Quotes About Beauty

Show me your garden and I shall tell you what you are.

'Tis true among fields and woods I sing, Aloof from cities--that my poor strains Were born, like the simple flowers you bring, In English meadows and English lanes.

Show me your garden, provided it be your own, and I will tell you what you are like.

Our modern pessimists cannot see a tree, a flower, or a mountain, but straightway they drop into what I may call a falling sickness, and all the beauty of the woods, fields, and sky merely suggests to them a picturesque background for their own superior sighs and sorrows.

Never did form more fairy thread the dance Than she who scours the hills to find it flowers; Never did sweeter lips chained ears entrance Than hers that move, true to its striking hours; No hands so white e'er decked the warrior's lance, As those which tend its lamp as darkness lours; And never since dear Christ expired for man, Had holy shrine so fair a sacristan.

Is life worth living? Yes, so long As Spring revives the year, And hails us with the cuckoo's song, To show that she is here; So long as May of April takes, In smiles and tears, farewell, And windflowers dapple all the brakes, And primroses the dell.

When held up to the window pane, What fixed my baby stare? The glory of the glittering rain, And newness everywhere.

In my song you catch at times Note sweeter far than mine, And in the tangle of my rhymes Can scent the eglantine.

Your voice would have silenced merle and thrush, And the rose outbloomed would have blushed to blush, And Summer, seeing you, paused, and known That the glow of your beauty outshone its own.

Now frowns the sky, the air bites bleak, The young boughs rock, the old trunks creak, And fast before the following gale Come slanting drops, then slashing hail, As keen as sword, as thick as shot. Nay, do not cower, but heed them not! For these one neither flies nor stirs; They are but April skirmishers, Thrown out to cover the advance Of gleaming spear and glittering lance, With which the sunshine scours amain Heaven, earth, and air, and routs the rain.

The Poet, too, has a garden, and one by no means to be disdained; and Veronica told me that when, the other day, some tactless person asked him which of his works he likes best, he replied, "My garden."

No one can rightly call his garden his own unless he himself made it.

The glory of gardening: hands in the dirt, head in the sun, heart with nature. To nurture a garden is to feed not just on the body, but the soul.

The most despairing songs are the loveliest of all,I know immortal ones composed only of tears.

The most womanly woman.

What I need is a woman who is something, anything: either very beautiful or very kind or in the last resort very wicked; very witty or very stupid, but something.

Vous êtes comme les roses du Bengale, Marianne, sans épines et sans parfum.

Damien, les poètes se sont trompés: est-ce l'esprit du mal qui est l'ange déchu? C'est celui de l'amour, qui, après le grand oeuvre, ne voulut pas quitter la terre, et, tandis que ses frères remontaient au ciel, laissa tomber ses ailes d'or en poudre aux pieds de la beauté qu'il avait créée.

Prenez de l'amour ce qu'un homme sobre prend de vin ; ne devenez pas un ivrogne. Si votre maîtresse est sincère et fidèle, aimez-la pour cela ; mais si elle ne l'est pas, et qu'elle soit jeune et belle, aimez-la parce qu'elle est jeune et belle ; et si elle est agréable et spirituelle, aimez-la encore ; et si elle n'est rien de tout cela, mais qu'elle vous aime seulement, aimez-la encore. On n'est pas aimé tous les soirs.

Sirkte yaralanan bo?alar, s?rtlar?nda matadorun k?l?c?yla, bir kö?ede yatmaya gitmek ve sükûn içinde ölmekte serbesttirler. ?urada veya burada, söyleyin bana, ne yapmaya gideyim. Bana temiz bir sema, a?açlar ve evler, konu?an, içen, ?ark? söyleyen adamlar, rakseden kad?nlar ve doludizgin ko?an atlar göstereceksiniz. Bütün bunlar hayat de?ildir, hayat?n gürültüsüdür.

Tu mourus plein d'espoir dans ta route infinie, Et te souciant peu de laisser ici-bas Des larmes et du sang aux traces de tes pas. Plus vaste que le ciel et plus grand que la vie, Tu perdis ta beauté, ta gloire et ton génie Pour un être impossible, et qui n'existait pas.

Hakiki hayatta ebedi ve mutlak a?klar aramaya kalk??mak, ?ehir meydanlar?nda Venüs kadar güzel kad?nlar aramaya yahut da bülbüllerin Beethoven'?n senfonilerini çalmalar?n? istemeye müsavidir.

Porte ta vie ailleurs, ô toi qui fus ma vie ; Verse ailleurs ce trésor que j'avais pour tout bien. Va chercher d'autres lieux, toi qui fus ma patrie, Va fleurir, ô soleil, ô ma belle chérie, Fais riche un autre amour et souviens-toi du mien.

I love the sound of the horn, at night, in the depth of the woods.