Quotes About Beauty

He saw them three by three, approaching girls, in green, in rose, in russet, entwining, per l'aer perso, in mauve, in purple, quella pacifica oriafiamma, gold of oriflamme, di rimirar fè più ardenti. But I old men, penitent, leadenfooted, underdarkneath the night: mouth south: tomb womb.

It was lovely to be tired.

935--If that is rhythm, said Lynch, let me hear what you call beauty: and, please remember, though I did eat a cake of cowdung once, that I admire only beauty.

There's music along the river For Love wanders there

Woodshadows floated silently by through the morning peace from the stairhead seaward where he gazed. Inshore and farther out the mirror of water whitened, spurned by lightshod hurrying feet. White breast of the dim sea. The twining stresses, two by two. A hand plucking the harpstrings, merging their twining chords.

The waxen pallor of her face was almost spiritual in its ivorylike purity though her rosebud mouth was a genuine Cupid's bow, Greekly perfect.

When all things repose, do you alone Awake to hear the sweet harps play To Love before him on his way, And the night wind answering in antiphon Till night is overgone?

Why have women such eyes of witchery?

He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music." ? James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

We are right, he said, and the others are wrong. To speak of these things and to try to understand their nature and, having understood it, to try slowly and humbly and constantly to express, to press out again, from the gross earth or what it brings forth, from sound and shape and colour which are the prison gates of our soul, an image of the beauty we have come to understand- that is art.

How beautiful must be a soul in the state of grace when God looked upon it with love!

No roses without thorns.

And they fell upong one another: and themselves they have fallen. And still nowanights and by nights of yore do all bold floras of the field to their shyfaun lovers say only: Cull me ere I wilt to thee!: and, but a little later: Pluck me whilst I blush!

There'll be bluebells blowing in salty sepulchres the night she signs her final tear.

Onlar güzel insanlar, Onlar güzel insanlar, Onlar güzel insanlar, Kimse inkar edemez. Yalanc? deÄŸillerse, Yalan deÄŸillerse.

If Dann's dane, Ann's dirty, if he's plane she's purty, if he's fane, she's flirty, with her auburnt streams, and her coy cajoleries, and her dabblin drolleries, for to rouse his rudderup, or to drench his dreams. If hot Hammurabi, or cowld Clesiastes, could espy her pranklings, they'd burst bounds agin, and renounce their ruings, and denounce their doings, for river and iver, and a night. Amin !

The long eyelids beat and lift: a burning needleprick stings and quivers in the velvet iris.

Llegan, las olas. Los hipocampos crestiblancos, tascando, embridados en fúlgidos céfiros, los corceles de Mananaan.

A sua alma desfalecia languidamente enquanto ele ouvia a neve cair suavemente em todo o universo e cair suavemente, como a descida do seu fim derradeiro, sobre todos os vivos e os mortos.

often she wondered why you couldn't eat something poetical like violets or roses

The warmly cool, clear, ringing perfumed, overflowing, redundant days, were as crystal goblets of Persian sherbet, heaped up — flaked up, with rose-water snow.

Her soul! Her name! Her eyes! They seem to me like strange beautiful blue wild-flowers growing in some tangled, rain-drenched hedge. And I have felt her soul tremble beside mine, and have spoken her name softly to the night, and have wept to see the beauty of the world passing like a dream behind her eyes. — James Joyce, from a love letter to (of) Nora Barnacle, Selected Joyce Letters , ed. Richard Ellmann (Viking Press, 1975)

White breast of the dim sea. The twining stresses, two by two. A hand plucking the harpstrings, merging their twining chords. Wavewhite wedded words shimmering on the dim tide.

My love she's handsome, My love she's bony: She's like good whisky When it is new; But when 'tis old And growing cold It fades and dies like The mountain dew.