Quotes About Beauty

I noticed one with short, raven-colored hair who looked not unlike myself (we are interchangeable--the first lesson one learns as a professional beauty).

the most beautiful warrior, who has scar tissue designs coiled like railroad tracks over the rigorous architecture of his chest and shoulders and back.

eyebrows have never inflicted a moment of pain on me.

The photos on her page had not done justice to the arresting, wide-eyed symmetry of her face, the radiant shine of her hair. She was 'clean': no piercings, tattoos or scarifications. All the kids were now. And who could blame them, Alex thought, after watching three generations of flaccid tattoos drop like moth-eaten upholstery over poorly stuffed biceps and saggy asses?" (p. 314)

At night, far from shore, stars pulse with a strength inconceivable in the proximity of light.

The river runs wide and passive in sunlit stretches, then fast and bawdy with whitewater rapids.

He tipped back his head to look at the sky, its torn beauty rinsed and salved by fog, and imagined he was seeing their opioid dreams rising into heaven.

Beauty comes from a life well lived. If you've lived well, your smile lines are in the right places, and your frown lines aren't too bad, what more do you need?

My mother is a big believer in being responsible for your own happiness. She always talked about finding joy in small moments and insisted that we stop and take in the beauty of an ordinary day. When I stop the car to make my kids really see a sunset, I hear my mother's voice and smile.

We went to a small lake, Bass Lake. It was beautiful. It was perfectly still when we got there in the morning. The fog was lifting off the water. It was just magical. And we did catch some fish, 13 fish.

That the woman was beautiful and dear to him, that he'd told her things he'd never told a living soul: this would have been more than enough even without the dreamlike echo of another moment, equally potent. For it seemed to him, the whole day long, that both reels were rolling at once, his boyhood and manhood, the indelible past and achingly tangible present. The boy he'd been and the man he was;

are unsightly but eloquent, a timid girl's

Days seem to be their prettiest when they die? I wonder, will I?

Beautiful face. Beautiful body. Horrible attitude. It was the holy trinity of hot boys.

I'm a jellyfish glowing in the dark sea, bright and brilliant, just waiting to be discovered.

There is a bright full moon, and boats in the harbor are lit up and dancing in the inky water.

Beauty is only skin deep. I think what's really important is finding a balance of mind, body and spirit.

There's no way in the world that just because women turn the number 40, they're anything less than amazing. That's crazy. If anything, you're even more amazing!

I don't get anything for free. I pay for all my beauty treatments.

You're a very pretty girl...Did you know? Once upon a time, I had a pretty, pretty boy.' She reached forward and touched my cheek with one manicured hand.

Ouch!" The manicurist who'd just relieved me of part of my cuticle submerged my feet in bubbling water. Hot water. "Oh, hush," Lily said. "It feels good. Beauty is pain." "Pain," I gritted out, "is also pain.

Beauty is the minimum," Grayson replied. But technique without artistic sensibility is worthless. (He looked down at the rests of the violin he had broken.) Beauty is a decoy.

Jij bent de glazen ballerina...of het mes.' - Nash Westbrook Hawthorne (De erfenis)

How's Tuscany." "The birthplace of the Italian Renaissance? Full of winding roads, hills and valleys, where a morning mist rolls out in the distance, and the forests are littered with leaves so golden red that the entire world feels like it's on fire in the very best way? That Tuscany?