber’s, monsieur, for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face.

Take your ass to the barber shop. Tell the barber that you’re sick of looking like an asshole.

A barber is by nature and inclination a sport. He can tell you at what exact hour the ball game is to begin, can foretell its issue without losing a stroke of the razor, and can explain the points of inferiority of all the players, as compared with the better men that he has personally seen elsewhere, with the nicety of a professional.

Like a barber’s chair that fits all buttocks.

When’s the last time you went into a barber shop and saw everyone there unconsious?

A barber lathers a man before he shaves him.

Nurses nurse
and teachers teach
and tailors mend
and preachers preach
and barbers trim
and chauffeurs haul
and parents get to do it all.

Asking for financial advice from a financial planner is like asking a barber if you need a hair cut.

No barber shaves so close but another finds worke.

You don’t ever ask a barber whether you need a haircut.

I’ve had the same barber since I was about 14 years old.

You might be a redneck if you need an estimate from your barber before you get a haircut.

A man goes to a barbershop and asks, How many ahead of me? Five. The man leaves. He comes back the next day and asks, How many ahead of me? Four. The man leaves. He comes back the next day and asks, How many ahead of me? Six. The man leaves, and the barber says to another, Follow that man! The man comes back and says, He goes to your house!

I cut my own hair. I got sick of barbers because they talk too much. And too much of their talk was about my hair coming out.

If you teach a poor young man to shave himself, and keep his razor in order, you may contribute more to the happiness of his life than in giving him a thousand guineas. This sum may be soon spent, the regret only remaining of having foolishly consumed it; but in the other case, he escapes the frequent vexation of waiting for barbers, and of their sometimes dirty fingers, offensive breaths, and dull razors.

If you teach a poor young man to shave himself, and keep his razor in order, you may contribute more to the happiness of his life than in giving him a thousand guineas.

Sometimes I have better relationships with my barber then with people who are into cinema from an upper class.

The first (barbers) that entered Italy came out of Sicily and it was in the 454 yeare after the foundation of Rome. Brought in they were by P. Ticinius Mena as Verra doth report for before that time they never cut their hair. The first that was shaven every day was Scipio Africanus, and after cometh Augustus the Emperor who evermore used the razor.

Don’t ask the barber whether you need a haircut, and don’t ask an academic if what he does is relevant.

With odorous oil thy head and hair are sleek; And then thou kemb’st the tuzzes on thy cheek: Of these, my barbers take a costly care.

It’s a small town; everybody eats in the same cafe; everybody gets their hair cut in the same barber shop. That kind of community building, I think, begins to bridge those gaps.

Every small town has its dramatic group, its barber-shop quartet, every home has music in one form or another.

I do believe that you have to bring some degree of truth from yourself to the role [Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street ]in and I’ll admit it here, I have shaved a grown man before. I have done it. And it wasn’t Tim [Burton].

A prating barber asked Archelaus how he would be trimmed. He answered, “In silence.”

The killing of everyone was the easy part, the most difficult part was lathering them up and shaving them, that’s the part that freaked me out the most.

Colloquial poetry is to the real art as the barber’s wax dummy is to sculpture.

Right at the end of the war I wrote a piano sonata, which was written at a time when Sam Barber used to come down here and we used to have lunch together in a very nice old hotel that’s now not there.

I find that people today tend to use them interchangeably. I use African-American, because I teach African Studies as well as African-American Studies, so it’s easy, neat and convenient. But sometimes, when you’re in a barber shop, somebody’ll say, “Did you see what that Negro did?” A lot of people slip in and out of different terms effortlessly, and I don’t think the thought police should be on patrol.

If the guy that writes you checks says cut your hair, off to the barber shop you go. That’s that.

What is there of the divine in a load of brick? What … in a barber shop? … Much. All.

A man of Seville is shaved by the Barber of Seville if and only if the man does not shave himself. Does the barber shave himself?

No matter what ailed you, you went to see the barber surgeon who wound up cupping you, bleeding you, purging you. And, oh yes, if you wanted, he would give you a haircut and pull your tooth while he was at it.

Processions, cavalcades, and all that fund of gay frippery, furnished out by tailors, barbers, and tire-women, mechanically influence the mind into veneration; an emperor in his nightcap would not meet with half the respect of an emperor with a crown.

I have noticed that most men when they enter a barber shop and must wait their turn, drop into a chair and pick up a magazine. I simply sit down and pick up the thread of my sea wanderings, which began more than fifty years ago and is not quite ended. There is hardly a waiting room in the east that has not served as my cockpit, whether I was waiting to board a train or to see a dentist. And I am usually still trimming sheets when the train starts or drill begins to whine.

My real father died when I was two years old, so I never knew him. He was a barber in Chicago.

This is Red Barber speaking. Let me say hello to you all.

Beckham? His wife can’t sing and his barber can’t cut hair.

I’m no part time dilettante photographer, unlike the bartenders, shoe salesmen, floorwalkers plumbers, barbers, grocery clerks and chiropractors whose great hobby is their camera. All their friends rave about what wonderful pictures they take. If they’re so good, why don’t they take pictures full—time, for a living, and make floor walking, chiropractics, etc., their hobby? But everyone wants to play it safe. They’re afraid to give up their pay checks and their security they might miss a meal.

When I was a barber, me being extreme was how I got popular: you name it, I was drawing it on someone’s head.