Quotes About Beauty

It's supposed to be very beautiful, the Citadel,' Oak says. 'It is beautiful, Wren?' When the light went through the ice of the castle, it made rainbows that danced along its cold halls. You could almost see through the walls, as though the whole place was one large, cloudy window. When I was brought to it for the first time, I thought it was like living inside a sparkling diamond. 'It's not,' I say. 'It's an ugly place.

She had arrived in a gown of black silk beneath a cage of fish bones and shells, her deep aquamarine hair caught up in a crown of coral.

Her skin is the bluish color of skim milk

But before they got what was coming to them, they got to be the fairest in all the land.

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. —WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, SONNET CXLVII

O lady fair! O lady cruel! How I miss your sweet misrule. I miss your hair. I miss your eyes. But most of all, I miss your thighs.

If Oak is the sunlight filtering through trees in the woods, all shifting gold and shadow, then Tiernan seems like those same woods in winter, the branches barren and cold.

I heard a singer begin a tune i hadn't heard before, a song of heartbreak. Of a girl who walked the earth by starlight. Who's aspect was mortal but with beauty divine. her cruelty had pierced his heart.

The setting sun has lit the sky on fire, set the tops of the trees ablaze.

This is not how I meant to begin. I meant to give you wine and fruit and cheese. I meant to tell you how your hair is as beautiful as curling woodsmoke, your eyes the exact colour of walnuts. I thought I could compose an ode about it, but I am not very good at odes.' I laugh, and he covers his heart as though stung by cruelty

We walk, fading stars overhead, brine in the air.

There was a princess, Aurora, named for the dawn. Her hair was as golden as the crown that would one day rest upon her head. Her eyes were as wide and soft as those of a doe. From the time of her birth, no one could look upon her and not love her.

Nicasia, meanwhile, wears the colours of the sea. Her gown is the green of kelp, deep and rich. Her aqua hair is braided up and adorned with a cunning crown made of fish bones and jaws.

Bottles and carafes of it-pale green, yellow as gold, the dark purple-red of my heart's own blood.

Tatterfell sews on cunning cuffs made from the scales of pinecones around the edges of frayed sleeves. Small tears in skirts are stitched over with embroidery in the shape of leaves and pomegranates and- on one- a cavorting fox. She has stitched dozens of leather slippers for me. I will be expected to dance so fiercely that I wear through a pair every night.

ElfowiÄ™ sÄ… piÄ™kni, ale to piÄ™kno jest jak Å›cierwo zÅ'otego jelenia; pod skórÄ… rojÄ… siÄ™ z?erajÄ…ce padlinÄ™ robaki, gotowe w ka?dej chwili wypeÅ'zn?? na powierzchnie.

At night, the human world looks as though it's full of fallen stars.

An ombre ball gown, its colour deepening from white near my throat, through palest blue to deepest indigo at my feet. Over that is stitched the stark outlines of trees, the way I see them from my window as dusk is falling. The seamstress has even sewn on little crystal beads to represent stars. This is a dress I could never have imagined, one so perfect that for a moment, looking at it, I can think of nothing but its beauty.

He draws back. 'You really are beautiful,' he says. I am ever so glad to know that they cannot lie.

It isn't that mortals can't be pretty—many of them are—but their beauty doesn't make you feel pummeled by it. I feel a little pummeled by Oak's beauty. If I look at him too long, I want to take a bite out of him.

Brambleweft starts to sketch- billowing skirts and cunning little capes, corsets stitched with fanciful creatures. Butterflies alighting along arms and in elaborate headpieces. I am charmed at the alien vision of myself- my corset will have two golden beetles stitched in what looks like a breastplate, with Madoc's moon crest and elaborate swirls of shining thread continuing down my front, and tiny sheer drop sleeves of more gold.

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 into something like a compliment. "No," I say, glad to be annoyed back into the present. "Tell me." "I cannot," he says, then frowns.

And Cardan is even more beautiful than the rest, with black hair as iridescent as a raven's wing and cheekbones sharp enough to cut out a girl's heart. I hate him more than all the others. I hate him so much that sometimes when I look at him, I can hardly breathe.

I crouch in the hollow beneath the tree, looking up at the spangled sky and the bright scythe of a moon.