Quotes About Beauty

Farewell, fair cruelty.

Nature's above art in that respect.

The chariest maid is prodigal enoughIf she unmask her beauty to the moon;Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes;The canker galls the infants of the springToo oft before their buttons be disclos'd,And in the morn and liquid dew of youthContagious blastments are most imminent.

Orpheus with his lute made trees,And the mountain-tops that freeze,Bow themselves, when he did sing.

From the east to western Ind,No jewel is like Rosalind.

And ruin'd love, when it is built anew,Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.

A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled,Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.

For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.

Now boast thee, death, in thy possession liesA lass unparallel'd.

Full many a glorious morning have I seen.

O! for a falconer's voice,To lure this tassel-gentle back again.

Come away, come away, death,And in sad cypress let me be laid;Fly away, fly away, breath;I am slain by a fair cruel maid.

Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in theeCalls back the lovely April of her prime.

An angel! or, if not,An earthly paragon!

Beauty, wit,High birth, vigor of bone, desert in service,Love, friendship, charity, are subjects allTo envious and calumniating time.One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youthAnd delves the parallels in beauty's brow.

She's beautiful and therefore to be woo'd,She is a woman, therefore to be won.

My comfort is, that old age, that ill layer-up of beauty, can do no more spoil upon my face.

The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she.

Age cannot wither her, nor custom staleHer infinite variety; other women cloyThe appetites they feed, but she makes hungryWhere most she satisfies; for vilest thingsBecome themselves in her, that the holy priestsBless her when she is riggish.

See, what a grace was seated on this brow;Hyperion's curls, the front of Jove himself,An eye like Mars, to threaten and command,A station like the herald MercuryNew-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill,A combination and a form indeed,Where every god did seem to set his seal,To give the world assurance of a man.

From you have I been absent in the spring,When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim,Hath put a spirit of youth in everything.

Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.

For where is any author in the worldTeaches such beauty as a woman's eye?Learning is but an adjunct to ourself.