Quotes About Admiration

Envy is secret admiration. An admirer who feels that he cannot become happy by abandoning himself to it chooses to be envious of that which he admires. So he speaks another language wherein that which he actually admires is a trifle, a rather stupid, insipid, peculiar, and exaggerated thing. Admiration is happy self-surrender; envy is unhappy self-assertion.

Your welcome means more to me, Ivy Alisha Tamwood, than a thousand souls. Watching Rachel work is a wonder of one catastrophe after another.

My God, you have beautiful hair in the firelight," he said softly, and I blinked. "It's like your thoughts, all cinnamon and wild untamed. I've always liked your hair.

To be able to show someone that, yes, you are someone worth sacrificing for? That you like them for their faults and that you respect them for their ability to rise above them?

Rather than admire the mediocre great men over whom passersby nudge each other in awe, I venerate the young, unknown geniuses who die in their teens, their souls shattered - delicate, phosphorescent glowworms that one must see to know they really did exist.

Genius in the popular sense has become common. (...) Rather than admire the mediocre great men over whom passersby nudge each other in awe, I venerate the young, unknown geniuses who die in their teens, their souls shattered - delicate, phosphorescent glowworms that one must see to know they really did exist.

Great men are excellent topics of conversation, but the superior man, the superior men, the masters, the universal spirits on horseback, have to stop and search their memories merely to know who these so-called great men might be. And so the great man is left with the crowd, the worthless majority...for his admirers.

Is that for me? said he. - Yes, it's for you. He took it carefully in his hands, and stroked it. - Do you think it's nice? - Nice — why I could go round the world in such.

Selv de små rosenrøde finner i hendes ansigt satte ham i henrykkelse.

This is the first time I've really looked at my reflection in months. To the Lykae [Bowen], she said, No wonder you love me. Could I be any cuter?

I think I just fell into like with him.

Damiãno is hot," Lucia murmured, then realized she'd spoken aloud. "And by that, I mean, I respect his mind.

We're watching your mate," Sian said. "Well done. She's horrifyingly lovely.

She has an arse men should write sonnets to. . . .

If God made anything better than women, I think he kept it for himself.

Excellence is praised." "Praise inspires excellence.

I always thought it was what I wanted: to be loved and admired. Now I think perhaps I'd like to be known.

You're magnificent," he says.

I don't know the language or the laws and I'm completely unfamiliar with the currency . . . but, God, is it ever beautiful here.

Familiarity with any great thing removes our awe of it.

If Gilbert had been asked to describe his ideal woman the description would have answered point for point to Anne … He had made up his mind, also, that his future must be worthy of its goddess. … But he meant to keep himself worthy of Anne's friendship and perhaps some distant day her love; and he watched over word and thought and deed as jealously as if her clear eyes were to pass in judgment on it.

People don't really have a relationship with great writing or great production or great art direction or great direction. They just sort of admire it.

Of course 'we humans' have a funny relationship with the beings with whom we share our planet. We eat them, we care for them, we admire them, we use them.

My religion consists of a humble admiration of the illimitable superior spirit who reveals himself in the slight details we are able to perceive with our frail and feeble mind.