Quotes About Beauty

Someone once said to me: You never mention his looks. And it's true, I don't, I find it difficult. At that time, he was probably the most beautiful man alive, as he was certainly the most violent, but that's the problem. How do you separate a tiger's beauty from its ferocity? Or a cheetah's elegance from the speed of the attack? Achilles was like that- the beauty and the terror were two sides of a single coin.

She was like a windflower trembling on its slender stem, so fragile you feel it can't possibly survive the blasts that shake it, though it survives them all.

There are no words. There are no words for what I felt when I saw the setting sun rise.

At the time, he was probably the most beautiful man alive, as he was certainly the most violent, but that's the problem. How do you separate a tiger's beauty from its ferocity? Or a cheetah's elegance from the speed of its attack? Achilles was like that - the beauty and the terror were two sides of a single coin.

But even her demons she invested with inordinate beauty, consecrated them with the dignity of her attention.

It enclosed us in its laceries as we watched the moon spill across the Atlantic like wine from an overturned glass. With the light all around us, we felt secret in that moon-infused water like pearls forming in the soft tissues of oysters.

Every woman I had ever met who walked through the world appraised and classified by an extraordinary physicality had also received the keys to an unbearable solitude. It was the coefficient of their beauty, the price they had to pay.

I prayed hard and only gradually became aware that this fierce praying was a way of finding prologue and entrance into my own writing. This came as both astonishment and relief. When I thought God had abandoned me, I discovered that He had simply given me a different voice to praise the inexhaustible beauty of the made world.

Looking around, I thought the human species was in fine shape and tried to think of something more beautiful than women and couldn't come up with a thing. The propagation of the species was a dance of total joy.

There were far worse strategies in life than to try to make each aspect of one's existence a minor work of art.

My soul grazes like a lamb on the beauty of an indrawn tide.

He treated the stars as though they were love songs written to him by God.

Comely was the town by the curving river that they dismantled in a year's time. Beautiful was Colleton in her last spring as she flung azaleas like a girl throwing rice at a desperate wedding. In dazzling profusion, Colleton ripened in a gauze of sweet gardens and the town ached beneath a canopy of promissory fragrance.

I would like to have seen the world with eyes incapable of anything but wonder, and with a tongue fluent only in praise.

The water was pure and cold and came out of the Apennines tasting like snow melted in the hands of a pretty girl.

It was a time in my life when many things bored me deeply and I hungered for beauty and those realms of pure elation granted to those who had the imagination to know what to look for and how to find it.

The tide was a poem that only time could create, and I watched it stream and brim and makes its steady dash homeward, to the ocean.

I loved these salt rivers more than I loved the sea; I loved the movement of tides more than I loved the fury of surf. Something in me was congruent with this land, something affirmed when I witnessed the startled, piping rush of shrimp or the flash of starlight on the scales of mullet. I could feel myself relax and change whenever I returned to the lowcountry and saw the vast green expanses of marsh, feminine as lace, delicate as calligraphy. The lowcountry had its own special ache and sting.

She pronounced each word carefully, as though she was tasting fruit. The words of her poems were a most private and fragrant orchard.

My soul grazes like a lamb on the beauty of indrawn tides.

I went up to the terrace again and looked out on the tawny, many-alleyed city. At night it looked carved from brown sugar.

There is no city on Earth quite like Charleston. From the time I first came there in 1961, it's held me in its enchanter's power, the wordless articulation of its singularity, its withheld and magical beauty. Wandering through its streets can be dreamlike and otherworldly, its alleyways and shortcuts both fragrant and mysterious, yet as haunted as time turned in on itself.

Because our nation is stupid and Hollywood is coarse, there is no one to tell us of the deep and extraordinary beauty of older women. I now see them all around me and am filled with a fierce joy that one of them has come to live in my house.

You must appreciate beauty for it to endure.