Quotes About Beauty

The kitchen garden satisfies both requirements, a thing 0f beauty and a joy for dinner.

What a marvelous sunset,' she said. 'Yes,' replied her husband. 'Most impressive for such a small village.

Tomorrow I'm going to Wong's, and I'm going to listen to the music of my own lack of thoughts. / Go, Gus says. Nobody's stopping you. / You don't see the beauty? Walt says. / Beauty of what? History of what? Alf says. / Everything. Shoelaces, farts, love, death, cantaloupes--all I have to do is remember. [Walt Kaplan/13 Gus's Highland Spa]

Dar frumuseÅ£ea lui Grace era cu totul deosebit?. Nu era perfect?, într-adev?r. Îns? perfecÅ£iunea e plictisitoare.

He didn't know why, but the sight of the water stretching out as far as the eye could see, until it met the sky way in the distance, evoked a feeling of awe in him: the way it was always changing, the surface swelling and dipping, the scudding whitecaps and huge breakers. It put you in your place, put things in perspective. He could watch it forever.

Should thousands of animals suffer so that a new kind of lipstick or floor wax can be put on the market?

Privilege encased them, surrounded them like armor. In the cast of their faces was the assumption that they would never have to take anything very seriously. For the first time in my life I saw the truth in the old proposition that the rich were better-looking.

Ideally, I would create a book so interdependent and self-sustaining in its parts, so wondrously connected word by word and paragraph by paragraph, so charged with the joy of language, that it would actually float three or four inches above any table where you try to set it down.

Plato considered the golden section proportion the most binding of all mathematical relations, making it the key to the physics of the cosmos.

A map may be beautiful, but if it doesn't tell us what we want to know, or clearly illustrate what it means to tell us, it's merely a decoration.

She closed her eyes; and in the sweet slumber lying her spirit tiptoed from its lodging place. It's folly to shrink in fear, if this is dying; for death looked lovely in her face.

For instance, if we gaze deeply at the deceptively simple word opportunity, we have a chance to see hidden beauty shining from below, which is the Roman god Portunus, patron of harbors. Seen in this light every new circumstance is like sailing into a strange and distant port, which may offer a haven, if we choose to take refuge.

Rouged green lips part like a gangrened wound.

I like her; I could watch her the rest of my life. She has breasts that smile.

There was a beauty in the trash of the alleys which I had never noticed before; my vision seemed sharpened, rather than impaired. As I walked along it seemed to me that the flattened beer cans and papers and weeds and junk mail had been arranged by the wind into patterns; these patterns, when I scrutinized them, lay distributed so as to comprise a visual language.

Her smile increased. She had perfect white regular teeth; Irish, Juliana decided. Only Irish blood could give that jawline such femininity.

Life is short, he thought. Art, or something not life, is long, stretching out endless, like concrete worm. Flat, white, unsmoothed by any passage over or across it. Here I stand. But no longer. Taking the small box, he put the Edfrank jewellery piece away in his coat pocket.

The weather is schön, so schön. But there is nothing to breathe...

And yet now and then he let himself steal a glance at her. Lovely dark colors of her skin, hair, and eyes. We are half-baked compared to them. Allowed out of the kiln before we were fully done. The old aboriginal myth; the truth, there.

Jak z?o?ymy wszystko, co wiemy, to widzimy tylko, ?e co? tu nie gra. Ale jak pi?knie i ciekawie nie gra.

Observing her youth, her automatic radiance, he said, "'I feel as old as yonder elm.'" "From Finnegans Wake," Kathy said happily. "When the old washerwomen at dusk are merging into trees and rocks." "You've read Finnegans Wake?" he asked, surprised.

She was a redhead and he liked redheads; they were either outrageously ugly or almost supernaturally attractive

Looking round the room I found there were so many false eyelashes flapping at me that I was beginning to feel a draught.

Deprivation is for me what daffodils were for Wordsworth.