Quotes About Beauty

Lady-bird! Lady-bird! pretty one, stay: Come sit on my finger, so happy and gay. With me shall no mischief betide thee; No harm would I do thee, no foeman is near: I only would gaze on thy beauties so dear, Those beautiful winglets beside thee.

Fly back again, back again, Lady-bird dear! Thy neighbors will welcome thee merrily here...

O lady-bird, O lady-bird, With the summer coming fresh! And the April hopes and buttercups, Knitting finely, in a mesh Of sunny-shining rays, For the samite-robèd days, For my heart with all your beauty stirr'd, O lady-bird, my lady-bird!

Hobnelia, seated in a dreary vale, In pensive mood rehears'd her piteous tale... 'This ladyfly I take from off the grass, Whose spotted back might scarlet red surpass. Fly, lady-bird; north, south, or east, or west, Fly where the man is found that I love best.'

I love old poems, ladies who lived in past times. Life was maybe not easier, but people took time to idle sometime, and mostly they took time admiring a sunrise, the flowers opening their hearts, etc.

The library lets you borrow the beauty and keep the knowledge.

To drink the sunshine and to dream at night...

Life. — Enjoy whatever flowers come with the manure.

Live for the roots Love the green Dance with the blossoms

Life is beautiful if you flow with its natural beauty. Resistance makes it ugly.

Have you ever heard anything more beautiful... than soul-shaking booming thunder filling the width and depth and height saturating with stunning sound the infinite and electrified sky?

Reason has moons, but moons not hers Lie mirror'd on the sea, Confounding her astronomers, But, O! delighting me.

Voluptuous bloom and fragrance rare The summer to its rose may bring; Far sweeter to the wooing air The hidden violet of spring. Still, still that lovely ghost appears, Too fair, too pure, to bid depart; No riper love of later years Can steal its beauty from the heart.

Love blooms all sorts of flowers, thorns, and nettles.

And he could glance at her continually as she bent over the fruit, while the level evening sunbeams stole through the thick apple-tree boughs and rested on her round cheek and neck as if they too were in love with her.

Oh, what is so rare as a day in May, When the great sun shines like this! When the soft winds woo, all tender and true, And breathe on one's cheek like a kiss! When the sky is so blue—ah—heaven's own blue! And the birds in the greening trees Are bursting their throats with rapturous notes...

May. — The very word makes the heart leap. Birds, Buds, Blossoms, Beauty! Break away from every bondage of circumstance or low spirits and go out into the sunshine. Answer back the bird-note in your heart, kiss your finger tips to every new blossom, and be a part of the spring.

And this prime hour of fragrance is the hour so many miss upon beds of sloth, never half knowing what a beautiful, marvellous world is around them. Not all the long hours of day can possibly bring back again the charm and blessedness of this, either to the body or to the soul.

It is in the early morning hour that the unseen is seen, and that the far-off beauty and glory, vanquishing all their vagueness, move down upon us till they stand clear as crystal close over against the soul.

Every beetle is a gazelle in the eyes of its mother.

F.B., "Notes of Music," 1848

He was one Who could not help it, for it was his nature To blossom into song, as 't is a tree's To leaf itself in April.

Give me a field where the unmowed grass grows...

Happiness flutters in the air whilst we rest among the breaths of nature.