Quotes About Beauty

Can a wolfe be beautiful?

From a Himmel Street window, he wrote, the stars set fire to my eyes.

Snowflakes of ash fell so lovelily you were tempted to stretch out your tongue to catch them, taste them. Only, they would have scorched your lips. They would have cooked your mouth.

And when we finally stood up and turned to face the world, I could feel something climbing through me. I could feel it on its hands and knees inside me, rising up, rising up - and I smiled. I smiled, thinking, The hunger, because I knew it all too well. The hunger. The desire. Then, slowly, as we walked on, I felt the beauty of it, and I could taste it, like words inside my mouth.

The stars set fire to my eyes.

moon was sewn into the sky that night. Clouds were stitched around it.

The consequence of this is that I'm always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugly and their beauty, and I wonder how the same thing can be both. Still, they have one thing I envy. Humans, if nothing else, have the good sense to die.

The moon was sewn into the sky that night

Then the music begins and we can both hear the slow, quiet, sweet desperation of a song I won't mention. Imagine the softest, toughest, most beautiful song you know, and you've got it.

A couple of them were school beauty-queen pretty while a few were that more real-looking type. A realer kind of pretty.

God damn, you were so beautiful, Mama.

Usually it was like spillage- cold and heavy, slippery and gray- but once in a while some stars had the nerve to rise and float, if only for a few minutes.

She was lost in pine and mountainside, her knuckles bony white.

How do you give someone a piece of sky?

A human doesn't have a heart like mine. The human heart is a line, whereas my own is a circle, and i have the endless ability to be in the right place at the right time. The consequence of this is that i'm always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugly and their beauty, and i wonder how the same thing can be both. Still, they have one thing i envy. Humans, if nothing else, have the good sense to die

Sometimes, I imagined how everything appeared above those clouds, knowing without question that the sun was blond, and the endless atmosphere was a giant blue eye.

There's ache in her arms and ache in her legs and heart. But on her face is the beauty of the morning.

There was also an acknowledgment that there was great beauty in what she was currently witnessing, and she chose not to disturb it.

The human heart is a line, whereas my own is a circle, and I have the endless ability to be in the right place at the right time. The consequence of this is that I'm always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugly and their beauty, and I wonder how the same thing can be both. Still, they have one thing I envy. Humans, if nothing else, have the good sense to die.

the moon was sewn into the sky that night. Clouds were stitched around it.

they were able to see the pink bars of light on the snowy banks of Himmel Street's rooftops. "Look at the colors," Papa said. It's hard not to like a man who not only notices the colors, but speaks them.

I wanted to explain that I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race - that rarely do I ever simply estimate it. I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and its words so damning and brilliant.

She almost smiles from the pain - from the beauty of it. She's out of herself. Barefoot.

Sure, she loved horses, she enjoyed racing, but she abhorred the racing business; its wastage, its overbreeding. Its greedy girth of underbelly. It was something like a beautiful whore, and she'd seen it devoid of make-up.