Quotes About Beauty

In harmony there is nothing strange. And life is a vast harmony. I've understood this. But, you see- the moulded whimsy of a frieze on a portico keeps us from recognizing, sometimes, the symmetry of the whole. . .

She had imagination — the muscle of the soul — and her imagination was of a particularly strong, almost masculine quality. She possessed, too, that real sense of beauty which has far less to do with art than with the constant readiness to discern the halo round a frying-pan or the likeness between a weeping-willow and a Skye terrier. And finally she was blest with a keen sense of humour. No wonder she fitted into his life so well.

the awfulness of love and violets

The crickets kept crepitating; from time to time there came a sweet whiff of burning juniper; and above the black alpestrine steppe, above the silken sea, the enormous, all-engulfing sky, dove-gray with stars, made one's head spin, and suddenly Martin again experienced a feeling he had known on more than one occasion as a child: an unbearable intensification of all his senses, a magical and demanding impulse, the presence of something for which alone it was worth living.

And a beautiful garden, not far from a beautiful lake, and I said it sounded perfectly perfect.

Yo me empecinaba en mi paraíso escogido: Un paraíso cuyos cielos tenían el color de las llamas infernales, pero con todo un paraiso

making klv zdB AoyvBno wkh gwzxm dqg kzwAAqvo a gwttp vq wjfhm Ada in natural bower of aspens xliC mujzikml.

What (Ada asks) are eyes anyway? Two holes in the mask of life. What (she asks) would they mean to a creature from another corpuscle or milk bubble whose organ of sight was (say) an internal parasite resembling the written word deified? What, indeed, would a pair of beautiful (human, lemurian, owlish) eyes mean to anybody if found lying on the seat of a taxi?

The determinate scheme by stripping the sunrise of it's surprise would erase all sunrays.

My Lolita had a way of raising her bent left knee at the ample and springy start of the service cycle when there would develop and hang in the sun for a second a vital web of balance between toed foot, pristine armpit, burnished arm and far back-flung racket, as she smiled up with gleaming teeth at the small globe suspended so high in the zenith of the powerful and graceful cosmos she had created for the express purpose of falling upon it with a clean resounding crack of her golden whip.

Nincs több pusztítás, Van. Csak szerelem.

emotions of that kind ought to be more restrained, without violet irises and crying violins.

Sleep is a rose, as the Persians say.

No jewels, save my eyes, do I own, but I have a rose which is even softer than my rosy lips. And a quiet youth said: 'There is nothing softer than your heart.' And I lowered my gaze...

Remembrance, embers and membranes of beauty make artists and morons lose all self-control.

I am lanky, big-boned, wooly-chested Humbert Humbert, with thick black eyebrows and a queer accent, and a cesspoolful of rotting monsters behind his slow boyish smile.

Las regiones apacibles y vagas en que me movía eran patrimonio de los poetas, no el terreno del crimen

The cup-sized breasts of that twenty-four year old impatient beauty seemed a dozen years younger than she, with those pale squinty nipples and firm form.

The moral sense in mortals is the duty. We have to pay on mortal sense of beauty.

nale?aÅ'a jednak do tych kobiet, które Å'Ä…czÄ… w sobie zdrowÄ… urodÄ™ z histerycznÄ… Å'zawliwoÅ›ciÄ…, wybuchy liryczne z bardzo praktycznym, banalnym myÅ›leniem, podÅ'y charakter z sentymentalizmem, ospaÅ'Ä… bierno?? z trze?wÄ… umiejÄ™tnoÅ›ciÄ… wysyÅ'ania bli?nich na poszukiwanie wiatru w polu.

Szeret mindent, amit a szép lányok szeretnek – mondta Van –, a bálokat, az orchideákat és a Cseresznyéskert-et.

soha nem szabad elfelejtenünk, hogy az ember ereje, méltósága és öröme abban rejlik, hogy dacolva megveti azokat az árnyakat és csillagokat, amelyek elrejtik elÅ'lünk titkainkat.

One had to forget - because one could not live with the thought that this graceful, fragile, tender young woman with those eyes, that smile, those gardens and snows in the background, had been brought in a cattle car to an extermination camp and killed by an injection of phenol into the heart, into the gentle heart one had heard beating under one's lips in the dusk of the past.

Otar, her lover, said that when you walked behind her, and she knew you were walking behind her, the swing and play of those slim haunches was something intensely artistic, something Arab girls were taught in special schools by special Parisian panders who were afterwards strangled. Her