Quotes About Beauty

her shoulders, her neck, and

My mother never put an emphasis on looks. She let us grow up on our own time line. She never forced any beauty regimen into my world.

I have a real passion for many aspects of home lifestyle and beauty.

I'm not a size 0, and I'm nowhere close to it. But, I don't want anyone to know what I am so I like to design clothes so you don't know what's going on under there.

She felt so lovely in his hands. She felt so loved in his eyes.

Then," he says, "as my mind got functioning, everything was just beautiful. There was no right or wrong feeling, no social pressure. I believe that's what heaven's going to be like..." p 55

I know it sounds a bit corny, but I do think that beauty and sexiness come from within.

It is indeed like certain lovely women who, now old, belong to a bygone generation—women who in youth were passionate but seemly; difficult to win but when won, all-fulfilling.

No matter what happens now You shouldn't be afraid Because I know today has been the most perfect day I've ever seen.

I want a perfect garden.... I want a perfect soul

Mozart creates a universe out of pleasantries.

The jacaranda, for instance, is beautiful but not serious.

The moon was just starting to rise above the Tetons, shining

Why are you still single, Ruben? Seriously. You're great with kids and close to your own family. You're gorgeous – that goes without saying – have a fairly decent job and appear to have all your teeth. What am I missing?

beautiful faces. One urgent phone call, that's

butterfly envelopes

Butterflies are symbols of hope. They land beside us, like sunbeams, and belong to us for a moment, but then they fly away. And while we wish they might have stayed longer to share their beauty, we feel blessed for having s-seen them.

Life was as beautiful as a silky, fresh, sweet-smelling rose, even when that beauty was sometimes complicated by a few thorns.

El arte de la noche ha invadido el arte de la vida.

They had painted a lady leaning her arms on the sill of the window. This lady was waiting for a husband. Her flesh was slack and she was some forty-five years old. Perhaps she had been waiting since she was fifteen. A rose and mauve lady that had not yet gathered her flesh and her beauty into dark clothes, and still waited, like a rose stripped of its petals, with her faded colors and her artificial smile, bitter as a grimace.

I am going to the white kingdom where the colours if all things can be found.

She possessed, further - as became the mother of six sturdy children of assorted paternity-- a discerning eye for a fine figure of a man

That's the beauty of art--we strive for perfection but never achieve it. The journey is everything.

But just look at her, he thought. How can there be this much treasure all in one place, and the world still here?