Quotes About Beauty

Els ocells visiten els arbres sense fulles, però no sense fulles com a l'hivern; ara les branques s'enrigideixen, les puntes dels branquillons resplendeixen com la flama d'una espelma.

Ha, he says. Well. Crazy weather out You're missing nothing, Pad. One of the worst springs I can remember. Snow up to here just two there. weeks ago. Minus seven. And now this. Twenty nine degrees. You're wrong, she says. One of the loveliest springs I've known. Plants couldn't wait to get going. All that cold. All this green.

gold mould as if blisters of the body can become precious metals.

Art in nature.

I'm good at the real and the true and the beautiful and can do With some skill and With or without flattery the Place where all 3 meet ...

Then I wondered why on earth would anyone ever stand in the world as if standing in the cornucopic middle of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon but inside a tiny white-painted rectangle about the size of a single space in a car park, refusing to come out of it, and all around her or him the whole world, beautiful, various, waiting?

I like the idea of blue and pink together, Elisabeth said.

The nettles say nothing. The seeds at the tops of the grass stems say nothing. The little white flowers on the tops of their stalks, she doesn't know what they are but they're saying their fresh nothing. The buttercups say it merrily. The gorse says it unexpectedly, a bright yellow nothing, smooth and soft and delicate against the mute green nothing of its barbs.

One blink of a camera eye (can't quite put his finger on the name of the photographer) and that child dressed in leaves became all these things: sad, terrible, beautiful, funny, terrifying, dark, light, charming, fairystory, folkstory, truth.

He was, she thought, as beautiful as a young god, lying on his side among the grass and flowers

For what is a flower but lifes expressed passion for itself. Sudden and brief, but certain and eternal at the same time

Love is eternal. That is its terror and its final beauty. Love never ends. The joy may go out of it, and, in time, even the pain may end. But it lingers like a living thing and follows you every moment of your life.

Do we despise the rose because its beauty is fleeting? Some do, and seek comfort in glass or marble... ...Glass shatters, marble is eaten away by the tides of time. But the rose has unfurled its banner every spring to the sun and will do so for god knows how many uncounted ages more.

One will never remember A greater thing when one dies Than sunlight falling aslant long rows of corn, Or rainy days heavy with grey sullen skies.

The white cliffs of Dover, I saw rising steeplyOut of the sea that once made her [England] secure.

I have loved England, dearly and deeply, Since that first morning, shining and pure, The white cliffs of Dover I saw, rising steeply Out of the sea that once made her secure.

The leaves have mostly fallen, so the pines are having their glorious reign.

The sky is already purple; the first few stars have appeared, suddenly, as if someone had thrown a handful of silver across the edge of the world.

Courage is not the towering oak That sees storms come and go It is the fragile blossom That opens in the snow.

Spirit of place! It is for this we travel, to surprise its subtlety and where it is a strong and dominant angel, that place, seen once, abides entire in the memory with all its own accidents, its habits, its breath, its name.

There is nothing in the world more peaceful than apple-leaves with an early moon.

oh each poet's a beautiful human girl who must die.

I like the beauty of being restored to myself, in the pollen light

Don't think of yourself as a rare sacrifice, blood has no beauty