Quotes About Beauty

Horses make a landscape look beautiful.

Art is supposed to make you feel something, and I began to realize my appearance was my art. My body, my face, my scars told a story—my story. But I guess that's how life works sometimes—noticing beauty only in retrospect and poetry, in silence.

It deified a certain posture: static, cream-shouldered, jutting hips, cigarette poised between lipstick and eternity.

My mom always said, 'Don't date a guy who thinks he's prettier than you.'

I don't have to fit in. None of us does. Our uniqueness isn't a scar, but a beauty mark. What makes us different is also what makes us wildly, boldly, and marvelously who we were born to be.

I don't have to fit in. None of us does. Our uniqueness isn't a scar, but a beauty mark. What makes us different is also what makes us wildly, boldly, and marvelously who we were born to be.

Every moment is beautiful; delicious even!

Beauty is only temporary, but your mind lasts you a lifetime.

Een wilde kat gleed zachtvoetig door de bosjes, een vreemd uitziende kat met een korte krulstaart. Hij bleef staan en staarde naar het meisje, met intense gele ogen, en glipte toen weer door het struikgewas weg. Het meisje kwam overeind en ging staan, haar gezicht straalde bovenaardse verrukking uit.

In a narcissistic cathexis, you invest more energy into your ideas about another person than in the actual, objective, external person. So the man who falls in love with beauty is quite different from the man who loves a girl and feels she is beautiful and can see what is beautiful about her.

The robin brushes me at dusk. Our good bones fail. We leave no mark. His voice, she writes, was clear and quiet. I hear him singing in the dark. ("Edward Thomas' Daughter")

Speak to me, fair maid! Speak and do not go! What sorrows have your eyes inlaid With such black woe? My dam is buried deep Dark are my father's halls And carrion fowl and wolves now keep Their ruined walls From: The Lay of Andomian and Beruldh

At these times, the things that troubled her seemed far away and unimportant: all that mattered was the hum of the bees and the chirp of birdsong, the way the sun gleamed on the edge of a blue wildflower, the distant bleat and clink of grazing goats.

The weather was clear and still, and the countless stars opened above them, seeming like brilliant cold fruits that Maerad could simply pick out of the sky.

I watched as the stars faded and the landscape began to materialize out of the night and become solid again, and the rim of the world grew rose-pink and deepened to orange and then split with molten gold, and the first rays of the sun speared the wide, empty plains.

todos a los que cuidamos y amamos han de morir. ¿Y no es todo nuestro canto un lamento porque todo lo que es verde y bello ha de pasar, como las sombras sobre una llanura, sin dejar rastro? ¿Qué canción, por bella que sea, puede aliviar esta angustia?

Maerad, our world is full of sorrow and evil," he said. "But there is also beauty and light and love. You must remember that.

Perhaps Dernhil knew there was no time. He had foresight..." Cadvan sighed and looked away. "But he was ever one who looked clearly into his own heart. That is the beauty of his poems. Would that all of us were so lucid.

Light blooms the brighter in the darkest places.

Drunk with beauty, I tore down Armfuls of blossoms. How desolate the marred sky!

Some say an army of horsemen some an army on foot others say ships laden for war are the fairest things on earth. But I say the fairest sight on this dark earth is the face of the one you love. Nor is it hard to understand: love has humbled the hearts of the proudest queens. And I would rather see you now stepping over my threshold than any soldier greaved in gold or any iron-beaked ship.

Earlier, watching her apply mascara with ritual concentration, he'd wondered just how beautiful a woman had to be before she believed it.

Hairspray and blusher, eyelash curlers, eye-shadow palettes the size of tea-trays. Even before they left school it was as if they were already rehearsing for some witless kind of womanhood.

raising children is one of the most significant, meaningful, and profound experiences of their lives. Is this just an evolutionary illusion, a trick to make us keep on reproducing? I'll argue that it's the real thing, that children really do put us in touch with truth, beauty, and meaning.