Quotes About Beauty

All architecture is what you do to it when you look upon it; Did you think it was in the white or gray stone? or the lines of the arches and cornices?

The land and sea, the animals, fishes, and birds, the sky of heaven and the orbs, the forests, mountains, and rivers, are not small themes … but folks expect of the poet to indicate more than the beauty and dignity which always attach to dumb real objects … they expect him to indicate the path between reality and their souls.

morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.

And as to you Corpse I think you are good manure, but that does not offend me, I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing, I reach to the leafy lips, I reach to the polish'd breasts of melons.

The earth recedes from me into the night, I saw that it was beautiful . . . . and I see that what is not the earth is beautiful.

Low hangs the moon, it rose late,  It is lagging - O I think it is heavy with love, with love.

Of the human form especially, it is so great it must never be made ridiculous . . . Exaggerations will be revenged in human physiology.

The young are beautiful—but the old are more beautiful than the young.

Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me? (I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees and always drop fruit as I pass;)

Come I should like to hear you tell me what there is in yourself that is not just as wonderful, And I should like to hear the name of anything between Sunday morning and Saturday night that is not just as wonderful.

Terrible in beauty, age, and power, The genius of poets of old lands, As to me directing like flame its eyes, With finger pointing to many immortal songs, And menacing voice, What singest thou? it said, Know'st thou not there is but one theme for ever-enduring bards?

Here are the roughs and beards and space and ruggedness and nonchalance that the soul loves. Here the performance disdaining the trivial unapproached

they may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing currents.

How beautiful and perfect are the animals! How perfect the earth, and the minutest thing upon it!

Now I am terrified at the Earth, it is that calm and patient, It grows such sweet things out of such corruptions.

And I will show that nothing can happen more beautiful than death

Whoever you are, how superb and how divine is your body, or any part of it!

And as to you corpse I think you are good manure, but that does not offend me, I smell the white roses sweetscented and growing, I reach to the leafy lips . . . . I reach to the polished breasts of melons.

Quédate hoy conmigo, vive conmigo un día y una noche y te mostraré el origen de todos los poemas. Tendrás entonces todo cuanto hay de grande en la Tierra y en el Sol (existen además millones de soles más allá) y nada tomarás ya nunca de segunda ni de tercera mano, ni mirarás más por los ojos de los muertos, ni te nutrirás con el espectro de los libros.

I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars, And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren, And the tree-toad is a chef-d'oeuvre for the highest, And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven, And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery, And the cow crunching with depress'd head surpasses any statue, And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels.

Beautiful Women Women sit or move to and fro, some old, some young,   The young are beautiful — but the old are more beautiful than the young.

Mások dicsérhetik, ami jólesik nekik; De én, a rohanó Missouri partjairól semmit sem dicsérek a m?vészetben vagy bármi másban, Amíg az nem szívta magába jól e folyó levegÅ'jét, a nyugati préri-illatot, És amíg mindezt ki nem leheli ismét.

You think it would be good to be the writer of melodious verses, Well it would be good to be the writer of melodious verses;

MidÅ'n az orgona utólszor virult házunk elÅ'tt a kertben, S a nagy csillag korán lehanyatlott a nyugati égrÅ'l az éjbe, Gyászoltam, és mindig gyászolok én, amint a tavasz visszatér. Ó, örökkön visszatérÅ' tavasz! Te elhozod nékem e hármast: A minden évben kivirágzó orgonát, a lehanyatló csillagot nyugaton, És emlékét annak, kit szeretek.