Quotes About Beauty

Beauty can both shout and whisper, and still it explains nothing.

For hours I wandered over the fields and the only thing that kept me company was a song, it glided along with my delicious dark happiness, my heavy, bristling and aching delight at the world which has been like this forever and forever— the leaves, the birds, the ponds, the loneliness

No matter what the world claims, its wisdom always growing, so it's said, some things don't alter with time: the first kiss is a good example, and the flighty sweetness of rhyme.

Except for the Body Except for the body of someone you love, including all its expressions in privacy and in public, trees, I think, are the most beautiful forms on the earth. Though, admittedly, if this were a contest, the trees would come in an extremely distant second.

Clouds have forms, porous and shape-shifting, bumptious, fleecy.

But perhaps you're still sleeping. I could wake you with a touch or a kiss. But so could I shake the petals from the wild rose which blossoms so silently and perfectly, and I do not.

The words, in the long lines of Leaves of Grass, as near as words can be, are a spiritual and a physical touching.

There is the heaven we enter through institutional grace and there are the yellow finches bathing and singing in the lowly puddle.

Existe la vida y existe la ópera, y yo quiero las dos cosas.

In this early dancing of a new day— dogs leaping on the beach, dolphins leaping not far from shore— someone is bending over me, is kissing me slowly.

Everything That Was Broken Everything that was broken has forgotten its brokenness. I live now in a sky-house, through every window the sun. Also your presence. Our touching, our stories. Earthy and holy both. How can this be, but it is. Every day has something in it whose name is Forever.

that love us, that is asleep now, and silent- that has turned itself into snow.

If you think you see a face in the clouds, why not send a greeting? It can't do any harm.

I walk, all day, across the heaven-verging field.

It is what I was born for— to look, to listen, to lose myself inside this soft world— to instruct myself over and over in joy, and acclamation. Nor am I talking about the exceptional, the fearful, the dreadful, the very extravagant— but of the ordinary, the common, the very drab, the daily presentations.

And this is what I learned: that the world's otherness is antidote to confusion, that standing within this otherness - the beauty and the mystery of the world, out in the fields or deep inside books - can re-dignify the worst-stung heart.

If the world were only pain and logic, who would want it?

Next they passed a beautiful statue of a winged lady. "Who's that?" said Jack. "She's Nike, the goddess of victory," said Plato.

It's beautiful," said Annie. "Feel." She handed it to Jack. The thread was smooth and soft.

a very tall oak tree. At the

According to more than one astronaut memoir, one of the most beautiful sights in space is that of a sun-illumined flurry of flash-frozen waste-water droplets. Space doesn't just encompass the sublime and the ridiculous. It erases the line between.

With charm comes charm's sidekick, dilapidation.

She looks at once like someone who could have worked as a runway model and someone who would be mildly put off to hear that.

The human liver is a boss-looking organ. It's glossy, aerodynamic, Olympian.