Quotes About Beauty

On Richmond Hill there lives a lassMore bright than Mayday morn;Whose charms all other maids' surpass—A rose without a thorn.

Looking at a cat, like looking at clouds or stars or the ocean, makes it difficult to believe there is nothing miraculous in this world.

Rocket ships are exciting but so are roses on a birthday.

The artist is the closest man comes to being God.

Quantum mechanics can be appreciated, to some degree, on a purely qualitative level. But mathematics is what brings its beauty into sharp focus. We have tried to make this amazing body of work fully accessible to mathematically literate nonphysicists.

The human foot is a masterpiece of engineering and a work of art.

The art of procreation and the members employed therein are so repulsive, that if it were not for the beauty of the faces and the adornments of the actors and the pent-up impulse, nature would lose the human species.

Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.

The smallest feline is a masterpiece.

Human subtelty will never devise an invention more beautiful, more simple or more direct than does Nature, because in her inventions, nothing is lacking and nothing is superfluous.

All of Sicily is a dimension of the imagination.

La Sicilia è tutta una fantastica dimensione: e come ci si può star dentro senza fantasia?

Per lei, vedo, la bellezza non ha niente a che fare con la verità." "La verità è nel fondo di un pozzo: lei guarda in un pozzo e vede il sole o la luna; ma se si butta giù non c'è più né sole né luna, c'è la verità.

Io credo nel mistero delle parole, e che le parole possano diventare vita, destino; così come diventano bellezza.

All the time she had been grasping the air with her hands, in an impassioned effort to express herself. 'Here was not just food, but an experience. It was all of Popisho, the smells and textures, it was - it was - all our love and our losses and our beauty, struggles, history, our childhoods ... it was perfect, it was perfect for me.

Butterflies were like alcohol. The heat of a good wine in a burnt orange butterfly. The cool swallow of rare ship-bought vodka in clear, white and blue beauties.

Do you not see the hand of God, which gives harmony, light, and love to the world? Do not the mountains, in the blue cloud of incense, sing their hymn of glory?

Even though you won't believe me my story is beautiful And the serpent that sang it Sang it from out of the well.

Beauty is a responsibility like anything else, beautiful women have special lives like prime ministers but I don't want that.

Isn't it enough that the world is full of ugly human beings without making copies of them?

Houses are really bodies. We connect ourselves with walls, roofs, and objects just as we hang on to our livers, skeletons, flesh and bloodstream. I am no beauty, no mirror is necessary to assure me of this absolute fact. Nevertheless I have a death grip on this haggard frame as if it were the limpid body of Venus herself.

The trees are God's great alphabet: With them He writes in shining green Across the world His thoughts serene.

What do you do there, moon, in the sky? Tell me what you do, silent moon. When evening comes you rise and go contemplating wastelands; then you set.

How beautiful you now are," she exclaimed, "your eyes half-broken in ecstacy fill me with joy, carry me away. How wonderful your look would be if you were being beaten to death, in the extreme agony. You have the eye of a martyr.