Quotes About Beauty

It is my eyes which see, and the sight of my eyes grants beauty to the earth. It is my ears which hear, and the hearing of my ears gives its song to the world. It is my mind which thinks, and the judgment of my mind is the only searchlight that can find the truth. It is my will which chooses, and the choice of my will is the only edict I must respect.

You're so beautiful, Dominique. Its such a lovely accident on God's part that there's one person who matches inside and out.

But this was that view of human destiny which she had most passionately hated and rejected: the view that man was ever to be drawn by some vision of the unattainable shining ahead, doomed ever to aspire, but not to achieve. Her life and her values could not bring her to that, she thought; she had never found beauty in longing for the impossible and had never found the possible to be beyond her reach.

Things stood still, not a leaf trembled on the branches, while the sky slowly lost its color and became an expanse that looked like the spread of glowing water.

The shadows of leaves fall upon their arms, as they spread the branches apart, but their shoulders are in the sun. The skin of their arms is like a blue mist, but their shoulders are white and glowing, as if the light fell not from above, but rose from under their skin. We watch the leaf which has fallen upon their shoulder and it lies at the curve of their neck, and a drop of dew glistens upon it like a jewel.

For our face and body were beautiful. Our face was not like the faces of our brothers, for we felt not pity when looking upon it. Our body was not like the bodies of our brothers, for our limbs were straigth and thin and hard and strong. And we thought that we could trust this being who looked upon us from the stream, and that we had nothing to fear with this being.

Keating stood still, because he understood for the first time what it was that artists spoke about when they spoke of beauty.

The walls are cracked and water runs upon them within threads without sound, black and glistening as blood.

The leaves had edges of silver that trembled and rippled like a river of green and fire flowing high above us.

We went on, cutting through the branches, and it was as if we were swimming through a sea of leaves, with the bushes as waves rising and falling and rising around us, and flinging their green sprays high to the treetops.

It [ballet] is a perfect medium for the expression of spiritual love.

She did not smile, but her face had the lovely serenity that can become a smile without transition.

We do not know why, when we think of them, we feel all of a sudden that the earth is good and that it is not a burden to live.

HOWARD ROARK LAUGHED. He stood naked at the edge of a cliff. The lake lay far below him. A frozen explosion of granite burst in flight to the sky over motionless water. The water seemed immovable, the stone flowing. The stone had the stillness of one brief moment in battle when thrust meets thrust and the currents are held in a pause more dynamic than motion. The stone glowed, wet with sunrays.

Let's be gods. Let's be ugly.

She was black and a woman and scarred, and as the thought formed in our minds we realized that it was a redundancy. Her scar was visible externally, was all.

Beauty when unadorned is adorned the most.

Nefertiti is a face without a queen; Cleopatra is a queen without a face.

She was beautiful all right, beautiful in a way that was at once seductive, demonic, and raspberry.

It's up to you. But remember that she is a mirror that reflects a part of your mind. If she is beautiful, it's because your memories are. You provide the formula. You can only finish where you started, don't forget that

Too much beauty undermines the marriage vows, too much knowledge leads to isolation, and too much wealth produces madness.

PojechaÅ'em dalej i zaparkowaÅ'em pod wielkimi kasztanami przy basenie, po którym pÅ'ywaÅ'y senne Å'abÄ™dzie. Nie lubiÄ™ tych gÅ'upich bydlÄ…t i nie rozumiem, czemu tylu zdolnych ludzi zwÅ'aszcza artystów, daÅ'o siÄ™ nabra? na ich wygiÄ™te szyje.

Eden grew smaller. Beautiful, said the Captain. But, you know, going by the probability curve, there must be others even more beautiful.

Was there some deeper, level some plane upon which the consciousness of mountains responded to death and waste and pain? Was there a compassion embedded in the very rocks, so that they offered their beauty in compensation for human loss?