Quotes About Beauty

My love is unique. No one can rival her, for she is the most beautiful girl alive. Just by passing, she has stolen my heart.

The light in her eyes was beyond description, yet it did not instill improper thoughts: it inspired a love tempered by awe, purifying the hearts it inflamed.

I love seeing tattoos on 60-year-olds who have had them for 40 years.

The only things I really love about myself physically are my ankles and my hair.

To begin with, let us take the following motto...Literature is Love. Now we can continue.

There is something beautiful and permanent in the world, and that is the love that a person can have for another human being.

I want to have thoughts of abundance. I want to have thoughts of love, of kindness, of beauty.

I love the sea as much as I love the veldt of Africa.

Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.

How sweet I roamed from field to field, And tasted all the summer's pride, Till I the prince of love beheld, Who in the sunny beams did glide!

Pale brows, still hands and dim hair, I had a beautiful friend And dreamed that the old despair Would end in love in the end.

Come near, that no more blinded by man's fate, I find under the boughs of love and hate, In all poor foolish things that live a day, Eternal beauty wandering on her way.

But Love has pitched his mansion in the place of excrement. For nothing can be sole or whole that has not been rent.

Never shall a young man, Thrown into despair By those great honey-coloured Ramparts at your ear, Love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.

For you see each day I love you more today more than yesterday and less than tomorrow. Just because you're beautiful and perfect, it's made you conceited.

In love we do not think of moral qualities, and scarcely of intellectual ones. Temperament and manner alone, with beauty, excite love.

A good woman is the loveliest flower that blooms under heaven; and we look with love and wonder upon its silent grace, its pure fragrance, its delicate bloom of beauty.

See where she comes apparelled like the spring.

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.

Love adds a precious seeing to the eye.

What is light, if Sylvia be not seen? What is joy if Sylvia be not by?

Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel? Why, now let me die, for I have lived long enough.

Is she not passing fair?

And she's fair I love.