Quotes About Beauty

Beauty is a relation, and the apprehension of it a comparison.

How to keep—is there any any, is there none such, nowhere known some, bow or brooch or braid or brace, lace, latch or catch or key to keepBack beauty, keep it, beauty, beauty, beauty… from vanishing away?

Glory be to God for dappled things.

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame.

Nothing is so beautiful as Spring—When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush.

What would the world be, once bereft Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left, O let them be left, wildness and wet; Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.

And for all this, nature is never spent; There lives the dearest freshness deep down things; And though the last lights off the black West went Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs— Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

For Christ plays in ten thousand places,/ Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his/ To the Father through the features of men's faces.

Nothing is so beautiful as Spring- When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush; Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing; The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling. (From "Spring")

No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear, Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.

No one is ever so poor that he is not (without prejudice to all the rest of the world) owner of the skies and stars and everything wild that is to be found on the earth.

All the world is full of inscape and chance left free to act falls into an order as well as purpose.

After-comers cannot guess the beauty been.

I bear a basket lined with grass; I am so light, I am so fair, That men must wonder as I pass And at the basket that I bear, Where in a newly-drawn green litter Sweet flowers I carry, -- sweets for bitter. Lilies I shew you, lilies none, None in Caesar's gardens blow, -- And a quince in hand, -- not one Is set, because their buds not spring; Spring not, 'cause world is wintering....

Christ plays in ten thousand places, Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his To the Father through the features of men's faces.

Where we, even where we mean To mend her we end her, When we hew or delve: After-comers cannot guess the beauty been. Ten or twelve, only ten or twelve Strokes of havoc únselve The sweet especial scene, Rural scene, a rural scene, Sweet especial rural scene.

Nothing is so beautiful as Spring- When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush; (from "Spring")

He lived on; these weeds and waters, these walls are what He haunted who of all men most sways my spirits to peace;

All things counter, original, spare, strange; Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him.

O if we but knew what to do When we delve or hew— Hack and rack the growing green! Since country is so tender To touch, her being só slender,

There lives the dearest freshness deep down things.

The beauty we find is from the comparison we make of the things with themselves, seeing their likeness and difference

Ik heb intussen het 3e Hoofdstuk voltooid, vol verguldsel, paars licht, Eeeuwig onvervulde liefdesverlangens, Jongens op bromfietsen, motregen en met oude canapé kleden behangen grotten. Het leven is veel groter dan ik het ooit zou kunnen beschrijven. En God is gek op me.