Quotes About Beauty

Qué es poesía? --dices mientras clavas en mi pupila tu pupila azul. ¿Qué es poesía? ¿Y tú me lo preguntas? Poesía... eres tú.

Beauty is worth looking for.

A pettos speckled with gold ajiggle with a fremitus from the heart touches me like Athena's hoolet mewing in uncertain dark. So much is nature, whereon we build our particulars fastidious and critical. Your every arrow O Eros has hit me , as the song goes. O girls, girls. This arrow is Timo's curls, this is Heliodora's shoes, this the smell of quinces that blows from Demo's door, flowers plaited into Dorothea's hair and ox-eyed Antikleia's smile that is music from the islands, summer's stars.

He wanted to achieve something of surpassing beauty that would last. A creation that would mean that he--the mosaic worker Caius Crispus of Varena--had been born, and lived a life, and had come to understand a portion of the nature of the world, of what ran through and beneath the deeds of women and men in their souls and in the beauty and the pain of their short living beneath the sun.

It's the simple truth that mortal men cannot understand why the gods shape events as they do. Why some men and women are cut off in fullest flower, while others live to dwindle into shadows of themselves. Why virtue must sometimes be trampled and evil flourish amidst the beauty of a country garden. Why chance, sheer random chance, plays such an overwhelming role in the life lines and fate lines of men.

I know love," Says the littlest one. "Love is like a flower." "Why is love a flower? Little one tell me." "Love is a flower For the sweetness it gives Before it dies away.

This was not a beauty that warmed one. It cut, like a weapon. There was no nuance of gentleness in her, no shading of care, but fair she was, as is the flight of an arrow before it kills.

We will pick our way through the shards of broken objects folly leaves behind. And some of what breaks will be very beautiful.

Even the birds above the lake Are singing of my love, And even the flowers along the shore Are growing for her sake. All the vines are ripening And the trees come into bud, For my love's footsteps passing by Are summoning the spring. Rian's stars in the night Shine more brightly over her, The god's moon and the goddess's Guard her with their light. Even the birds above the lake Are singing of my love, And even the flowers along the shore Are growing for her sake

Gardens were an island of order imposed upon the chaos of the world.

He waited for his cup to be filled, then added softly, "We will pick our way through the shards of broken objects that folly leaves behind. And some of what breaks will be very beautiful.

He turned to the king of Valledo. "Make your country—all of Esperaña if you can unite it—into a land that understands more than only war and righteous piety. Allow space in your lives for more than battle chants to inspire soldiers. Teach your people to . . . understand a garden, the reason for a fountain, music.

Will you do me harm?' Alun opened his eyes. She was a silver shining in the wood, beyond imagining. He saw the trees around them and the summer grass. 'Not for all the lights in all the worlds,' he said, and took her in his arms.

painted moth-eyebrows

Even the birds above the lake Are singing of my love, And even the flowers along the shore Are growing for her sake.

Funny enough, if you are looking at people these days who are putting Botox in their face and getting all sorts of plastic surgery, we look at them and go, I can tell you've had Botox. I can tell you've had plastic surgery. You look really strange to me. But no one's saying anything. We're just accepting the fact that they're strange-looking.

I'm not really beautiful,' she said to herself, 'but tonight I feel beautiful. And I look like a girl who feels beautiful.' (84)

Yes, he even romped like a normal kitten, despite his eyelessness. In short, he was eminently lovable … at least by all standards except the one with which most humans preoccupied themselves: his appearance. Finally,

If only i could get that under control then i feel like i could stay here a long time, watching the days leaking into the nights, swilling over the buildings, bleeding back again. I could lie and not think of anything but ways to describe the sky, the clouds, the light.

The timecracks into furious flower. Lifts its faceall unashamed. And sways in wicked grace.

Not that anybody is saying that these people have no trouble. Merely that it is trouble with a gold-flecked beautiful banner. Nobody is saying that these people do not ultimately cease to be. And Sometimes their passings are even more painful than ours. It is just that so often they live till their hair is white. They make excellent corpses, among the expensive flowers. . . .

Books are meat and medicine and flame and flight and flower steel, stitch, cloud and clout, and drumbeats on the air." ? Gwendolyn Brooks

Books are meat and medicine and flame and flight and flower steel, stitch, cloud and clout, and drumbeats on the air.

Poetry is life distilled.