Quotes About Beauty

Quizá lo bello sea moverse según la propia naturaleza.

Her skin was more luminous than the moon, her eyes wider than the sky, deeper than the water, darker than the night.

La dulce sonrisa de una mujer joven: no hay nada mejor en el mundo. Es más valiosa que la sal. Sin ella, algo enferma y muere dentro de nosotros. Estoy seguro. Una cosa tan simple. Qué raro. Qué maravilloso y qué raro.

Beyond all other trees," she said with a curl of a smile on her elegant mouth, "the willow moves to the wind's desire.

It's she who should take care, for when she strikes, my heart will make a sound so beautiful and bright that it can't help but bring her back to me in winged flight.

Las mujeres son como el fuego, como las llamas. Algunas son como velas, luminosas e inofensivas. Algunas son como chispas, o como brasas, o como las luciérnagas que perseguimos las noches de verano. Algunas son como hogueras, un derroche de luz y calor para una sola noche, y quieren que después las dejes en paz. Algunas son como el fuego de la chimenea: no muy espectaculares, pero por debajo tienen cálidas y rojas brasas que arden mucho tiempo.

Estoy harta de que solo me valoren por mi intelecto.-Se recostó en la silla y estiró los brazos por encima de la cabeza-. ¿Cuándo encontraré a un chico guapo que solo me quiera por mi cuerpo?

I looked down at the board. "The point isn't to win?" I asked. "The point," Bredon said grandly, "is to play a beautiful game.

No breath of wind disturbed the surface of the water. So as we climbed out onto the fallen stone the stars reflected themselves in double fashion; as above, so below.

Her lips were red. Not the garish painted red so many women believe makes them desirable. Her lips were always red, morning and night. As if minutes before you saw her, she had been eating sweet berries, or drinking heart's blood.

And we sang! Her voice like burning silver, my voice an echoing answer. Savien sang solid, powerful lines, like branches of a rock-old oak, all the while Aloine was like a nightingale, moving in darting circles around the proud limbs of it.

Eres mi penique reluciente en la cuneta. Vales más que la sal o que la luna de una larga noche de caminata. Eres un vino dulce en mi boca, una canción en mi garganta, y la risa en mi corazón.

He gestured at the brief and brutal lay of stones between us. "Look at that. Why would I ever want to win a game such as this?" I looked down at the board. "The point isn't to win?" I asked. "The point," Bredon said grandly, "is to play a beautiful game." He lifted his hands and shrugged, his face breaking into a beatific smile. "Why would I want to win anything other than a beautiful game?

IT WAS ONE OF those perfect autumn days so common in stories and so rare in the real world. The weather was warm and dry, ideal for ripening a field of wheat or corn. On both sides of the road the trees were changing color. Tall poplars had gone a buttery yellow while the shrubby sumac encroaching on the road was tinged a violent red. Only the old oaks seemed reluctant to give up the summer, and their leaves remained an even mingling of gold and green.

She took another step. The simple motion of her moving leg was like a dance, the unexaggerated shifting of her hip entrancing as a fire. The arch of her bare foot said more of sex than anything I'd seen in my young life.

Tak reflects the subtle turning of the world. It is a mirror we hold to life. No one wins a dance, boy. The point of dancing is the motion that a body makes. A well-played game of tak reveals the moving of a mind. There is a beauty to these things for those with eyes to see it.

Looking up, I saw her and all I could think was, beautiful. Beautiful.

It was nice just being near her. You wouldn't think a girl in bandages with a blackened eye could be beautiful, but Denna was. Lovely as the moon: not flawless, perhaps, but perfect. The

But there's a better way. You show her she is beautiful. You make mirrors of your eyes, prayers of your hands against her body. It is hard, very hard, but when she truly believes you…" Bast gestured excitedly. "Suddenly the story she tells herself in her own head changes. She transforms. She isn't seen as beautiful. She is beautiful, seen.

I didn't really have any idea how I would find her. Some foolish, romantic part of me thought I would know her when I saw her. If she were half as radiant as her voice, she would shine like a candle in a dark room. But as I thought these things, the wiser part of me was whispering in my other ear. Do not hope, it said. Do not dare hold hope that any woman could burn as brightly as the voice that sang the part of Aloine.

Tus labios son como copos de nieve en mis labios.

Quizá un objeto adquiera belleza con el uso. -Quizá un objeto se use según su belleza.

As they say, a jeweler knows the uncut gem. And I am. And she was. And so.

Con la edad se deterioran muchas cosas. Las manos y la espalda cobran rigidez. La visión empeora. La piel se vuelve áspera y la belleza se apaga.