Quotes About Beauty

Ai o fa?? foarte ciudat?, zise el, pe jum?tate pentru sine. Ar trebui s? fii urât?.

meant. You said he'd lived a long, beautiful, generous life. And the fates had let him slip out of it lovingly. It helped, in that awful

Their life could be made up of thousands of simple moments. And still never me ordinary

If God didn't want a woman's lips to be kissed, he wouldn't have made them so easy to reach.

quietly. "To the cliffs and caves, while we have the sun." "There you go. They can't come out. Nothing

Gorgeous is just lucky DNA. You're...vivid, he decided. Compelling. That's the sort of thing that comes from inside spaces, so it's better than gorgeous. If you want my opinion.

Was there anything more powerful than the ability to create beauty?

She looks like something poets write about, right down to the sad eyes.

them. Her hair was short and fluffed and silver

Se as pessoas não gostaseem de olhar para coisas atraentes, a arte não existiria.

It was like being rolled over by a steamroller made of flowers, Abigail thought. It didn't really hurt, it was all very pretty and sweet-smelling. But you were still flattened.

Of course naked. What's the point otherwise? She's got the most amazing tattoo on her --

eyes of absolutely clear and perfect blue. Her

Beauty is its own reason for being.

There be none of Beauty's daughters/ With a magic like thee/ And like music on the waters/ Is thy sweet voice to me.

I was second-runner-up Miss Tennessee!" Shelby glanced back, smiled at Melody, who stood, hands on hips, at the top of the stairs. "Bless your heart," she said, and continued down, and straight out. She

He called you his rose. He'd want you to bloom.

Beauty, strength, youth are flowers but fading seen; Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green.

It wasn't really a walk, she thought as she wound through rosebushes and the heavy scent of gardenia. It was more of a meander. No hurry, no destination, no problems.

Pretty thing, he thought, though he'd be wise to ignore that. Pretty and sunny and a bloody faerie goddess astride a horse.

So, the image to start. The perception of the world as it is, the phantasm, the flare of the visionary idea is flattened to a page by the male intellect. Controlled, categorized, c-a-t-a-l-o-g-u-e-d. The ethereal is quashed. Address, that beautiful oration announcing itself, becomes a dress feebly worn, becomes a picture of a dress in a catalogue.

Dying is beautiful- even the first time around, at the ripe old age of 20. It's not easy most of the time, but there is real beauty to be found in knowing that your end is going to catch up with you faster than you had expected, and that you have to get all your loving and laughing and crying done as soon as you can.

Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.

As a Scot and a Presbyterian, my father believed that man by nature was a mess and had fallen from an original state of grace. Somehow, I early developed the notion that he had done this by falling from a tree. As for my father, I never knew whether he believed God was a mathematician but he certainly believed God could count and that only by picking up God's rhythms were we able to regain power and beauty. Unlike many Presbyterians, he often used the word beautiful.