Quotes About Beauty

How beautiful and horrible life is, Hema thought; too horrible to simply call tragic. Life is worse than tragic." p 108

her unhandsome, but beautiful friend of so many years...

Roses would be annoying weeds if the blooms never withered and died. Beauty resides in the knowledge that it doesn't last.

And if beauty is in the ephemeral, what about the beautiful things you can't have? Perhaps that kind of beauty does last forever.

Knowledge shall be promoted by frequent exercise Art polishes and improves nature Fortune is a fair but fickle mistrefs Yesterday misspent can't be recall'd Vanity makes beauty contemptible Wisdom is more valuable than riches.

A woman with unconventional beauty raises the hope that the viewer might be the only one to see it, that in recognizing and appreciating it, he alone has created her beauty.

Make your life something beautiful for God.

For twenty-eight years of Baby Mol's life, the sun has never failed to come up, yet every morning she's ecstatic at its return. To see the miraculous in the ordinary is a more precious gift than prophecy.

Big Ammachi was shocked to see how thin she had become, her hair suddenly white at the temples; it was such a troubling sight in one so young.

In my garden there is a large place for sentiment. My garden of flowers is also my garden of thoughts and dreams. The thoughts grow as freely as the flowers, and the dreams are as beautiful.

If we could light up the room with pain, we'd be such a glorious fire.

I remembered what had been circling in me: I am beautiful. I am full of love. I am dying.

There remains the mystery of how the pupil devours so much bastard beauty. Abandoned property. This land and I are rewilding.

Bellow "Tell the range and all that's howling, the flickers of life beyond the weeds, the vulture's furrowed brow of flight, the blasted sticky Canadian lawn thistle; tell the clowned-out clouds and the rain, and all that makes you go quiet again, tell them that you didn't come here to make a fuss, or break, or growl, or scream; tell them-crazy sky and stars between-tell them you didn't come to disturb the night air and throw a fit, then get down in the dark and do it.

You say you love the world, so love the world.

Maybe my limbs are made mostly for decoration, like the way I feel about persimmons.

I think a lot about the word tenacity. What it takes to survive in a world that is sometimes beautiful and sometimes hostile. I'm always amazed at the body's willingness to continue, to keep going. The heart that keeps pumping, the lungs that keep breathing, the way the will to live can outsmart those other dark voices inside.

What is it about noticing beauty that brings you out of yourself and returns you to yourself?

It wasn't until later, when I moved in with him and stood outside on our patchy imperfect lawn, that I remembered what had been circling in me: I am beautiful. I am full of love. I am dying.

It is what we do in order to care for things, make them ourselves, our elders, our beloveds, our unborn. But perhaps that is a lazy kind of love. Why can't I just love the flowers for being a flower? How many flowers have I yanked to puppet as if it was easy for the world to make flowers?

Does poetry have its issues? One hundred percent. Does poetry have its limitations? One hundred percent. It's not going to cure disease or feed the hungry, but it might help us to understand someone else's experience just a little bit better. Or maybe it'll make us mad and then we'll have to interrogate why we're mad, or implicated, or why we feel left out. Like many of the arts, poetry can be the way of recognizing our own beauty and our own flaws.

Just this morning, I saw seven cardinals brash and bold as sin in a leafless tree. I let them be for a long while before I shook the air and screwed it all up just by being alive too.

The true and serious beauty of trees, how it seemed insane that they should offer this to us, how unworthy we were, bewildered, how soon we were nearly weeping at their trunks as they tossed down petal after petal, and we tried to remember how it felt to receive and notice the receiving, pink, pink, pink, pink, pink.

I am beautiful. I am full of love. I am dying.