Quotes About Beauty

Shh," he said. "Look." "Where?" "Can't you see'um?" he whispered. "All the Terabithians standing on tiptoe to see you." "Me?" "Shh, yes. There's a rumor going around that the beautiful girl arrving today might be the queen they've been waiting for.

O, the red rose may be fair, And the lily statelier; But my shamrock, one in three Takes the very heart of me!

Her feet were large, and she had a habit of whistling badly, but these things made her worthy of being loved. A goddess might be adored for a moment, but only a real person can speak forever to the rest of us.

So much that was beautiful and so much that was hard to bear. Yet whenever I showed myself ready to bear it, the hard was directly transformed into the beautiful. ETTY HILLESUM

But no fifty-year-old can compete with a twenty-year-old.

All else seemed sterile compared to what she witnessed in the woods.

If we are not afraid, if we keep our balance, if we let our anxious selves dissolve into the beauties and mysteries of the night, we will find a way to peace and assurance. Signal fires burn all over the land.

There is necessary beauty in the world, I understand this. Beauty to attract mates, to attract prey, to attract pollinators. But so much of beauty seems to be bycatch, "unnecessary beauty," waste products of essential processes. The opalescence of the inside of an oyster shell, a rainbow around the moon, a baby's dreaming smile. Profligate beauty is a mystery to me. Sing praises.

How can we live as if we were in the wilderness, with that same respect and care for what is beautiful and beyond us?

This is our work in the world: to pull on rubber boots and stand in this lively, dangerous water, bracing against the slapping waves, one foot on stone, another on sand. When one foot slips and the other sinks, to hop awkwardly to keep from filling our boots. To laugh, to point, and sometimes to let this surging, light-flecked mystery wash into us and knock us to our knees, while we sing songs of celebration through our own three short nights, our voices thin in the darkness.

beauty contests, she said seriously, they gave out scholarship awards. "It's the biggest scholarship program in the world—they told us that at the Miss Sullivan City Pageant. I won a few hundred dollars, but the people who do well in their state pageants and then in Atlantic City get really big ones." "Well, Tory did well; she came in third.

You are placed in landscape, you are placed in time. But, within that, there's a bit of room for manoeuvre. To some extent, you can be author of your own fate. At least, that's what I'd been lucky enough to learn. THE GANNETRY the whole pageantry of the year was awake tingling near the edge of the sea —W.

Take a plain-Jane rock and polish it, and you'll find a gem.

After all, from the ankles down, I still had it all going on.

The pure perfect truth of life is that we are here to create heaven on earth, to bring the perfection of what is above down to us, and in doing so to become transformed as human being into something great and beautiful.

Physical beauty, however, was frequently more a detriment than an advantage if one wished ever to be respected and valued for one's mind.

For every joy that passes, something beautiful remains.

Once, when I was describing to a friend from Syracuse, New York, a place on the plains that I love, a ridge above a glacial moraine with a view of almost fifty miles, she asked, "But what is there to see?" The answer, of course, is nothing. Land, sky, and the ever-changing light.

The dead did not call to me from the underworlds, but spoke to me from the rustling pine needles. They did not gaze down upon me from the skyworlds, but smiled up at me from a bead of dew trembling precariously upon a blade of grass. They told me I have never been alone. Not for one instant. Every soul is a thread in the fabric of the world. All I must do to see my relatives is gaze into the shining water that sleeps

Pretty, mysterious girl with braids … The depiction thrilled her. To be seen, to be described—it was as if the plain girl she always saw in the mirror might be magically transformed by the simple act of being observed by others. Pretty? Mysterious? What else might Clara be?

Whiteness of moonlight builds a house that is not there

What could be more beautiful than the fact that love exists in a random universe?

It could be argued that all perfume is born out of shame; a self-consciousness of our natural odour.

Paulette shook her head and sighed. In her world Grace had failed to meet the responsibility of her own beauty. This was not just a waste but a sin.