Quotes About Beauty

The beauty of 'The Walking Dead' and the beauty of being on a television show for a while, is that, it's your backstory, it's part of what you are, it's what you carry with you every day.

With her love of finery, her unmade beds, her litters of unfinished scrapbooks, her taboos, superstitions, and prudishness, her remarkable dignity, her pity for the persecuted, her awe of the gentry, and her detailed knowledge of the family trees of all the Royal Houses of Europe, she was a disorganized mass of unreconciled denials, a servant girl born to silk. Yet in spite of all this, she fed our oafish wits with steady, imperceptible shocks of beauty. Though

Of all the things I wish for her, above all, I want her to know and love the sea.

A wide-angle view of sails sparkling white against a cobalt sky as light dances, silver on the water. Like art, it soothes the edge, allowing you to see something simple from a different perspective.

As beautiful as the chance encounter of a sewing machine and an umbrella on an operating table.

Bello como el encuentro fortruito de una máquina de coser y un paraguas en una mesa de disección.

There are many kinds of smiles, each having a distinct character; some announce goodness and sweetness, others betray sarcasm, bitterness, and pride; some soften the countenance by their languishing tenderness, others brighten by their spiritual vivacity. A beautiful smile is to the female countenance what the sunbeam is to the landscape; it embellishes an inferior face and redeems an ugly one.

When passion is dead, or absent, then the magnificent throb of beauty is incomprehensible and even a little despicable.

Love was the flower of life, and blossomed unexpectedly and without law, and must be plucked where it was found, and enjoyed for the brief hour of its duration.

Art like life is an open secret.

telling over to myself/ how beauty never dies/ but lies apart/ among the aborigines/ of art/ and far above the battlefields/ of love

I have seen the Virgin in an appletree at Chartres And Saint Joan burn at the Bella Union. I have seen giraffes in junglejims their necks like love wound around the iron circumstances of the world. I have seen the Venus Aphrodite armless in her drafty corridor. I have heard a siren sing at One Fifth Avenue. I have seen the White Goddess dancing in the Rue des Beaux Arts on the Fourteenth of July and the Beautiful Dame Without Mercy picking her nose in Chumley's.

Like a bowl of roses, a poem should not have to be explained.

Yes the world is the best place of all for a lot of such things as making the fun scene and making the love scene and making the sad scene

Oh no I have not lain on Beauty Rests like this afraid to rise at night for fear that I might somehow miss some movement beauty might have made

Poetry is eternal graffiti written in the heart of everyone.

Recipe For Happiness Khaborovsk Or Anyplace' One grand boulevard with trees with one grand cafe in sun with strong black coffee in very small cups. One not necessarily very beautiful man or woman who loves you. One fine day.

I have seen giraffes in junglejims their necks like love wound around the iron circumstances of the world.

Let us arise and go now to the Isle of Manisfree and live the true blue simple life of wisdom and wonderment where all things grow straight up aslant and singing in the yellow sun poppies out of cowpods thinking angels out of turds. I must arise and go now to the Isle of Manisfree way up behind the broken words and woods of Arcady.

Some say that I was once uncommonly beautiful, but I wouldn't wish beauty on any woman who has not her own freedom, and who chooses not the hands that claim her.

I stood up to take some air outside. The stars were brilliant that night, and the cicadas were crying in endless song. If the sky was so perfect, why was the earth all wrong?

Mama is beautiful," I said. "Mama is strong," he said. "Beauty comes and goes. Strength, you keep forever.

A painting did not have to be beautiful; it had to be true. Then it was beautiful.

In these transparent-clouded, gentle skies, Wherethrough the moist beams of the soft June sun Might any moment break, no sorrow lies, No note of grief in swollen brooks that run, No hint of woe in this subdued, calm tone Of all the prospect unto dreamy eyes.