Quotes About Beauty

Twilight whippoorwill... Whistle on, sweet deepener Of dark loneliness

For a lovely bowl Let us arrange these flowers... For there is no rice

Seek on high bare trails Sky-reflecting violets... Mountain-top jewels

How much I desire! Inside my little satchel, the moon, and flowers

What is important is to keep our mind high in the world of true understanding, and returning to the world of our daily experience to seek therein the truth of beauty. No mater what we may be doing at a given moment, we must not forget that it has a bearing upon our everlasting self which is poetry.

If I had the knack I'd sing like Cherry flakes falling

on this mountain sorrow...tell me about it digger of wild yams

Sycamore seed twirling,O, writhe to its measure!Dust swirling trims pleasure.Thorns prance in a gale.In air snow flickers,twigs tap,elms drip.Swaggering, shimmering fall,drench and towel us all!

The Joker Here we are, the perfect pair... Beauty and the Beast. Mind you, if anybody calls you beast, I'll rip their lungs out.

The study of beauty is a duel in which the artist cries out in terror before being defeated.

What do I care if you are good? Be beautiful! and be sad!

The age is mad and talks nonsense in all areas, but above all where art is concerned, because of the heretical confusion between good and beauty. Everyone who seeks the pure ideal where art is concerned is regarded as a heretic in the eyes of the Muse and of art. So I'll speak of the idealist painters as if they were ill; sometimes they reveal genius, but it is a genius that is ailing.

An artist is only an artist thanks to his exquisite sense of beauty -- a sense which provides him with intoxicating delights, but at the same time implying and including a sense, equally exquisite, of all deformity and disproportion.

Art is an infinitely precious good, a draught both refreshing and cheering which restores the stomach and the mind to the natural equilibrium of the ideal.

To be a useful man has always seemed to me a hideous thing.

You walk on corpses, beauty, undismayed.

It's like we have the bones of animals and the hearts of angels.

Voluptuous bloom and fragrance rare The summer to its rose may bring; Far sweeter to the wooing air The hidden violet of spring. Still, still that lovely ghost appears, Too fair, too pure, to bid depart; No riper love of later years Can steal its beauty from the heart.

But there are also those who are in the category that I hope stories like La Boheme can help with, and they say, "It was beautiful, it was extraordinary, it was exquisite, it was naïve, and it was perfect. But it could only be for a certain amount of time.

Cellophane flowers of yellow and green Towering over your head Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes And she's gone

Rain, I don't mind Shine, the weather's fine

Well, she was just seventeen You know what I mean And the way she looked Was way beyond compare

The light was soft, diffuse, as if the sun itself had been wrapped in a white mourning veil. While fields of wheat whispered consolation to themselves, the hedgerows were filled with the bright shout of buttercups and champion, bluebells and cow parsley. Even in the shade the air was warm. It would be a good year for honey

Forse essere a casa è questo, non avere il bisogno e nemmeno la pretesa di vedere tutto bello. Guardare le cose come sono, vederle intere, senza offenderle.