Quotes About Beauty

Now ruddy Morn purpled the glowing East...

Morning breaks the mystery of night with her delicately blazing pastel light.

I get so excited over sunsets and rainbows etc, when you see them it's like you can shut out the real world and envelop yourself in a beauty that almost makes it feel like fantasy.

After God perfected the sunrise, he created photographers, artists, and poets to ensure his feat remained immortal.

Clouds blaze brilliant colors in a sky on fire.

Good tattoos aren't cheap and cheap tattoos aren't good.

Tattoos are walking artwork.

Beauty is skin deep, unless you have really bad tattoos.

If man has no tea in him, he is incapable of understanding truth and beauty.

A snowflake is one of God's most fragile creations, but look what they can do when they stick together!

Arteries are the body's thundering poetry.

A girl without freckles is like a night without stars.

What golden spider warmed himself and spun This web that is the flesh upon your bones...

I never get tired of the blue sky..

...the darkness of the hollow in the centre of a wild rose is one glow of orange fire...

William Ralston Balch, 1883

Some of the most beautiful blues and purples in nature, for instance, are those of mountains in shadow against amber sky...

Best I love September's yellow...

Colors of the summer sun illuminate the meadow. Gold, the massed gold of hawkweed; the burnished gold of black-eyed Susans; the delicate, demure gold of stargrass, cousin of the daffodil; and the sun's very rays captured by the field's wild sunflowers.

Nature rarer uses Yellow Than another Hue – Saves she all of that for Sunsets Prodigal of Blue Spending Scarlet, like a Woman Yellow she affords Only scantly and selectly Like a Lover's Words –

There is indeed scarcely any writer who has not celebrated the happiness of rural privacy, and delighted himself and his reader with the melody of birds, the whisper of groves, and the murmur of rivulets...

That time of year, you know, when the summer, beginning to sadden, Full-mooned and silver-misted, glides from the heart of September, Mourned by desolate crickets, and iterant grasshoppers, crying All the still nights long, from the ripened abundance of gardens...

To-day one half remembers With a sigh, In the yellow-mooned Septembers Long gone by, Many a solitary stroll With an overflowing soul...

Give me nights perfectly quiet... and I looking up at the stars...