Quotes About Beauty

Green, how much I want you green.Green wind. Green branches.The ship upon the seaand the horse in the mountain.

I touched her sleeping breasts,and they opened to me suddenlylike spikes of hyacinth.

The breaking waves dashed highOn a stern and rock-bound coast,And the woods, against a stormy sky,Their giant branches tossed.

The stately homes of England!How beautiful they stand,Amidst their tall ancestral trees,O'er all the pleasant land!

I look OK. I look better in person than I do on film, which is bad because it's how I make my living, but I am not a beauty and on balance I am glad.

Beauty can make you powerful in a way that isn't good for you. Being OK is better for the person I have become.

Empezaría a pensar que me enorgullecería más, si descubrir una verdad o hacer una cosa bella; yo me quedaría con las dos cosas, como si me pusiera dos trajes: un día uno de profesor de psicología y otro de literato.

Caminaba ligero siempre, y al pasar entre las otras, las otras parecían plantas que se movían por una brisa suave.

Descubrí que su belleza era agresiva, aunque su agresividad no fuera contra nada , igual me parecía que era agresiva, que esa era la cualidad de su belleza.

They fluttered and rustled ceaselessly through the air from all the tree-tops and branches. A delicate silvery sound was falling constantly to earth. It was wonderful to awaken amidst it, wonderful to fall asleep to this mysterious and melancholy whispering.

Don't lose your head," screamed the pheasant. And at the same time his voice broke in a whistling gasp and, spreading his wings, he flew up with a loud whir. Bambi watched how he flew straight up, directly between the trees, beating his wings. The dark metallic blue and greenish-brown marking son his body gleamed like gold. His long tail feathers swept proudly behind him. A short crash like thunder sounded sharply. The pheasant suddenly crumpled up in mid-flight.

It's hard to believe that it will ever be better," Bambi's mother sighed. Aunt Ena sighed too. "It's hard to believe that it was ever any better," she said. "And yet," Marena said, looking in front of her, "I always think how beautiful it was before.

Felix Timmermans

Grief is love's alter ego, after all, yin to its yang, the necessary other; like night, grief has its own dark beauty. How may we know light without knowledge of dark? How may we know love without sorrow? "The disorientation following such loss can be terrible, I know" Wendell Berry wrote me on learning of Larry's death. "But grief gives the full measure of love, and it is somehow reassuring to learn, even by suffering, how large, and powerful love is.

This is why one becomes a monk: to cultivate in every moment presence to the beauty of the world.

On a soutenu que le christianisme avait mis fin à l'art antique. Dans une certaine mesure cette opinion peut se justifier. Le christianisme, et aussi l'Islam, à l'imitation de leur père le Judaïsme, répugnent par essence à ce qui fait la beauté de l'Art antique, la plastique.

We walk into the olive grove and sit in the dry grass on the bluff. The monastery and the whole world lie before us. Purples, yellows, pinks and blues but all washed, hazy, indefinite, dreamy. The world was dissolving, vanishing. And if you half-closed your eyes, you could see yourself from afar, dissolving in the haze. You could see yourself turning into light.

What does that represent? There was never any question in plastic art, in poetry, in music, of representing anything. It is a matter of making something beautiful, moving, or dramatic - this is by no means the same thing.

God made the cat in order that man might have the pleasure of caressing the lion.

La Guapa es presencia, esencia y perfume. No es sólo que la quiera, sino que, además, me cae bien.

No hay más hondo dolor, pena más honda, que a la rosa, por rosa, la consuma.

Sit still with me in the shade of these green trees, which have no weightier thought than the withering of their leaves when autumn arrives, or the stretching of their many stiff fingers into the cold sky of the passing winter.

Alcides Gómez es un hombre sensible. Tan perdidamente marica, que ve un muchacho bonito y se le salen las lágrimas.

La isla, por si usted no lo sabe, tiene corales y está bañada en luz, y el mar a ratos, cansado del azul se hace esmeralda, para recordarle a quien no lo quiere creer que el verde en Colombia llega hasta allí.