Quotes About Beauty

In life you need colors.

There is immense joy in just watching all the little creatures in nature.

There's beauty in every tree and every bush. Just take the time to look at'em.

The longing of your breast is to be a living flame, ignited with the exhilaration of beholding His beauty, worshiping Him with uninhibited abandon, and deployed into the world with self-controlled, calculated zeal that does not love its own life even unto death.

I loved birds, and every bird was my favorite bird. But no bird was a better bird than a bird I saw with Linda.

The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky Are also on the faces of people going by I see friends shakin' hands, sayin' "How do you do?" They're really saying "I love you" I hear babies cryin', I watch them grow They'll learn much more than I'll ever know And I think to myself, what a wonderful world Yes, I think to myself, what a wonderful world

the mountains with their purpling canyons and glittering snow peaks were a book to which there was no end. The beauty of the hills was a sermon, the whispering trees a prayer, the mountain streams songs of gladness and hymns of peace. The forest was his temple, and there he worshiped.

Fiammetta, whose wavy tresses fell in a flood of gold over her white and delicate shoulders

I kept working and...reading The Theory of The Heavens a sentence at a time, savoring each sentence like a cough drop and brimming with a sense of the immensity, grandeur, and infinite beauty streaming at me from all sides

Every beloved object is the center of a garden of paradise.

my husband can't pass by a beautiful birch tree or a beautiful spruce without just standing there, thunderstruck, watching... I'll have to be careful he doesn't merge with those trees body and soul, careful not to lose him altogether.

It never ceased to amaze me, until suddenly one day I felt beautiful and holy for having had the courage to hold on to my sanity after all I'd seen and been through, body and soul, in too loud a solitude, and slowly I came to the realization that my work was hurtling me headlong into an infinite field of omnipotence.

So there they stood, side by side, the better for me to compare them, an elderly gentleman and a young man, as thousands of cobalt-colored flies swooped in thousands of wild nosedives, their metallic wings and bodies embroidering an immense tableau vivant made up of constantly shifting curves and splashes like the flow of paint in those gigantic Jackson Pollocks.

Somehow I had reached an age when being in love with a beautiful woman was beyond my reach because I was now bald and my face was full of wrinkles, yet the cats loved me the way girls used to love me when I was young.

To peer into the mass of wastepaper and find the spine and boards of a rare book has always been a special treat for me. Instead of going after it on the spot, I'll take a piece of steel wool and give the shaft a good rub, then have another look at the paper and check whether I have the strength to pull out the book and open it, and not until I decide I do have the strength will I pick it up, and even then it shakes in my hands like a bride's bouquet at the altar.

But just as a beautiful fish will occasionally sparkle in the waters of a polluted river that runs through a stretch of factories, so in the flow of old paper the spine of a rare book will occasionally shine forth, and if for a moment I turn away, dazzled, I always turn back in time to rescue it.

and my eyes open panic-stricken on a world other than my own, because when I start reading I'm somewhere completely different, I'm in the text, it's amazing, I have to admit I've been dreaming, dreaming in a land of great beauty, I've been in the very heart of truth.

It was the kind of horse they have in mines—he must have worked underground somewhere because his eyes were so beautiful, the kind I would see in stokers and people who worked in artificial light all day or in the light of safety lamps and emerged from the pit or the furnace room to look up at the beautiful sky because to such eyes all skies are beautiful.

Life, strangely enough, is constantly being reinvented, and loved, even though a tinfoil brain will bring forth crumpled images, and a trampled torso will ooze misery. And yet, it is still a beautiful thing when a man abandons his three square meals a day and his adding machine and his family and goes off to follow a beautiful star. Life is still magnificent as long as one maintains the illusion that an entire world can be conjured from a tiny patch of earth.

Life is fidelity to the beauty exploding all around us, even, at times, at the cost of our own lives.

Ach panenkomarjá, ten život je stejnÄ› k zeÅ¡ílení krásnej. Ne že by byl, ale já to tak vidím.

It never ceased to amaze me, until suddenly one day I felt beautiful and holy for having had the courage to hold on to my sanity after all I'd seen and been through, body and soul, in too loud a solitude, and slowly I came to the realization that my work was hurtling me headlong into an infinite field of omnipotence.

Gold gives the appearance of beauty even to ugliness; but everything becomes frightful with poverty.

His polish-black hair was so silky that my first impulse was to stroke it. That's what beauty does to us. Our first thought is that of the child. Touch it. Make it mine. But the child grows up and learns what happens when you reach for those bright balloons bursting with colour.