Quotes About Beauty

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

Therefore was I created with a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that when I come to woo ladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall appear. My comfort is that old age, that ill layer-up of beauty, can do no more spoil upon my face. Thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst, and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better.

I might call him. A thing divine, for nothing natural. I ever saw so noble.

and when he dies, cut him out in little stars, and the face of heaven will be so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no heed to the garish sun.

Alas, that they are so! To die even when they to perfection grow!

Have I thought long to see this morning's face, And doth it give me such a sight as this?

Truth may seem, but cannot be; Beauty brag, but 'tis not she: Truth and beauty buriéd be.

Where the bee sucks, there suck I: In a cowslip's bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

She will outstrip all praise and make it halt behind her.

Find tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.

And keep you in the rear of your affection, Out of the shot and danger of desire, The chariest maid is prodigal enough If she unmasks her beauty to the moon.

For we, which now behold these present days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

Tongues in trees, books in running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

What a piece of work is man!

She is rich in beauty.

Where souls do couch on flowers we'll hand in hand...

But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, And, constant stars, in them I read such art, As truth and beauty shall together thrive If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert; Or else of thee I prognosticate, Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.

He kiss'd, –the last of many doubled kisses, –this orient pearl.

The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past.

She smiled with so sweet a cheer That had Narcissus seen her as she stood Self-love had never drowned him in the flood

Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse: Seeds spring from seeds and beauty breedeth beauty;

Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that are squires of the night's body be called thieves of the day's beauty. Let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon, and let men say we be men of good government, being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.

Pero, alto. ¿Qué luz alumbra esa ventana? Es el oriente, y Julieta, el sol. Sal, bello sol, y mata a la luna envidiosa, que está enferma y pálida de pena porque tú, que la sirves, eres más hermoso.