Quotes About Beauty

I think you are very beautiful," René said, "especially when you are admiring mischief." "You must think that every time I look at you, then.

You are the single most beautiful thing I have ever looked at in my life.

I think you are very beautiful," René said, "especially when you are admiring mischief." "You must think that every time I look at you, then." He gave her all of his grin. "You admire me, Mademoiselle?

Di velt iz sheyn nor di mentshn makhn zi mies," he said. "The world is beautiful, but people make it ugly.

I never imagined the unknown could be so beautiful.

El mundo es bello, pero la gente lo hace feo

The sea, the sea, the sea. It rolled and rolled and called to me. Come in, it said, come in.

Man needs bread and hyacinths: one to feed the body, and one to feed the soul.

the love of beauty above the human is fascism

Be encouraged, my friend. If you are willing to use your words as an instrument of beauty, He is more than able to supply the power to do so.

she remembered watching a summer sunset from this very spot. Not so long ago; just a lifetime.

The flowers in the desert which bloomed and died were just different versions of their own small lives.

She's, like, really, really beautiful, but I don't think she sees that when she looks in the mirror.

I was just thinking about me having children. Or being a grandma!" She giggled. "Think I'll be fat and have gray hair?" "I sure hope so," her father said, laughing himself.

I am doing something I learned early to do, I am paying attention to small beauties, whatever I have-as if it were our duty to find things to love, to bind ourselves to this world.

I can tell you we were right, our bodies were right, life was really going to be that good, that pleasurable in every cell. Suddenly I remember the exact look of your body, but better than that the bright corners of your eyes, or the light of your face, the rich Long Island puppy-fat of your thighs, or the slick chino of your pants bright in the corners of my eyes, I remember your extraordinary act of courage in loving me

The glow, over the horizon, flows, as if the moon is riding on something.

He was so handsome it was kind of adorable when he looked horrible.

I wanted to go and stand inside a blossoming fruit tree, a cherry, and look up, into it, and see the bright ganglia of blue sky, and the many gathered skirts of the multiple blooms

I sat on the air above it and looked down on its uninhabitable beauty.

Along the runway, wind poured through the coat of horsetail fur, and terns, in their skirts, fluttered above the thumbnail and crochet-hook snails, and we knock-swashed up, excreting fumes of carbon fern and marrow—and in the seat pocket, in front of me, were crimped, furled buds, stems bushy with fresh thorns, and her last flagon of perfume, its glass dove alighting to seize it...

And then there is the spring park, damp as if freshly peeled, sweet greenhouse, green cemetery with no dead in it—except, in some shaded woods, under some years of leaves and rotted cones, the body of a warbler like a whole note fallen from the sky—my old love for him, like a songbird's rib cage picked clean.

The essential joy of being with horses is that it brings us in contact with the rare elements of grace, beauty, spirit, and fire.

To reteach a thing its loveliness is the nature of metta. Through lovingkindness, everyone & everything can flower again from within.