Quotes About Beauty

Then back to the party!and they maledand femaled you jealouslyBeautiful Thingas if to discover whence andby what miraclethere should escape, what?

You lethargic, waiting upon me, waiting for the fire and I attendant upon you, shaken by your beauty Shaken by your beauty Shaken.

Your thighs are appletrees. Your knees are a southern breeze.

It is at the edge of the petal that love waits

But the sea which no one tends is also a garden

If it ain't a pleasure, it ain't a poem.

so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens.

beauty' is related not to 'loveliness' but to a state in which reality plays a part.

All women are not Helen, I know that, but have Helen in their hearts.

I think these days when there is so little to believe in——when the old loyalties——God, country, and the hope of Heaven——aren't very real, we are more dependent than we should be on our friends. The only thing left to believe in——someone who seems beautiful.

Beauty is the lover's gift.

There is in true beauty, as in courage, something which narrow souls cannot dare to admire.

A wit should no more be sincere, than a woman constant; one argues a decay of parts, as to other of beauty.

Who loves a garden loves a greenhouse too.

Sends Nature forth the daughter of the skies... To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes.

then to the dance, and make the sober moon... witness of joys that shun the sights of noon.

A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.

The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.

Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson, Yet our full-leaved willows are in the freshest green. Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen.

The summer morn is bright and fresh, the birds are darting by, As if they loved to breast the breeze that sweeps the cool clear sky.

One smile on the brown hills and naked trees, And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast, And the blue gentian flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.

Autumn... the year's last, loveliest smile.

The groves were God's first temples.

To him who in the love of Nature holdsCommunion with her visible forms, she speaksA various language.