Quotes About Beauty

All of Faerie is beautiful like this, with carnage hidden just beneath.

He had green eyes so clear and bright that they made you think of poisonous drinks or maybe mouthwash.

There is too little beauty in the world,' says the prince airily. 'But that is not my area of greatest conceit.

I feel a little pummelled by Oak's beauty. If I look at him too long, I want to take a bite out of him.

Have I told you how hideous you look tonight?' Cardan asks, leaning back in the elaborately carved chair, the warmth of his words turning the question in to something like a compliment. 'No,' I say, glad to be annoyed back in to the present. 'Tell me.' 'I cannot,' he says, then frowns.

Algunos entre nosotros no encuentran a los mortales hermosos. De hecho, algunos de ustedes podrían jurar que Jude es poco atractiva. Pero yo creo que es sólo que su belleza es... única. Enloquecedora. Alarmante. Angustiante.

They looked absurdly gorgeous, glowing from the television like fallen angels. Even from the beginning, that was a problem. People liked pretty things. People even liked pretty things that wanted to kill and eat them.

He was ruinously beautiful in the way that knives and scalpels can be beautiful

Next time you'll remember not to drop your guard,' the knight says, observing the wounds on Oak's cheek. 'My vanity took the worst of the blow,' he says. 'Worried about your pretty face?' the knight asks. 'There is too little beauty in the world,' says the prince airily. 'But that is not my area of greatest conceit.

Too often, people acted like her curves were some engraved invitation.

I look at him again, at his soft mouth and his high cheekbones, at the cruel beauty of his face. page 142

He is out in the garden, picking a bouquet of foxgloves. He's laughing, sunlight turning his brown hair gold… I bet he doesn't even know those flowers are poison.

He just looked like a pretty boy, tall and lanky. She thought again of the crumpled paper in her purse and of him, caged beneath a cemetery. How long had he been there? How long had he looked just as he did now? A hundred years? Two hundred? Could he even remember the press of time? Maybe having stepped outside of it would drive anybody crazy.

The ferns are silvery in the moonlight, the woods full of shifting shadows.

At seventeen, he has grown tall, towering over me, lithe and finely muscled. His hair catches the moonlight, warm gold threaded with platinum, bangs parting around small goat horns, eyes of shocking amber, and a constellation of freckles across his nose. He has a trickster's mouth and the swagger of someone used to people doing what he wanted.

Nothing can happen more beautiful than death - Walt Whitman

Come down, my beauty, my darling, my dove

a song of heartbreak. Of a girl who walked the earth by starlight. Whose aspect was mortal but with beauty divine. Her cruelty had pierced his heart.

Fix your hair,' she says, then shrugs again. 'Or make it wilder. You look lovely either way.

She looks incandescent with joy, his attention the light in which her beauty shines especially bright.

In this hair, and with this dress, I look pretty. The kind of pretty that allows monsters to deceive people into forests, into dances where they will find their doom.

It's beautiful, no?' he asks, a little smile on his face. A light in his fox eyes. It is, of course. All of Faerie is beautiful like this, with carnage hidden just beneath.

They say that he can talk flowers into opening their petals at night, as though his face were that of the sun. He'll steal your heart.

It's the flaw that brings out beauty.