Quotes About Beauty

"I don't need to be so full of myself that I feel I am without flaw. I can feel beautiful and imperfect at the same time. I have a healthy relationship with my aesthetic insecurities."

Famously, Anne Boleyn was not a beauty: she was more about quirkiness and an innate sensuality, and there are a lot of references to her eyes. Which sends out a great message for women, because life is not about the aesthetic all the time.

If the universal is the essential, then it is the basis of all life and art. Recognizing and uniting with the universal therefore gives us the greatest aesthetic satisfaction, the greatest emotion of beauty.

The beauty of a woman grows with the passing years.

Glamour is beyond beauty and beyond age. It's like sex appeal.

Beauty exists at every age. It's not about youth and perfection.

The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart.

It's not true that clothes look better on skinny girls; what counts is the attitude.

Most of us, I suppose, are a little nervous of the sea. No matter what its smiles may be, we doubt its friendship.

As to the sea itself, love it you cannot. Why should you? I will never believe again the sea was ever loved by anyone whose life was married to it. It is the creation of Omnipotence, which is not of humankind and understandable, and so the springs of its behavior are hidden.

What a man does for pay is of little significance. What he is, as a sensitive instrument responsive to the world's beauty, is everything!

There is hope and a kind of beauty in there somewhere, if you look for it.

if I could have caught up from the earth, the whole of the flowers of the earth, if once I could have breathed into myself the very golden crocuses and the red, and the very golden hearts of the first saffron, the whole of the golden mass, the whole of the great fragrance, I could have dared the loss. — H.D., from "Eurydice," Collected Poems 1912-1944 (New Directions Publishing Corporation, 1982)

Helen All Greece hates the still eyes in the white face, the lustre as of olives where she stands, and the white hands. All Greece reviles the wan face when she smiles, hating it deeper still when it grows wan and white, remembering past enchantments and past ills. Greece sees, unmoved, God's daughter, born of love, the beauty of cool feet and slenderest knees, could love indeed the maid, only if she were laid, white ash amid funereal cypresses.

it is better to taste of frost— the exquisite frost— than of wadding and of dead grass.

O to blot out this garden to forget, to find a new beauty in some terrible wind-tortured place.

What is self? Self is a lotus bud slimed over in mud.

She did not look at the daffodils. They didn't mean anything. She looked at the daffodils. She said, 'Thank you for the daffodils.

It is easy enough to call men from the edges of the earth. It is easy enough to summon them to my feet with a thought– it is beautiful to see the tall panther and the sleek deer-hounds circle in the dark. It is easy enough to make cedar and white ash fumes into palaces and to cover the sea-caves with ivory and onyx. But I would give up rock-fringes of coral and the inmost chamber of my island palace and my own gifts and the whole region of my power and magic for your glance.

I mean seeing the Elgin marbles this morning gave me the same feeling and I didn't know, don't know whether I'm in Rome or Paris. I mean the Louvre and the British Museum hold one together, keep one from going to bits.

Could beauty be caught and hurt they had done her to death with their sneers in ages and ages past, could beauty be sacrificed for a thrust of a sword, for a piece of thin money tossed up to fall half alloy— then beauty were dead long, long before we saw her face.

There's a black rose growing in your garden.

Just as writing can become calligraphy when it's creatively, skillfully, and consciously performed, so can all other activities become art. In this case, we are reflecting upon life itself as an artistic statement—the art of living.

Man is never honestly the fatalist, nor even the stoic. He fights his fate, often desperately. He is forever entering bold exceptions to the rulings of the bench of gods. This fighting, no doubt, makes for human progress, for it favors the strong and the brave. It also makes for beauty, for lesser men try to escape from a hopeless and intolerable world by creating a more lovely one of their own.