I dreamt -- marvellous error! -- that I had a beehive here inside my heart. And the golden bees were making white combs and sweet honey from my old failures. - Antonio Machado
And yonder sits a maiden, The fairest of the fair, With gold in her garment glittering, And she combs her golden hair. - Heinrich Heine
But then he combs his fingers through my hair, starting at the base of my neck, and I shiver with uncontrollable, unexpected pleasure. - Primula Bond