Quotes About Beauty

God's right here. In the dirt, the rain, the sky, the trees, the apples, the stars in the cottonwoods.

Long after dark, the moon rose, full. All the stars around it vanished as if the moon were a bucket that had scooped them up, filling itself to overflowing with their silver light.

Her left hand dangled from the armrest, her long fingers and beautiful clear nails. She always had lovely, elegant hands; my own mother's fat-fingered scrubwoman hands looked like dog's paws beside Laurie's. I reached across to take her hand, lacing my fingers in hers so that our two hands made one fist. The sight of her hand in mine made me briefly sentimental. I gave her an encouraging look and jostled our knotted hands.

In a summer season when soft was the sun.

Now Violet had let herself go until she could barely make it out of the house to buy her Oreos and booze. But if you looked closely, beneath the folds of flesh ravaged by bitterness and drink, you could see the lovely creature she had been, and what she had been then was just as bitter and vindictive as what she was now.

We talked about this before. The rare beauty of nonattachment.

Why art thou come, man of despair and blood! To these green vales and streams, o'erhung with wood; These hills, where, far from life's discordant throng, The lonely goat-maid chaunts her matin song; This sylvan glen, where age in peace reclines, Soothed by the whisper of his native pines; Where, in the twilight of his closing days, Upon the glimmering lake he loves to gaze; And, like his life, sees on the shadowy flood, The still, sweet eve descending!

I look at words as if they were entities, sacred beings. There are words to which I tip my hat when I see them sitting on a page.

Nature makes boys and girls lovely to look upon so they can be tolerated until they acquire some sense.

Nature makes boys and girls lovely to look upon so they can be tolerated until they acquire some sense. William Lyon Phelps

This is a lovely world, he sighed. And yet it has suffered horror. Sometimes, so-called civilization seems bent on destroying those very things which it is sworn to protect.

Petals floating by, Drift through my womans hand, As she remembers me.

This I set down as a positive truth. A woman with fair opportunities, and without a positive hump, may marry whom she likes.

A woman may possess the wisdom and chastity of Minerva, and we give no heed to her, if she has a plain face. What folly will not a pair of bright eyes make pardonable? What dullness may not red lips are sweet accents render pleasant? And so, with their usual sense of justice, ladies argue that because a woman is handsome, therefore she is a fool. O ladies, ladies! there are some of you who are neither handsome nor wise.

An Edwardian lady in full dress was a wonder to behold, and her preparations for viewing were awesome.

Take thy plastic spade, It is thy pencil; take thy seeds, thy plants, They are thy colours.

Creating art allows us to beat the odds and find immortality, without having to do the whole Doctor Faustus thing. Though Brian Wilson and Mike Love no longer collaborate and Carl and Dennis Wilson are gone, they are all still together on the radio late at night, where they join voices and are young and golden and beautiful forever.

I never understood people who said their greatest fear was public speaking, or spiders, or any of the other minor terrors. How could you fear anything more than death? Everything else offered moments of escape: a paralyzed man could still read Dickens; a man in the grips of dementia might have flashes of the most absurd beauty.

She's beautiful. She's the only woman - I've told you this, right? -Naturelle is the only woman I fantasize about after sleeping with her. I still do. Sometimes I'm riding the subway and all I can think about is getting home and getting her naked. p125

She left feeling dirty, and on the bus ride home she knew that what her uncles told her had come true: she had been attracted to an object that was beautiful, and she had become spellbound, and then its shape had changed, and what had appeared beautiful had turned ugly.

As in zoology, monsters exist in art. It is the pervert of the formation of words, lines, colors, and sounds.

Nothing is more beautiful than an organized width, and nothing is worse than an unorganized lapidary.

Almost simultaneously their eyes alighted on a small opening in the twisted branches of the trees, affording them a direct line of sight to the majestic Verrazzano Bridge. Together the women gazed at the slate-gray metal towers soaring skyward, the steel cables delicately draped from one tower to the other, ascending and descending, the small squares and larger rectangles moving back and forth over the curved roadway.

I'll paint you moments of gold, I'll spin you Valentine evenings...