Quotes About Beauty

Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.

Everyone has a beauty, but not every one sees it

He chuckled to himself as he walked. A warm woman and a battle to come. To be alive on such a night was a wondrous thing.

A silver speaks it's own language, does it not?

You are my country, Desdemona." Yearning, harsh and poignant, and she felt herself swaying toward him. "My Egypt. My hot, harrowing desert and my cool, verdant Nile, infinitely lovely and unfathomable and sustaining.

She was beautiful and cruelly abused and defiant, and she burned his eyes.

I think men are allowed to be fat and bald and ugly and women aren't. And it's just not - there is no equality there.

Nothing you wear is more important than your smile.

It was about a girl who helps an ugly old woman who turns out to be a good fairy in disguise. Inner values versus shallow appearances.

If the world could remain within a frame like a painting on the wall, I think we'd see the beauty then and stand staring in awe.

Now I believe that lovers should be draped in flowers and laid entwined together on a bed of clover and left there to sleep, left there to dream of their happiness.

Time is a dream ... a destroying dream; it lays great cities in dust, it fills the seas; it covers the face of beauty, and tumbles walls.

All that is beautiful, and all that looks on beauty with eyes filled with fire, like a lover's eyes: all of this is yours; you gave it to me, sunlight! all these stars are yours; you gave them to me, skies!

My heart has become as hard as a city street, the horses trample upon it, it sings like iron, all day long and all night long they beat, they ring like the hooves of time.

O sweet clean earth, from whom the green blade cometh! When we are dead, my best beloved and I, close well above us, that we may rest forever, sending up grass and blossoms to the sky.

With daffodils mad footnotes for the spring, And asters purple asterisks for autumn -

All lovely things will have an ending,All lovely things will fade and die,And youth, that's now so bravely spending,Will beg a penny by and by.

Music I heard with you was more than music,And bread I broke with you was more than bread.Now that I am without you, all is desolate;All that was once so beautiful is dead.

Death is never an ending, death is a change; Death is beautiful, for death is strange; Death is one dream out of another flowing.

while daisies burn like stars on the darkened hill.

Her eyes, he says, are stars at dusk, Her mouth as sweet as red-rose-musk; And when she dances his young heart swells With flutes and viols and silver bells; His brain is dizzy, his senses swim, When she slants her ragtime eyes at him... Moonlight shadows, he bids her see, Move no more silently than she. It was this way, he says, she came, Into his cold heart, bearing flame. And now that his heart is all on fire Will she refuse his heart's desire??...

Is it a comb, a fan, a torn dress, a curtain, a bed, an empty rice-bin? It hardly seems to matter. The Chinese poet makes a heart-breaking poetry out of these quite as naturally as Keats did out of the song of a nightingale heard in a spring garden. It is rarely dithyrambic, rarely high-pitched: part of its charm is its tranquility, its self-control. And the humblest reads it with as much emotion as the most learned.

The moon rose, and the moon set; And the stars rushed up and whirled and set; And again they swarmed, after a shaft of sunlight; And the dark blue dusk closed above him, like an ocean of regret.

There is a kind of beauty in imperfection.