Quotes About Beauty

There is his religion of art, my young successor: rejecting life! Not living is what he makes his beautiful fiction out of! And you will now be the person he is not living with!

You have to enjoy power, have a certain ruthlessness, to accept the beauty and not mourn the fact that it overshadows everything else. As with any exaggerated trait that sets you apart and makes you exceptional—and enviable, and hateable—to accept your beauty, to accept its effect on others, to play with it, to make the best of it, you're well advised to develop a sense of humor.

Two hundred and sixty miles round-trip, but it was worth it for Drenka's breasts.

How could the sidewalk's impassable leaf-strewn lagoons and the grassy little yards oozing from the flood of the downspouts exude a smell that roused my delight as if I'd been born in a tropical rain forest? Tinged with the bright after-storm light, Summit Avenue was as agleam with life as a pet, my own silky, pulsating pet, washed clean by sheets of falling water and now stretched its full length to bask in the bliss.

La fente, comme tracée au tire-ligne, cette superbe couture rabattue, qui s'épanouira un jour en pétales et, au fil du temps, deviendra le con de la femme, un pliage d'origami.

The big hair was red-gold and the skin peachy-tinged pale and arms freckled and zy-gomatics indescribable and her eyes an extra-natural HD green.

the literary equivalent of tearing the petals off and grinding them up and running the goo through a spectrometer to explain why a rose smells so pretty.

Nipples like pencil erasers, hard and corrective against wide shallow breasts whose broad curves I know like the Lake's own tired sweep.

Beauty is not the goal of competitive sports, but high level sports are a prime venue for the expression of human beauty. The relation is roughly that of courage to war.

Most really pretty girls have pretty ugly feet, and so does Mindy Metalman, Lenore notices, all of a sudden

There is an inner working of intelligence behind the movement of energy in the world. This natural or organic intelligence is conscious and sure in its plan and method, not by choice or intention but intuitively and spontaneously, as a movement of pure beauty and harmony.

I caught a pebble in the moonlight.

An enemy is like a man's most prized flower. It brings him joy to see it buried in the ground.

Love is a mystery. We embrace it where we can. Mostly we do not choose whom we love. It just happens. A voice speaks to us, in ways the ear cannot hear. We recognize a beauty that the eye does not see. We experience a change in our hearts that no voice can describe. There is no evil in love, Kalliope.

Con te sono ancora il ragazzo di campagna che si è presentato sotto la Grande Quercia con la donna più bella di tutte le terre drenai.» «Non sono mai stata bella» ribatté Rowena «ma mi fa piacere sentirtelo affermare.» «Lo eri... e lo sei» garantì Druss.

The land is an endless plain of yellow and pink. Even the slightest whisper of wind sends ripples of color shimmering across the land.

Beautiful is mysterious. It tells us that there's so much more than what we're seeing or learning. And that's why we're drawn to it. Because we want to know the part we're not seeing or hearing.

Show them the mysteries of Hella, that's the real beauty of this world.

The world was incomprehensibly intricate, and yet this forest made a simple sense in her heart that she felt nowhere else.

To put this another way, my words here recede from lived experience. But in the end there's too much reproach and ignorance—depression as a cause for disgrace and contempt—for me not to write them anyway. Words, after all, remain, in this world, an aperture through which might appear some of the beautiful things that Heaven bears.

From where he lay on his tatami mat, he could see her in profile. Her dark hair was down, spilling around her tiny shoulders, and she was dressed only in one of the snow white yukatas or kimonos that the ryokan (a Japanese inn) supplied its guests. She was beautiful, he decided, yet she was a contradiction.

And you wonder, what's wrong with me? Will anyone beautiful want me?

The finest workers in stone are not copper or steel tools but the gentle touches of air and water working at their leisure with their liberal allowance of time.

Returning Late Past midnight, eluding tigers on the road, I return Home in mountain darkness. Family asleep inside. I watch the Northern Dipper drift low to the river, And Venus lofting huge into empty space, radiant. Holding a candle in the courtyard, I call for more Light. A gibbon in the gorge, startled, shrieks once. Old and tired, my hair white, I dance and sing out: Rickety cane, no sleep… Catch me if you can! Tu Fu