Quotes About Beauty

I cannot leave it; I must stay under the old tree in the midst of the long grass, the luxury of the leaves, and the song in the very air. I seem as if I could feel all the glowing life the sunshine gives and the south wind calls to being.

None of the palaces in Hell come close to Lucifer's in size or beauty. Lucifer lives at the top of a literal ivory tower, miles high. You can't even see the top from the ground. The joke is that he built it that high so he can lean out the window and pound on Heaven's floor with a broom handle when he wants them to turn down the choir.

But she's not going to call the cops or stab me in my sleep, and what more can you ask of a pretty girl?

When you live with a dead man's head that won't shut up and smokes all your cigarettes, the only way to deal with the awfulness is to make it so unbelievably awful that it becomes kind of weirdly beautiful. Like an exploding giraffe full of fireworks.

SOCIETY IS A CARNIVOROUS FLOWER

Juliette Stray is a bleach-blond Mamie Van Doren knockoff. She kisses cheeks left and right as she moves through the crowd. A big smile masks someone trying to look way too nice for it to be anything but protective coloring—like the pretty stripes on a coral snake. Better keep an eye on her. If things go bad, she'll be the one who puts the knife in.

Thievery pays for the tools, and the work shows me the mind of God. Stealing is a lot like alchemy, you know. In each, we each try to find what is beautiful and hidden and make it ours.

What does that stupid song mean? What's supposed to be in my heart? I go over the lyrics a couple more times in my head. "All things bright and beautiful, / All creatures great and small, / All things wise and wonderful, / The Lord God made them all." Basically, it's saying that God made everything and everything is just great. This thing is a damn Disney nightmare. God made everything and everything is great.

There's something about driving a pretty girl somewhere potentially dangerous in a stolen car that just makes you feel good.

The beauty we love is very silent. It smiles softly to itself, but never speaks.

We also maintain - again with perfect truth - that mystery is more than half of beauty, the element of strangeness that stirs the senses through the imagination.

A woman's beauty is one of her great missions.

It is curious how, from time immemorial, man seems to have associated the idea of evil with beauty, shrunk from it with a sort of ghostly fear, while, at the same time drawn to it by force of its hypnotic attraction.

You can never replace anyone because everyone is made up of such beautiful specific details.

That's what I like about traveling—you can sit down, maybe talk to someone interesting, see something beautiful, read a good book, and that's enough to qualify as a good day. You do that at home and everyone thinks you're a bum.

Sing, then. Sing, indeed, with shoulders back, and head up so that song might go to the roof and beyond to the sky. Mass on mass of tone, with a hard edge, and rich with quality, every single note a carpet of colour woven from basso profundo, and basso, and baritone, and alto, and tenor, and soprano, and also mezzo, and contralto, singing and singing, until life and all things living are become a song. O, Voice of Man, organ of most lovely might.

There is beautiful you are." "No," said Marged, between a sigh and a sob. "Yes," said Owen. "No," said Marged, not so certain. "Behold," Owen said, from Solomon. "thou art fair. Thou hast dove's eyes." "Dove's eyes are small." Marged said. "Yours are so big they are my whole world," said Owen.

What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset." —CROWFOOT, CHIEF OF THE SIKSIKA FIRST NATION, 1890

Too often, small towns invaded by urban expatriates lose their character and physical beauty to overdevelopment.

To a person uninstructed in natural history, his country or seaside stroll is a walk through a gallery filled with wonderful works of art, nine-tenths of which have their faces turned to the wall. —THOMAS HUXLEY

Oh, could you view the melodyOf every graceAnd music of her face,You'd drop a tear;Seeing more harmonyIn her bright eyeThan now you hear.

bristly oxtongue, a weed whose scabby leaves looked as if they were afflicted by industrial acne.

But I soon found that I was seeing the aura of the flowers. A wonderful light shone out from every little petal and flower, and the whole was a blaze of splendor.

Remember that application development is not a beauty contest, so stop looking for flaws and wasting time chasing perfection.