Quotes About Beauty

Sinatra told me that women were dangerous, even lethal. Sidney was just a beautiful woman, he said, and being betrayed by a beautiful woman was a rite of passage for any young man. He'd walked through the same fire. You'll live, he promised. The pain will put hair on your chest.

A mí me enfurecía que mi madre no tuviera cosas bonitas, y me enfurecía aún más no poder proporcionárselas yo, y más aún no poder decir nada de todo aquello en voz alta, porque mi madre seguía cantando, haciendo todo lo posible por mantener el ánimo.

All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost.

And this, our life exempt from public haunts, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.

We risk life and limb and my princely good looks for a spoonful of sweet sock?

Aberjhani can write about anything, and give it uncommon beauty.

Ela é gorda, bela, voraz, gulosa, indecisa e lambuzona.

Have you heard that modesty is an attractive traits? Only to ugly people

The true task of spiritual life is not found in faraway places or unusual states of consciousness. It is here in the present. It asks of us a welcoming spirit to greet all that life presents to us with a wise, respectful, and kindly heart. We can bow to both beauty and suffering, to our entanglements and confusion, to our fears and to the injustices of the world. Honoring the truth in this way is the path to freedom.

And then there are stories that reveal the transformation of an ordinary person into an extraordinary one, because he or she had the courage to hope, the determination to think positively, the ability to see the beauty in life, the strength to pick up the pieces and move on and the faith that life is nurturing, if one allows it to be so.

Ever felt an angel's breath in the gentle breeze? A teardrop in the falling rain? Hear a whisper amongst the rustle of leaves? Or been kissed by a lone snowflake? Nature is an angel's favorite hiding place. -Terri Guillemets

The globally acclaimed author of Fully Human, Fully Alive: A New Life through a New Vision, John Powell, estimates that an average person taps only 10 percent of his potential, sees only 10 percent of the beauty that is all around him, hears only 10 percent of its music and poetry, smells only 10 percent of its fragrance, and tastes only 10 percent of the deliciousness of being alive.

Watching a peaceful death of a human being reminds us of a falling star; one of a million lights in a vast sky that flares up for a brief moment only to disappear into the endless night forever. -Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

Sé amable de manera indiscriminada y realiza bellos actos sin sentido

WINSLOW HOMER

She wasn't actually a girl you'd turn around and look at again, and remember, I suppose; she wasn't actually pretty, I guess you'd have to say. But after I'd talked to her a few times, and had a Coke date once, when I ran into her downtown-then she was pretty.

His beauty was his true vocation

About fifty yards ahead a white-tailed deer was slowly picking his way across the snow-covered rocks and roots. As soon as I saw him I knew instantly that I didn't want him to die. He was so beautiful and at ease in the woods. This was his home, not mine, and I suddenly felt like a killer who had broken into his house and was about to shoot him. I watched and held my breath.

Each time I read a book, I cataloged the parts that struck me dumb with envy and admiration for their beauty and power and truth.

The woman is not just a pleasure, nor even a problem. She is a meniscus that allows the absolute to have a shape, that lets him skate however briefly on the mystery, her presence luminous on the ordinary and the grand. Like the odor at night in Pittsburgh's empty streets after summer rain on maples and sycamore.

Poetry is a kind of lying, necessarily. To profit the poet or beauty. But also in that truth may be told only so. Those who, admirably, refuse to falsify (as those who will not risk pretensions) are excluded from saying even so much. Degas said he didn't paint what he saw, but what would enable them to see the thing he had.

Michiko Nogami (1946—1982)" Is she more apparent because she is not anymore forever? Is her whiteness more white because she was the color of pale honey? A smokestack making the sky more visible. A dead woman filling the whole world. Michiko said, "The roses you gave me kept me awake with the sound of their petals falling.

Doing Poetry Poem, you sonofabitch, it's bad enough that I embarrass myself working so hard to get it right even a little, and that little grudging and awkward. But it's afterwards I resent, when the sweet sure should hold me like a trout in the bright summer stream. There should be at least briefly access to your glamour and tenderness. But there's always this same old dissatisfaction instead.

We look up at the stars and they are not there. We see the memory of when they were, once upon a time. And that too is more than enough.