Quotes About Beauty

I don't need to see you to know that you're beautiful.

It's beautiful. Not a lie. But tornados were beautiful too.

Beautiful doesn't begin to describe it. A flower is beautiful. But this is beautiful the way that a person is beautiful- terrifying with its jagged edges, yet seductive with its crevices that hide so many secrets.

Mi se întâmpl? s? stai în faÈ›a oglinzii ore în È™ir c?utând semnele îmb?trânirii.?i totuÈ™i, ador oamenii în vârst?, au acele calit??i remarcabile de care tinerii nu dau dovad?.Vreau s? îmb?trânesc f?r? s? recurg la liftings.Acestea r?pesc viaÈ›a È™i personalitatea chipului.Vreau s? am curajul de a r?mâne loial? chipului pe care mi l-am confecÈ›ionat.

Nature was beautiful, even in her tears

And we sit there, by its margin, while the moon, who loves it too, stoops down to kiss it with a sister's kiss, and throws her silver arms around it clingingly.

The chief beauty of this book lies not so much in its literary style, or in the extent and usefulness of the information it conveys, as in its simple truthfulness. 

We, in this age, do not see the beauty of that dog. We are too familiar with it. It is like the sunset and stars: we are not awed by their loveliness because they are common to our eyes. So it is with that china dog.

It all comes of being so attractive, as the old lady said when she was struck by lightning.

And we sit there, by its margin, while the moon, who loves it too, stoops down to kiss it with a sister's kiss, and throws her silver arms around it clingingly; and we watch it as it flows, ever singing, ever whispering

Harris, as he occasionally explains to George and to myself, has daughters of his own, or, to speak more correctly, a daughter, who as the years progress will no doubt cease practising catherine wheels in the front garden , and will grow up into a beautiful and respectable young lady. This naturally gives Harris an interest in all beautiful girls up to the age of thirty-five or thereabouts; they remind him, so he says, of home.

firm belief in all that is good and beautiful, and in the ultimate success of every true and honest endeavour

It was a glorious morning, late spring or early summer, as you care to take it, when the dainty sheen of grass and leaf is blushing to a deeper green; and the year seems like a fair young maid, trembling with strange, wakening pulses on the brink of womanhood.

Foolish wise folk sneer at you; foolish wise folk would pull up the useless lilies, the needless roses, from the garden, would plant in their places only serviceable wholesome cabbage. But the Gardener knowing better, plants the silly short-lived flowers; foolish wise folk, asking for what purpose.

Your friend's beauty, said he, I should describe as elusive. It is there, but you can easily miss it. Now, in that cap, to my mind, you do miss it.

As there is no equality between man and woman, so there can be no respect. She is a different being. He must either look up to her as superior to himself, or down upon her as inferior. When a man does the former he is more or less in love, and love to John Ingerfield is an unknown emotion. Her beauty, her charm, her social tact — even while he makes use of them for his own purposes, he despises as the weapons of a weak nature.

We said we could not expect to have it all sunshine, nor should we wish it.  We told each other that Nature was beautiful, even in her tears.

Remammo tutto quel giorno sotto la pioggia, e fu una fatica melanconica. Facemmo le viste, in principio, di divertirci un mondo. Dicemmo ch'era un diversivo, e che ci piaceva vedere il fiume sotto tutti i suoi diversi aspetti. Non potevamo aspettarci d'aver sempre sole, né l'avremmo voluto. E poi la natura era bella anche quando piangeva.

A leaf of all colors plays a golden-string fiddle To a double-e waterfall over my back

I don't understand women at all. Like how a women can pour boiling hot wax onto their upper thigh, then rip the hair out by the root... and still be afraid of a spider.

You liked me. I smiled. You were smitten with me. You were speechless to behold my beauty. You had never met anyone so fascinating. You thought of me every waking minute. You dreamed about me. You couldn't stand it. You couldn't let such wonderfulness out of your sight. You had to follow me. I turned to Cinnamon. He licked my nose. Don't give yourself so much credit. It was your rat I was after. She laughed, and the desert sang.

And each night in bed I thought of her as the moon came through my window. I could have lowered my shade to make it darker and easier to sleep, but I never did. In that moonlit hour, I acquired a sense of the otherness of things. I liked the feeling the moonlight gave me, as if it wasn't the opposite of day, but its underside, its private side, when the fabulous purred on my snow-white sheet like some dark cat come in from the desert.

Many girls have been romanced under the moon, and I don't mean to say moonlight is overrated, but few I think have known the magic of a sunrise kiss.

The echo of her laughter is the second sunrise I awaken to each day, and at night I feel it is more than the stars looking down on me.