Quotes About Beauty

There's death and life, you see. We all shine on. A leaf, a star, a song, a laugh. Notice the little things, because somebody is reaching out to you. ...Somebody loves you.

If there are finer beings than German short hairs, I don't know what they are. In their eyes is peace.

The best hijab is in the eyes of the beholder.

No world is rock real. As a certain poet in Dublin once said to me when, as a young journalist, I was emerging one enchanted evening, from a reception in a fashion-modelling agency, and had marvelled to him about the unreality, or it seemed to me to be, of the world in which those beautiful creations pirouetted. No world, the poet said sadly, is rock real.

Black trees against an orange sky, Trees that the wind shook terribly, Like a harsh spume along the road, Quavering up like withered arms, Writhing like streams, like twisted charms Of hot lead flung in snow. Below The iron ice stung like a goad, Slashing the torn shoes from my feet, And all the air was bitter sleet.

It is not given me to trace The lovely laughter of that face, Like a clear brook most full of light, Or olives swaying on a height, So silver they have wings, almost; Like a great word once known and lost And meaning all things.

God is the creator, we are the masterpiece fashioned to radiate and display his grandeur.

Din cas? se ivi un tân?r, statuie din cel mai preÅ£ios lut omenesc, gingaÅŸ, drept, cu capul neclintit, cu ochii pironiÅ£i în orbite ÅŸi încremeniÅ£i, ca niÅŸte lentile expuse într-o vitrin?. Chipul îi p?rea de fildeÅŸ, conturându-se cu fineÅ£e; dar, cu toate c? tenul îi era suav ca de fecioar?, era b?rb?tesc în mare m?sur? […]

C?ci, cum e cu putin?? s? m? iubeasc? v?zând trupÅŸorul acesta m?runt, chipul de pas?re, obrazul plin de pistrui, gura lipsit? de farmec, nasul mare, p?rul sp?l?cit, toat? f?ptura mea, care nu-i bun? decât pentru ca toat? lumea s?-i dea un picior? Cine e Nela? Nimeni. Nela e ceva doar pentru orb.

Palabras hermosas realidad prosaica y miserable. Los ciegos serían felices en este país, que para la lengua es paraíso y para los ojos infierno.

La boca de la Nela, estéticamente hablando, era desabrida, fea; pero quizás podía merecer elogios, aplicándole el verso de Polo de Medina: «es tan linda su boca que no pide».

Un soplo, un rayo de luz, una sensación bastarían para animar la hermosa piedra, que teniendo ya todas las galas de la forma, carecía tan sólo de la conciencia de su propia belleza, la cual emana de la facultad de conocer la belleza exterior.

Qué sientes tú cuando estás alegre? —¿Cuándo estoy libre, contigo, solos los dos en el campo? —Sí. —Pues siento que me nace dentro del pecho una frescura, una suavidad dulce... —¡Ahí te quiero ver! ¡Madre de Dios! Pues ya sabes cómo brilla el sol.

How fair is a garden amid the trials and passions of existence.

Teach us that wealth is not elegance, that profusion is not magnificence, that splendor is not beauty.

Were it not for music, we might in these days say, the Beautiful is dead.

Nature, like man, sometimes weeps from gladness.

Creo que en el interior de cada hombre cuelga un retrato estilizado de la mujer ideal, un modelo con el que comparar a esta o a aquella mortal de carne y hueso que sostiene entre sus brazos.

The women, too, exhibit a high level of grace, intelligence, strength, and beauty.

He infused his ceiling fresco with Kabbalistic images that reflected the Kabbalistic pavement design below. He linked the Jewish ancestral tree to Jesus. He connected pagan philosophy and design with Judaism and Christianity. He joined his love of male beauty to his love of God. He narrated the entire story of the universe, beginning with creation, in a way that makes us realize humanity's common ancestry.

It is cruel, you know, that music should be so beautiful. It has the beauty of loneliness of pain: of strength and freedom. The beauty of disappointment and never-satisfied love. The cruel beauty of nature and everlasting beauty of monotony.

It is cruel, you know, that music should be so beautiful. It has the beauty of loneliness & of pain: of strength & freedom. The beauty of disappointment & never-satisfied love. The cruel beauty of nature, & everlasting beauty of monotony.

Art for art's sake, with no purpose, for any purpose perverts art. But art achieves a purpose which is not its own. (1804)

How fair is a garden amid the toils and passions of existence