Quotes About Beauty

I thought of you and how you love this beauty, And walking up the long beach all alone I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder As you and I once heard their monotone. Around me were the echoing dunes, beyond me The cold and sparkling silver of the sea– We two will pass through death and age lengthen Before you hear that sound again with me.

I saw a star slide down the sky, Blinding the north as it went by, Too burning and too quick to hold, Too lovely to be bought or sold, Good only to make wishes on And then forever to be gone.

I came at last to the ocean And found it wild and black, And I cried to the windless valleys, "Be kind and take me back!

Like Barley Bending" Like barley bending In low fields by the sea, Singing in hard wind Ceaselessly; Like barley bending And rising again, So would I, unbroken, Rise from pain; So would I softly, Day long, night long, Change my sorrow Into song.

Oh, I could let the world go by, Its loud new wonders and its wars, BUt how will I give up the sky When winter dusk is set with stars? And I could let the cities go, Their changing customs and their creeds,– But oh, the summer rains that blow In silver on the jewel-weeds!

It will not hurt me when I am old, A running tide where moonlight burned Will not sting me like silver snakes; The years will make me sad and cold, It is the happy heart the breaks. The hearts asks more than life can give, When that is learned, then all is learned; The waves break fold on jewelled fold, But beauty itself is fugitive, It will not hurt me when I am old.

I saw above a sea of hills A solitary planet shine, And there was no one, near or far, to keep the world from being mine.

Splashes of crimson,

The beauty of my body is not measured by the size of the clothes it can fit into, but by the stories that it tells. I have a belly and hips that say, "We grew a child in here," and breasts that say, "We nourished life." My hands, with bitten nails and a writer's callus, say, "We create amazing things."

She looked like autumn, when leaves turned and fruit ripened.

Tell me a story," says the poem by Robert Penn Warren. "In this century, and moment, of mania . . . Tell me a story of deep delight.

and all the beauty and the blasphemy. Petals, petals, scattering from the stands where only vestals were allowed to sit, having tended the flame for all of us. Here, I knew, was the empire of my soul showing on my face as I turned to you.

The truth, the absolute truth, is that the chief beauty for the theatre consists in fine bodily proportions.

What matters poverty? What matters anything to him who is enamoured of our art? Does he not carry in himself every joy and every beauty?

My thinness is eccentric, people say. Well, what can I do? I should very much prefer to be deliciously ripe.

You must have this charm to reach the pinnacle. It is made of everything and of nothing, the striving will, the look, the walk, the proportions of the body, the sound of the voice, the ease of the gestures. It is not at all necessary to be handsome or to be pretty; all that is needful is charm.

The sun spread into the horizon as if it were melting into the water, an act that, while poetic, would not have been appreciated by the fish.

I think mascara is creepy," Liam volunteered. "Like lots of spider legs on a girl's eye. Really freaky part is if she starts to cry, and the spider legs dissolve and walk down her cheeks." ... "Girls wear makeup to feel stronger. It's armor for your face. You guys are stuck with the faces you have, which, in your cases, is unfortunate.

Have it your way. I'm happy to hear it's not just about your 'artistic integrity.'" "That's important too," Kelo said. "If I betray my art, I betray my soul." "You really spew a lot of bullshit for one so handsome.

Naelin loved the forest, all the layers and shades of green, so many shades that there weren't words to describe them all - a spectrum of green, from the hopeful green of new leaves to the contemplative moss green on the forest floor, so dark it was nearly black.

She stared in awe at the musicians and wished she knew how to make such beauty. It must be so tremendous to create something out of nothing. Out of sound. Out of air. Out of movement and -

And for the first time she realized she didn't hate spirits. Not anymore. Everything she'd told Naelin was true: you couldn't hate them. You had to accept them, even love them. They were a part of the world, and alongside their hatred and rage, there was also beauty and the desire for life to thrive.

Do you like the sunset I ordered for you?

Ahead was an ocean of rabbit brush bursting with yellow blossoms. The prairie under hoof was lavender in the dimming light.