Quotes About Beauty

V. We have art in order not to die from the truth. —NIETZSCHE

The hedges and the acres and acres of lawn were covered in a network of spider web that caught the dew in beads so that it glistened white as frost.

Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like the Greeks or our own, than to lose control completely

She was still a girl, a slight lovely girl who lay in bed and ate chocolates, a girl whose hair smelled like hyacinth and whose white scarves fluttered jauntily in the breeze; a girl as bewitching, and clever, as any girl who ever lived.

Trees are schizophrenic now and beginning to lose control, enraged with the shock of their fiery new colors. Someone—was it van Gogh?—said that orange is the color of insanity. Beauty is terror. We want to be devoured by it, to hide ourselves in that fire which refines us.

is nothing wrong with the love of Beauty. But Beauty—unless she is wed to something more meaningful—is always superficial.

Esas imágenes que te llegan al corazón y lo abren como una flor, imágenes que se abren a una belleza tan grande que puedes pasarte toda la vida buscando sin encontrarla.

It's a very Greek idea, and a very profound one. Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we shiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like the Greeks or our own, than to lose control completely?

The line of beauty is the line of beauty. It doesn't matter if it's been through the Xerox a hundred times. [...] You know what Picasso says. 'Bad artists copy, good artists steal.' Still with real greatness, there's a jolt at the end of the wire. It doesn't matter how often you grab hold of the line, or how many people have grabbed hold of it before you. It's the same line. Fallen from a higher life. It still carries some of the same shock.

E le notti, più grandi di quanto sia immaginabile: nere, immense, spazzate dal vento; caotiche e pazze di stelle.

Beauty is terror. We want to be devoured by it, to hide ourselves in that fire which refines us.

And if beauty is terror, then what is desire?

Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it... We want to be devoured by it, to hide ourselves in that fire which refines us.

The vitality of the act was entirely obfuscated, the beauty, the terror, the sacrifice.' He took one last drag of this cigarette and put it out. 'Quite simply,' he said, 'we didn't believe. And belief was the one condition which was absolutely necessary. Belief, and absolute surrender.

It's crazy," she'd said, "but I'd be perfectly happy if I could sit looking at the same half dozen paintings for the rest of my life. I can't think of a better way to go insane.

It's crazy," she'd said, "but I'd be perfectly happy if I could sit looking at the same half dozen paintings for the rest of my life. I can't think of a better

everything was soft and kind and infinitely forgiving. I noted a strange beauty in the faces of people previously repulsive to me. I smiled at everyone and everyone smiled back.

La belleza altera la textura de la realidad.

The line of beauty is the line of beauty. It doesn't matter if it's been through the Xerox machine a hundred times. [...] You know what Picasso says. 'Bad artists copy, good artists steal.' Still with real greatness, there's a jolt at the end of the wire. It doesn't matter how often you grab hold of the line, or how many people have grabbed hold of it before you. It's the same line. Fallen from a higher life. It still carries some of the same shock.

she really was older, not the glancing-eyed girl I had fallen in love with but no less beautiful for that; beautiful now in a way that less excited my senses that tore at my very heart

sky darkened rapidly, darker every second; the wind rustled the trees in the park and the new leaves on the trees stood out tender and yellow against black clouds.

Idolatría! Amar tanto a los objetos puede acabar destruyéndote. Lo que ocurre es que si cuidas algo lo suficiente cobra vida propia. ¿Y no es ese el propósito de los objetos, de las cosas hermosas, ponerte en contacto con una belleza más grande?

they were magnificent creatures, such eyes, such hands, such looks-sic oculos, sic ille manus, sic ora ferebat.

And I add my own love to the history of people who have loved beautiful things, and looked out for them, and pulled them from the fire, and sought for them when they were lost, and tried to preserve them and save them while passing them along literally from hand to hand, singing out brilliantly from the wreck of time to the next generation of lovers, and the next.