Quotes About Beauty

That was beautiful. She is holding my hand. No, it wasn't. If she let go, I would fall apart. It was. It was beautiful because it was honest and it was beautiful because it hurt and it was beautiful because you didn't have to tell it to me. Fall apart. It makes me feel like shit.

The Meadow... Only one of them succeeded in making a life here... He weathered. Before a backdrop of natural beauty, he lived a life from which everything was taken but a place. He lived so close to the real world it almost let him in.

The world is full of poetry. The air is living with its spirit and the waves dance to the music of its melodies, and sparkle in its brightness.

reflected the last green flash of the setting sun.

At times it seemed unfair that I should be paid for my work; for driving out in the early morning with the fields glittering under the first pale sunshine and the wisps of mist still hanging on the high tops.

Depression opens the door to beauty of some kind.

It seemed to him that the little Manchu had never looked so radiant. She gave him a most charming smile, but her eyes were all for the boy.

There are flowers growing upon the hill Like they always have before. Will you stay here with me, or go and kill On a foreign lonely shore?

Why, if I were to believe what everyone says about me, I would think myself quite, quite ugly. But I don't believe everyone, you see...I believe you because you are my friend. You think I'm beautiful, and so I am. —The Old One

They're really into it, laughing and teasing each other, and I am looking at Pam and thinking once again how she is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen and that if we were back in the olden times she might have been made into a goddess because she is so beautiful. Sometimes I cannot stop my mind. It's scary.

The Earth reminded us of a Christmas tree ornament hanging in the blackness of space. As we got farther and farther away it diminished in size. Finally it shrank to the size of a marble, the most beautiful marble you can imagine.

May not Music be described as the Mathematics of sense, and Mathematics as the Music of reason?

May not music be described as the mathematics of the sense, mathematics as music of the reason?

He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music.

The sea, the snotgreen sea, the scrotumtightening sea.

From Florida Muir set sail for California, arriving in San Francisco in 1868. He immediately set out on a six-week walk to Yosemite. Spellbound by Yosemite's scenery—"every feature glowing, radiating beauty that pours into our flesh and bones like heat rays from fire"—Muir found

the Apollonian marvel of the piece"):

I was born to find goblins in their caves / And chase moonlight / To see shadows and seek hidden rivers / To hear the rain fall on dry leaves / And chat a bit with death across foggy nights.

As I got closer to it, it got brighter and brighter. It wasn't like any light I could describe to you. It was beautiful.

This was the beauty and simplicity of action. Whatever had happened before seemed meaningless when held up against the comradeship that came with facing danger together.

So beautiful was that summer that those who survived it invested it with a golden haze; it assumed a retrospective poignancy, as if before it, all had been beautiful, and after it, nothing ever was again. It became the summer that the world ended, and it was somehow fitting that it should therefore be the most glorious summer ever.

That is the finest piece of ass I've ever seen in all my days," he said. "You sure you want me to fuck it? Almost seems a shame.

And every good artist knows that the gift comes from somewhere else, and it's there for a reason, and that's to make the world a better place.

She had enormous gray eyes and knees that made you cry they were so sorry looking and knobby. If there is some part of every loved one that will make you cry to contemplate it, such for Joe were these poor, sad, bony knees of Sally Buck.