Quotes About Beauty

I preferred my brand of beauty where Norah was more beautiful than any bimbette, and Mom was beautiful whether sized extra-small or extra-large. Where Peony could look at herself in the mirror and murmur, wow, look at me. Just look at me.

Hao Kan," I said gently, quietly, firmly as if it was a pact between the two of us. She blinked. I wasn't sure if she understood. Or if she believed she was beautiful. So I pointed at her and then to me. And I repeated with utter conviction, "Hao Kan." Those words, my pronouncement, won me the girl's slow nod. I nodded back. And when she smiled, wide and open, I tell you, there was nothing more beautiful that that.

Rare is the union of beauty and purity.

The most cursory glimpse at the world we perceive through out senses is far richer than this nothingness can seem to support. Things sprout, drip, spew, dive, wander, branch, breathe, trickles, fizz, pierce, curl, spiral, branch, shine, flicker, and fade. The shapes and motions are rich and irregular. The nothing we have met so far seems far too neat to give rise to all of messy reality.

Somewhere there are gardens where peacocks sing like nightingales, somewhere there are caravans of separated lovers traveling to meet each other; there are ruby fires on distant mountains, and blue comets that come in spring like sapphires in the black sky. If this is not so, meet me in the shameful yard, and we will plant a gallows tree, and swing like sad pendulums, never once touching.

With her hair and freckles she was dark gold like the bracken on the slope behind her; she fitted. He stared past her into the water of the lake, and saw it was very clear, and deep; sunlight coming through the trees sent spears into it, gold again, another world, shining above and losing itself below in darkness.

All of this beauty comes because we are broken. We no longer have anything to fight for because our lives have been crucified with Christ. We no longer have anything to boast in because our outer man is crushed, our strength is done away with, our reputation insignificant. It is only Christ within us that matters now. And it is only Christ within us, in all His beauty and grace, who can be seen now. His living water is free to flow out of us and bless others.

What in heaven's name was the real essence of this beauty? Was it the precision of nature with its physical laws, or was it nature's mercilessness, ceaselessly resisting man's understanding?

A bee may be born in a hole in a tree, but she likes the honey of the lotus.

Did the great Creator first draw her in a masterpiece, (9) And then touch life into his art? Or did he make her in his mind alone, Drawing on beauty's every part? No—considering her singular perfection And her maker's true omnipotence, I suppose her some quite unique creation In femininity's treasure house.

I recognise your body in liana; your expression in the eyes of a frightened gazelle; the beauty of your face in that of the moon, your tresses in the plumage of peacocks... alas! Timid friend- no one object compares to you.

May lily-dotted lakes delight your eye; May shade-trees bid the heat of noonday cease; May soft winds blow the lotus-pollen nigh; May all your path be pleasantness and peace.

No man on earth deserves to taste her beauty, Her blameless loveliness and worth, Unless he has fulfilled man's perfect duty— And is there such a one on earth?

The tears would choke you, sweet, in vain; My soul with victory is fed, Because I see your face again— No jewels, but the lips are red.

A graceful arch of brows above great eyes; Lips bathed in darting, smiling light that flies Reflected from white teeth; a mouth as red As red karkandhu-fruit; love's brightness shed O'er all her face in bursts of liquid charm— The picture speaks, with living beauty warm.

To beauty such as this No woman could give birth; The quivering lightning flash Is not a child of earth.

Don't go outside your house to see the flowers. My friend, don't bother with that excursion. Inside your body there are flowers. One flower has a thousand petals. That will do for a place to sit. Sitting there you will have a glimpse of beauty inside the body and out of it, before gardens and after gardens.

The leaf that spreads in the sunlight is the only holiness there is.

Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.

Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror. But you are the eternity and you are the mirror.

The appearance of things changes according to the emotions; and thus we see magic and beauty in them, while the magic and beauty are really in ourselves.

Trees are poems that earth writes upon the sky, We fell them down and turn them into paper, That we may record our emptiness.