Quotes About Beauty

Regardez mon enfant, voyez l'éclat de ses boucles folles et son sourire pareil à un vol de papillon. Un tel visage ne peut pas être celui de quelqu'un qui meurt à petit feu. Je ne la connais que depuis deux ans. Mais si vous preniez chaque souvenir, chaque instant, si vous les étiriez bout à bout, ça ferait une éternité.

Just looking at it, at so much beauty in one place, makes the tightness in my chest loosen a little. Surely if there's evil in the world, it's counterbalanced by moments like these. "You know, Sage, Jesus didn't tell us to

I look around at the curl of clouds in the sky, the sun glittering on the ocean in the distance. A picture postcard. Just a few hundred miles away this virus is killing people so fast that they don't have room for bodies, but you would never know it from where I stand.

Take it from me: love has all the lasting permanence of a rainbow – beautiful while it's there, and just as likely to have disappeared by the time you blink.

But I remember another image from Earth: the rich dark green grass that grew in graveyards.

I watched her walk away and thought that if anybody could make a fighting suit look sexy, it'd be Sean. But even she couldn't.

You scan the cheering bleachers for the strange boy's face: handsome, reserved, with the eye patch, a little dramatic, a little scary. You finally find him sitting there in the middle of the sixth row. He is wearing a dark green army jacket and is staring back at you. He looks sad and beautiful, like a watercolor in a hospital room.

Maybe. Because he's got to try. Because she is too interesting, too beautiful not to even do anything.

What lasts? What lasts? What lasts? What lasts? What lasts? And so he stares for an hour or so at all her notes, at the poorly sketched drawings for an art movement that has now come to an end, and realizes how there are all these moments, moments just like this one, there are all these moments, and how everyone lives their lives in these short, all-too-short moments. There are all these moments and what's so interesting, what makes them beautiful, is the fact that none of them last.

Those days were like a crown of gold over her head. Her hair was a knotted nest of some tiny white and yellow flowers with little bluebells wrapped inside her curls. Maybe she'd bring him a sandwich or a bottle of Coca-Cola, all cold and full of beads of ice along the side. Wasn't it all so pretty? Wasn't it all so nice?

Everyone looks like they've just stepped out of a Dante Gabriel Rossetti painting that he never got around to finishing because even he knew it was too over the top. It

Every day when I wake up and head out for chores, I'm struck by the beauty we enjoy on our farm. Based on visitors' comments, that's a shared awareness. Not one of our doors has a skull and crossbones. We want visitors to be struck not by what we've done, but rather by how we've caressed this beautiful niche of God's creation into a productive and profoundly inspiring place.

Nec si quot placidis ignea noctibus Scintillant tacito sydera culmine, Nec si quot tepidum flante Favonio Ver suffundit humo rosas, Tot sint ora mihi...

To think what is true, to sense what is beautiful and to want what is good, hereby the spirit finds purpose of a life in reason.

Jak kwiaty zdobi? ziemi? a gwiazdy niebo, tak Grecja zdobi ?wiat.

But the way an eloi has to darken her eyelashes every morning, cover her skin with colored cream, powder her nose and forehead all day so it doesn't shine, freshen her lipstick over and over, and then take it all off at night. It's like the myth of Sisyphus in Hades, rolling the rock up the hill just to watch it roll down again.

The grandfather explained to her that it was the sun that did it. When he says good-night to the mountains he throws his most beautiful colors over them, so that they may not forget him before he comes again the next day.

O how beautiful, look at the crimson snow! And up there on the rocks there are ever so many roses!

Allí arriba tiene su nido? ¡Qué bonito debe de ser vivir tan alto!

miraba como los rayos dorados del sol poniente iluminaban las flores multicolores. La hierba tenía un brillo rojizo y las rocas se encendían.

Las flores prefieren estar en el prado al sol y no en tu delantal

ahora sintiese una dicha muy grande al despertarse en su nueva morada, pensando en todas las cosas bonitas que había visto el día anterior y en lo que podría ver hoy

en otro lugar brillaba vivo el color de las azules gencianas

A writer worth his salt is not going to write about how damned lovely it is; it isn't, that's why so many people tell themselves it is [lovely].