Quotes About Beauty

And from the pink and purple palette of the perished evening, a blue-black night rose up around us as we rode.

I looked into the sky that was her eyes.

It was the green that the sea would be, if the sea were perfect.

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. Looking

Dawn put fire in the sky.

Niewiele ludzi umiera w Indyjskim Domu GoÅ›cinnym, gÅ'ównie tylko narkomany, takie chude. Dla was nie problem, wy takie piÄ™kne, wielkie, tÅ'uste.

Her thick, black plait of hair was the rope by which a man might climb to heaven.

She was almost too beautiful: as beautiful as a blush of summer sunset on a sky-wide stream of cloud.

the sun each morning rose with love for her.

Some women cry easily. The tears fall as gently as fragrant raindrops in a sun-shower, and leave the face clear and clean and almost radiant. Other women cry hard, and all the loveliness in them collapses in the agony of it.

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 are connected, at out best, by purities of love found in no other creature

The tears, when they came, slipped from he closed eyelids like so many beads on a prayer chain. Some women cry easily. The tears fall as gently as fragrant raindrops in a sun-shower, and leave the face clear and clean and almost radiant. Other women cry hard, and all the loveliness in them collapses in the agony of it.

The tears, when they came, slipped from her closed eyelids like so many beads on a prayer chain. Some women cry easily. The tears fall as gently as fragrant raindrops in a sun-shower, and leave the face clear and clean and almost radiant. Other women cry hard, and all the loveliness in them collapses in the agony of it.

Her eyes were the color of the sea if the sea were perfect.

Her eyes were large and spectacularly green. It was the green that trees are, in vivid dreams. It was the green that the sea would be, if the sea were perfect. Her

In summer moonlight, she was dangerously, inebriatingly magnified.

They moved together, blue diamonds on a green field.

Perhaps family itself, like beauty, is temporary, and no discredit need attach to impermanence.

Not an ugly color, Nanny thought. Just not a human color.

Oh, everything is gorgeous once it's gone.

What is the use of beauty? i have lived my life surrounded by painters, and still I do not know the answer. But i suspect, some days, that beauty helps protect the spirit of mankind, swaddle it and succor it, so that we might survive. Beauty is no end in itself, but if it makes or lives less miserable so that we might be more kind-well, then, lets have beauty, painted on our porcelain, hanging on our walls, ringing through our stories.

If one could drown in the grass, thought Elphie, that might be the best way to die.

SELF-MOCKERY IS AN UGLIER THING THAN ANY HUMAN FACE, IRIS... YOU ARE SMART AND YOU ARE KIND. DON'T BETRAY THOSE IMPULSES IN YOURSELF. DON'T BELABOR THE LACK OF PHYSICAL BEAUTY, WHICH IN ANY CASE EVENTUALLY FLEES THOSE WHO HAVE IT AND MAKES THEM SAD.

Is there a relative value of beauty? Is evanescence - fleetingness - a necessary element of the thing that most moves us? A shooting star dazzles more than the sun. A child captivates like an elf, but grows into grossness, an ogre, a harpy. A flower splays itself into color - the lilies of the field! - more treasured than any painting of a flower. But of all these things, women's grace, shooting stars, flowers, and paintings, only a painting endures.