Quotes About Beauty

At evening the complaint of the cuckoo Grows still in the wood. The grain bends its head deeper, The red poppy. Darkening thunder drives Over the hill. The old song of the cricket Dies in the field. The leaves of the chestnut tree Stir no more. Your clothes rustle On the winding stair. The candle gleams silently In the dark room; A silver hand Puts the light out; Windless, starless night.

I'm not ugly, but my beauty is a total creation.

Too fair to worship, too divine to love.

If we are in a general way permitted to regard human activity in the realm of the beautiful as a liberation of the soul, as a release from constraint and restriction, in short to consider that art does actually alleviate the most overpowering and tragic catastrophes by means of the creations it offers to our contemplation and enjoyment, it is the art of music which conducts us to the final summit of that ascent to freedom.

She was short on intellect, but long on shape.

I love this simple maiden, She grows upon me more and more, And--ask the moon who 't was that kissed, Last night upon the shore!

Globular clusters!

Choreography is like cooking or gardening. Not like painting because painting stays. Dancing disintegrates. Like a garden. Lots of roses come up, and in the evening they're gone.

Someone once said that dancers work just as hard as policemen, always alert, always tense, but see, policemen don't have to be beautiful at the same time.

When you have a garden full of pretty flowers, you don't demand of them, "What do you mean? What is your significance?" Dancers are just flowers, and flowers grow without any literal meaning, they are just beautiful. We're like flowers. A flower doesn't tell you a story. It's in itself a beautiful thing.

Ballet is the one place where art flourishes because of a woman; woman is the goddess, the poetess, the muse. That is why I have a company with beautiful girl dancers.

Someone once said that dancers work just as hard as policeman, always alert, always tense. But i dont agree with that because policeman don't have to look beautiful at the same time" *

Someone once said that dancers work just as hard as policemen, always alert, always tense. But I dont agree with that because policemen don't have to look beautiful at the same time.

Beauty is but the sensible image of the Infinite. Like truth and justice it lives within us; like virtue and the moral law it is a companion of the soul.

I hope you have lost your good looks, for while they last any fool can adore you, and the adoration of fools is bad for the soul. No, give me a ruined complexion and a lost figure and sixteen chins on a farmyard of Crow's feet and an obvious wig. Then you shall see me coming out strong.

You use a glass mirror to see your face; you use works of art to see your soul.

If I'd been born ugly, you'd never have heard of Pelé.

I used to go missing a lot... Miss Canada, Miss United Kingdom, Miss World.

She was so pretty, so elegant, it made me lonely just to look at her.

Gorgeous. Gorgeous home," my mother had said. Seeing it myself, I understood why she liked visiting here so much, and why she always seemed so disappointed when she returned home to ours. It was obvious, wasn't it? Who wouldn't have wanted to trade their lives for this dream?

Her eyes changed and her face went soft. I saw something there that I'd seen that afternoon in the planetarium, a certain tenderness tinged with sorrow—a depth of feeling that seemed at odds with her youth and beauty, but that also seemed to mirror my own feelings, feelings I hardly recognized in myself until I saw them in her.

There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar I love not Man the less, but Nature more.

I slept and dreamt that life was beauty I woke and found that life was duty.

Rock an stane lay glisterin on aa the heichs abune. Cool an kind an whisperin it drifted gently doon, till hill an howe war rowed in it, an land an sea were gane. Aa was still an saft an silent in the smoky smir o rain.