Quotes About Beauty

But what happens when her beauty is torn from her like a cover from a book? Will he care to read her then, although her pages speak of nothing but love for him?

For the Sensitive Plant has no bright flower; Radiance and odour are not its dower; It loves, even like Love, its deep heart is full, It desires what it has not, the beautiful.

I used to hate my hair. Now I love it. I spend hours brushing my hair out after it dries. I love it when it's big.

Literary imagination is an aesthetic object offered by a writer to a lover of books.

The cool, grey city of love.

My poems, I think, exist in a state of tension between the love of natural beauty and the fear of natural meaninglessness or absurdity.

She spoke and loosened from her bosom the embroidered girdle of many colors into which all her allurements were fashioned. In it was love and int desire which steals the mind even of the wise.

I love a nice hot pink. I like thick lipstick, otherwise it doesn't look like you're wearing any.

The truth in you remains as radiant as a star, as pure as light, as innocent as love itself.

A weed is no more than a flower in disguise, Which is seen through at once, if love give a man eyes.

A lovely countenance is the fairest of all sights, and the sweetest harmony is the sound of the voice of her whom we love.

Love is the beauty and the strength of all societies and the great pleasure of our lives on earth.

Flowers are nice, but love is better.

Love is the gentle smile upon the lips of beauty.

I love to breathe. Oxygen is sexy!

Whenever I buy a painting, someone invariably says, "Oh, what a great investment." And I hate that reaction. To me, it's a matter of love and not an exchange of equity.

Because with time, faith, and love...even our scars can become beautiful.

And love is loveliest when embalm'd in tears.

Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works.

He looked at her as a man might look at a faded flower he had plucked, in which it was difficult for him to trace the beauty that had made him pick and so destroy it

What made me run away was doubtless not so much the fear of settling down, but of settling down permanently in something ugly.

Having an eye for beauty isn't the same thing as a weakness...except possibly when it comes to you.

Why did dusk and fir-scent and the afterglow of autumnal sunsets make people say absurd things?

Holding Eleanor's hand was like holding a butterfly. Or a heartbeat. Like holding something complete, and completely alive.