Quotes About Beauty

I don't know who thought up waxing, but it was clearly the same person who invented Vicodin.

We agreed on the basic Brazilian—right after I downed a Vicodin. I don't know who thought up waxing, but it was clearly the same person who invented Vicodin. Finally, the Tuesday of my

alopecia on her ass

The woman who looks back at me from my bathroom mirror is sliding toward her mid-fifties. She'd better be careful- she's getting old. I myself am about thirty. I've been thirty for about twenty-three years now.

Time to visit greenhouses, pick out plants, make my gardening selections. It is nearly time to spend a small personal fortune on those few chosen plants I wish to set out in my new garden and ignore all summer.

I'm beginning to realize that beauty is a fundamental value. The essential ingredient of a deeply satisfying life.

Beauty is sunlight for my soul.

reason. She had a well-endowed bosom. Marshal

men wanted to marry the ranch, not me." "You're a rich young woman who also happens to be beautiful. You'll be able to take your pick of the young men around here." She laughed softly. "Oh, you're right. One of the suitors was nearly fifty, the other one had been divorced and the third one was a bank clerk who already had one wife he didn't mention over in Pendleton.

The pretty girl is always right.

She had perfect features, with her eye, nose, lips, and ears the right size and in right places. That is all it takes to make people beautiful, normal body parts – yet why does nature mess it up so many times?

The rainbow began to appear, and sometimes two rainbows, like a mother and her daughter, the one young and beautiful, and the other an old and faint shadow. The rainbow was called the python of the sky.

around her slender waist.

The quickest, easiest way to produce something beautiful and lasting is to risk making something horribly crappy.

The first law of exuberant imperfection is essentially this: The quickest, easiest way to produce something beautiful and lasting is to risk making something horribly crappy.

If they veered left, it would feel to them as if they were sinking into the earth: the path would narrow as the ground around them rose up to their hips, then shoulders, then heads. The walls would turn from sod to stone, and it would seem as if they were walking inside a crag in a cliff. The sky would be reduced to a thin swath of blue, broken in parts by the branches of the trees that grew above them along the sides of this ancient channel.

And so Cristina submerged her ears beneath the water and the world grew a little quieter; her hair fanned out atop the plane and she ran her fingers through it and was reminded of a goddess in a Renaissance painting. Her mind wandered far from the villa and the ruins and her unshakable sense that her world was about to change.

She cringed when she saw she needed a bikini wax - and cringed that she even got them in the first place. It wasn't the pain. It was the whole idea she was raising her daughter in a world where pubic hair was a problem.

I love it when the snowflakes are flying like butterflies.

Humans struggle with the underside of the tapestry, unable to see the beauty in their situation, for they cannot know how the trouble of life fits with The Plan.

I learned early on that war forms its own culture. The rush of battle is a potent and often lethal addiction, for war is a drug, one I ingested for many years. It is peddled by mythmakers- historians, war correspondents, filmmakers, novelists, and the state- all of whom endow it with qualities it often does possess: excitement, exoticism, power, chances to rise above our small stations in life, and a bizarre and fantastic universe that has a grotesque and dark beauty.

I do all my own make-up, it takes me 10 minutes.

Every person is a miracle. Every moment is a miracle.

People have asked me if I had a miracle or a chance to change the way I look, I honestly know I would never do that.