Quotes About Beauty

Bloody hell, she wants respect. Which I'm all about giving. I respect them the entire time they're sharing my bed and I treat them great when they're not, flirting them up, telling them how beautiful they are, while pointing them at the next man to help them get over me.

Have I told you, Chloe-lass, that you're beautiful?" he said softly. She narrowed her eyes. If he thought a generic compliment would buy him a kiss, he was sadly mistaken.

Long gold hair, eyes so light they looked silvery, and golden skin, the man was blindingly beautiful. Every hair on my body lifted, all over, in unison. And I got the strangest thought: He's not human.

I think you're beautiful and smart and talented and deserve a man that can feel with something besides his dick.

I think men don't realize women think dicks are beautiful. Not all dicks.

I'd take some peace and quiet. A beautiful girl." He laughed. "A good book.

No. Your face is lovely, lass. The sunset looks good on you.

The turquoise tide shimmered in shades of mermaid tails against the alabaster shore. The

I wonder about that borrowed grace. Wonder about the enormous amount of pain they must be suffering to finally feel okay only when they decide to opt out of this crazy, beautiful world. You don't see it coming, not even me. Although I've learned to watch for an unexpected, suspicious peace.

There'd been a recent rain, and against the coal of night, the shiny cobbled streets gleamed amber, rose, and neon-blue from reflected lamps and signs.

What did you wish for, Grimm?" Hawk ignored the warning with the devil-may-care attitude that was his wont where the lasses were concerned. A slow smile slid over Grimm's face. "A lass who doesn't want you. A lovely, nay, an earth-shatteringly beautiful one, with wit and wisdom to boot. One with a perfect face and a perfect body and a perfect 'no' on her perfect lips for you, my oh-so perfect friend. And I also wished to be allowed to watch the battle.

up—A pretty woman doesn't have an ugly mouth, she would say—

I was about to look away when he reached across the seat, touched my jaw with his long, strong, beautiful fingers, and caressed my face. Being touched by Jericho Barrons with kindness makes you feel like you must be the most special person in the world. It's like walking up to the biggest, most savage lion in the jungle, lying down, placing your head it its mouth and, rather than taking your life, it licks you and purrs.

Helen can't stop smiling." He looked proud of this fact. "Helen has never stopped smiling. She smiled the day I shot her in the knee with a BB gun." That was a good day. Fourth grade. Summer picnic. The savage beauty of childhood.

how the representation of a thing could seem more alluring than the thing itself.

I am going to live for the color of grass. I am going to keep living because of that

She laughed. He was right. Her laughter was enchanting. So, too, the sparkle in her eyes as she glanced at him. He'd never seen eyes as darkly brown as hers. With her dark hair she should have been a study in monochrome, but she wasn't. Her cheeks matched her pink lips.

her head and raised arm; her dimpled chin barely topped the

You look beautiful sitting there spitting at me like a she-cat. All I have to do is look at you, and I lust. I'm going to take you back to the hotel and take off that delectable dress and make love to you until you don't have the energy to be mad at me anymore." Ian Connelly, Marquis of Derne

The trees were turning now. Yellow, russet, orange, and shades of brown formed a canopy above them as they walked through maples, sycamores, elms, and birches.

I love weird or funny or beautiful sentences Joy Williams could write a microwave-oven manual and I'm sure I'd love it, because the sentences would be tuned up like music.

I stood with my arms stretched wide and trembling, and I felt as if the black sky was my body and I felt as if the white moon, far above me, unwrinkled and shining, was my mind.

My mother is thirty-one years old, but the land out here paints old age onto her.

The boy could scarcely believe the size of the boulders, clustered under the enormous sun like dead red rockets awaiting repair, or the span of the sky, a cheerfully vacant blue dome, the desert's hallucinatory choreography achieved through stillness, brightness, darkness, distance -- and all of this before noon.