Quotes About Beauty

flake hit the sidewalk and then melted almost immediately. Lancaster

lawn and flowering dogwood

She will be your living end. - Lady Grinning Soul

I must admit that I haven't heard of the Duchess of Erat before. You're a fortunate man, Wolf said. She's a great beauty, the man said admiringly. And has a temper to match, Wolf told him. I noticed that, the guard said. We noticed you noticing, Silk told him slyly.

The whole world is beautiful, Belgarion' Eriond assured him in response to that unspoken thought. 'You just have to know how to look at it

Why do some trees stay green while others change their color?" "Certain trees need to show off, dear. I'm sure that my big brother could explain why it happens. Dahlaine loves to explain things, and he can be very tedious about it. I prefer simpler answers. The trees are sad because summer's almost over.

What am I going to do? asked Ce'Nedra. First you ought to go wash your face, Polgara told her. Some girls can cry without making themselves ugly, but you don't have the right coloring for it. You're an absolute fright. I'd advise you never to cry in public if you can help it.

Andar si godeva il silenzio che si stendeva sul mare quando stava per arrivare un nuovo giorno. In quei momenti la superficie gli appariva straordinariamente bella e gli sembrava che il mare trattenesse il respiro, aspettando il sole.

La luna si levò sopra la prateria e sembrava succhiare via tutti i colori dal paesaggio circostante; adesso tutto appariva diverso. I cespugli lungo il letto asciutto non erano verdi ma neri e avevano un che di minaccioso.

When you behold the face of pure evil, it will be beautiful.

She had a brainy girls discomfort about her own beauty and its effects on folks.

For those who've never experienced a sunrise in the rural midwest, it's roughly as soft and romantic as someone's abruptly hitting the lights in a dark room.

I cannot say what color Lenore Beadsman's eyes are; I cannot look at them; they are the sun to me.

Genius is not replicable. Inspiration, though, is contagious, and multiform- and even just to see, close up, power and aggression made vulnerable to beauty is to feel inspired and (in a fleeting, mortal way) reconciled.

Scenery is here. Wish you were beautiful.

Beauty is not the goal of competitive sports, but high-level sports are a prime venue for the expression of human beauty. The relation is roughly that of courage to war. The human beauty we're talking about here is beauty of a particular type; it might be called kinetic beauty. Its power and appeal are universal. It has nothing to do with sex or cultural norms. What it seems to have to do with, really, is human beings' reconciliation with the fact of having a body.

And her eyes. I cannot say what color Lenore Beadsman's eyes are; I cannot look at them; they are the sun to me.

Fackelmann claimed to have started a Log just to keep track of Kite's attempted pickup lines -- surefire lines like e.g. 'You're the second most beautiful woman I've ever seen, the first most beautiful woman I've ever seem being former Bristish Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher,' and 'If you came home with me I'm unusually confident that I could achieve an erection,' and said that if Kite wasn't still cherry at twenty-three and a half it was proof of some kind of divine-type grace.

Her expression is from Page 18 of the Victoria's Secret catalogue.

But what of Lenore, of Lenore's hair? Here is hair that is clearly within and of itself every color—blond and red and jet-black-blue and honeynut—but which effects an outward optical compromise with possibility that consists of appearing simply dull brown, save for brief teasing glimpses out of the corner of one's eye.

There is about world-class athletes carving out exemptions from physical laws a transcendent beauty that makes manifest God in man.

The mother at thirty with face commencing to display the faint seams of the plan for the second face life had in store for her and which she feared would be her own mother's

What if in fact there were ever only two really distinct individual people walking around back there in history's mist? That all difference descends from this difference? The whole and the partial. The damaged and the intact. The deformed and the paralyzingly beautiful. The insane and the attendant. The hidden and the blindingly open. The performer and the audience. No Zen-type One, always rather Two, one upside-down in a convex lens.

He has that rare spinal appreciation for beauty in the ordinary that nature seems to bestow on those who have no native words for what they see.