Quotes About Beauty

Her people would kill one beauty to make another.

I don't know why the water and the sky scare me. I wonder if it is because here at the ocean there is no place to hide.

Red hair framed a face with a freckled nose, and her blue eyes had thick lashes like the undulating fringe of a sea anemone. But to Lara, the kind of beauty Shelly possessed was like that of nightshade berries. They appear to be delicious but are actually dangerous.

Beauty is more than a skin-deep issue. Our outer covering is our calling card. In order to feel great, to do great things, we need to understand that undeniable truth. Everything I've ever done has been to help others in a world that judges them every second of the day.

The love demonstrated on Calvary is the center of the gospel, for it reveals the beauty of God himself.

Our call is to trust that the foolishness of self-sacrificial love will overcome evil in the end. Our call is to manifest the beauty of a Savior who loves indiscriminately while revolting against all hatred and violence. This is the humble mustard seed revolution that will in the end transform the world.

It is as if the stuff of which we are made were totally transparent and therefore imperceptible and as if the only appearances of which we can be aware are cracks and planes of fracture in that transparent matrix. Dreams and percepts and stories are perhaps cracks and irregularities in the uniform and timeless matrix. Was this what Plotinus meant by an 'invisible and unchanging beauty which pervades all things'?

Nothing in the world is so soft and pleasing to the touch, as the skin of a woman's thigh. No flower, feather or fabric, can match that velvet whisper of flesh. No matter how unequal they may be in any other ways, all women, old and young, fat and thin, beautiful and ugly, have that perfection. It's a great part of the reason why men hunger to possess women, and so often convince themselves that they do possess them: the thigh, that touch.

There is no act of faith more beautiful than the generosity of the very poor. -- Abdullah

Then there were the people. Assamese, Jats, and Punjabis; people from Rajasthan, Bengal, and Tamil Nadu; from Pushkar, Cochin, and Konarak; warrior caste, Brahmin, and untouchable; Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Buddhist, Parsee, Jain, Animist; fair skin and dark, green eyes and golden brown and black; every different face and form of that extravagant variety, that incomparable beauty, India.

She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever known. It was the beauty of a desert at dawn: a loveliness that filled my eyes, and crushed me into silent, unbreathing awe.

There is no act of faith more beautiful than the generosity of the very poor

I began to see how deep the well of her loving was, and how much her happiness and confidence depended on drawing that love into the light, and sharing it. And love was beautiful in her. It was a clear sky she gave us with those eyes, and a summer morning with her smile.

No smile would work, no goodbye would pray, no kindness would save, if the truth inside us wasn't beautiful. And the true heart of us, our human kind, is that we're connected, at our best, by purities of love found in no other creature.

Her beauty was injured by the wound but not ravaged by it.

It was] a beauty that sours if it isn't nourished by some goodness within.

After a time, I realised that the changes were not mine, but hers alone. After a time, I began to see how deep the well of her loving was, and how much her happiness and confidence depended on drawing that love into the light, and sharing it. And love was beautiful in her. It was a clear sky she gave us with those eyes, and a summer morning with her smile.

In the storm-lit darkness, the beaded sweat and raindrops on her arm were like so many glittering stars, and her skin was like a span of night sky.

The thought struck me that she would always look beautiful, even when she was being ugly. Hers was a big, lovely, empty face: the face of a pom-pom girl at a football match, the face advertisers use to help them sell preposterous and irrelevant things.

The moon, almost full, was pinned like a medal to the chest of the sky.

her dark silhouette a part of the night itself.

SUNLIGHT SHATTERED ON THE WATER

Sadness is my one and my only art.

There's a dark feeling—less than hatred, but more than loathing—that ugly men feel for handsome men. It's unreasonable and unjustified, of course, but it's always there, hiding in the long shadow thrown by envy. It creeps out, into the light of your eyes, when you're falling in love with a beautiful woman.