Quotes About Beauty

O serpent heart hid with a flowering face! Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant, feind angelical, dove feather raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of devinest show, just opposite to what thou justly seemest - A dammed saint, an honourable villain!

But love, first learned in a lady's eyes,Lives not alone immured in the brain.

Could I come near your beauty with my nailsI'd set my ten commandments in your face.

Beauty itself doth of itself persuadeThe eyes of men without an orator.

Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund dayStands tiptoe on the misty mountaintops.

Sometimes we see a cloud that's dragonish;A vapor sometime like a bear or lion,A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock,A forked mountain, or blue promontoryWith trees upon 't.

All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth.

O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear.

I see thy glory like a shooting starFall to the base earth from the firmament.

Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes.

But, look, the morn in russet mantle clad,Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill.

O thou weed!Who art so lovely fair and smell'st so sweetThat the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst ne'er been born.

'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and whiteNature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive,If you will lead these graces to the graveAnd leave the world no copy.

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,And Phoebus 'gins arise,His steeds to water at those springsOn chalic'd flowers that lies;And winking Mary-buds beginTo ope their golden eyes:With everything that pretty is,My lady sweet, arise.

The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light.

She that was ever fair and never proud,Had tongue at will and yet was never loud.

At Christmas I no more desire a roseThan wish a snow in May's newfangled mirth;But like of each thing that in season grows.

Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.All men make faults.

And smooth as monumental alabaster.

Beauty's ensign yetIs crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,And death's pale flag is not advanced there.

To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,To throw a perfume on the violet,To smooth the ice, or add another hueUnto the rainbow, or with taper-lightTo seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

A woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress her not.

Thou hast nor youth nor age;But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep,Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youthBecomes as aged, and doth beg the almsOf palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich,Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,To make thy riches pleasant.

Then, let thy love be younger than thyself,Or thy affection cannot hold the bent;For women are as roses, whose fair flowerBeing once display'd, doth fall that very hour.