Quotes About Beauty

The sight of that loveliness was enough to drive all sense from a man's head.

Morena como as sombras.

trained my son to be a warrior, and I was proud of him, but Stiorra puzzled me. She was my youngest, and it hurt to look at her because she so resembled her dead mother; she was tall and lithe and had her mother's long face, the same black hair, the same dark eyes, and the same grave expression that could light into beauty with a smile. I did not know her well because I had

The artist expresses his love through his works. That is civilization.

It's quite a pleasure to look at you sometimes – not now, of course, because you're crying and looking as ugly as the very devil; but when you're all right and quite yourself, you're what I should call attractive.

Règle révolutionnaire n°54 : L'anarchie est source de créativité. Délivrés de la pression sociale, les gens entreprennent tout naturellement d'inventer et de créer, de rechercher la beauté et l'intelligence, de communiquer entre eux de leur mieux. Dans un bon terreau, même les plus petites graines donnent de grands arbres et de beaux fruits.

Obwohl Ollowain die Burg schon hunderte Male gesehen hatte, berührte ihr Anblick ihn stets aufs Neue. Es war ein Gefühl, wie es sonst nur Musik in ihm erwecken konnte, das traurige Lied einer Flöte vielleicht oder melancholisches Harfenspiel. Ein Schmerz, der sich nicht in Worte fassen ließ, süß und durchdringend.

When she had fallen asleep on me, and the saw in the yard was quiet, and a blackbird was singing as the colors of things in the kitchen dimmed until nothing remained of them but lighter and darker shades of gray, I was completely happy.

why does what was beautiful shatter in hindsight because it concealed dark truths?

Why does what was beautiful suddenly shatter in hindsight because it concealed dark truths?

As I looked and looked, the living face became visible in the dead, the young in the old. This is what must happen to old married couples, I thought: the young man is preserved in the old one for her, the beauty and grace of the young woman stay fresh in the old one for him.

This is what must happen to old married couples, I thought: the young man is preserved in the old one for her, the beauty and grace of the young woman stay fresh in the old one for him.

Sé que me pareció hermosa. Pero no consigo evocar su hermosura.

Goethe's poems are like tiny paintings in beautiful frames.

Por qué? ¿Por qué lo que fue hermoso, cuando miramos atrás, se nos vuelve quebradizo al saber que ocultaba verdades amargas?

Zo moet het met oude echtparen gaan, dacht ik; voor haar blijft in de oude man de jonge bewaard en voor hem de schoonheid en gratie van de jonge vrouw in de oude. (184)

Er suchte nicht das leichte Leben, sonderen das schöne. Er gierte nicht nach Geld, er spielte damit.

Mathematics, rightly viewed, possesses not only truth, but supreme beauty—a beauty cold and austere, like that of sculpture, without appeal to any part of our weaker nature, without the gorgeous trappings of painting or music, yet sublimely pure, and capable of a stern perfection such as only the greatest art can show.

Mathematics rightly viewed possesses not only truth but supreme beauty.

Philosophy, for Plato, is a kind of vision, the 'vision of truth' ... Everyone who has done any kind of creative work has experienced, in a greater or less degree, the state of mind in which, after long labour, truth or beauty appears, or seems to appear, in a sudden glory – it may only be about some small matter, or it may be about the universe ... I think most of the best creative work, in art, in science, in literature, and in philosophy, has been the result of such a moment.

The true spirit of delight, the exaltation, the sense of being more than Man, which is the touchstone of the highest excellence, is to be found in mathematics as surely as in poetry.

Machines are worshipped because they are beautiful, and valued because they confer power; they are hated because they are hideous, and loathed because they impose slavery.

It might seem that the empirical philosopher is the slave of his material, but that the pure mathematician, like the musician, is a free creator of his world of ordered beauty.

No; we have been as usual asking the wrong question. It does not matter a hoot what the mockingbird on the chimney is singing. The real and proper question is: Why is it beautiful?