Quotes About Beauty

A Lover" If I could catch the green lantern of the firefly I could see to write you a letter. Poetry: A Magazine of Verse 1912–22. Edited by Harriet Monroe. (Chicago: 1912–22; New York: Bartleby.com, 2011)

This is America, This vast, confused beauty, This staring, restless speed of loveliness, Mighty, overwhelming, crude, of all forms, Making grandeur out of profusion, Afraid of no incongruities, Sublime in its audacity, Bizarre breaker of moulds, Laughing with strength, Charging down on the past, Glorious and conquering, Destroyer, builder, Invincible pith and marrow of the world, An old world remaking, Whirling into the no-world of all-colored light.

Nina stood there, in all her former beauty queen pageant glory, tall and slim and panther-like. Nina's dark hair always seemed to capture whatever available light there was, and her skin, much to Ellie's annoyance, was flawless. Today she was wearing a black wraparound dress that accentuated every curve and parted in just the right place to show off the best part of her legs.

She's so pretty, isn't she? Beautiful, really. That prefect skin, those long legs. And that hair! It's so black. Black as a raven's feather, that's what my mother used to say. Do you know, Ellie, what a group of ravens is called? [...] It's called an Unkindness. Isn't that strange? An Unkindness. Well... it's something to think about.

From her father she had inherited a beautiful olive complexion and defined angular features; from her Irish mother she got a mass of fiery copper curls that hung down to the middle of her back. The combination was almost outrageously unusual, and Sylvie was sure that half the male population of Avening was in love with her. Molly's looks were so loud that she herself spoke only when she needed to. But Sylvie and Molly had known each other for so long that often times they didn't say anything.

I think of myself as a fairly attractive girl and always have, thanks to my mom. I was brought into this world thinking I was gorgeous because my mother was extremely devoted to this notion.

It had survived a fire that burned most of the city when Fleurette was a little girl, and traces of black soot were still lodged in the crevices of its scrollwork, giving it the appearance of a building that had been drawn in artist's charcoal.

EVERY DAY, AMERICANS go out and buy about ten million cut flowers. After all I've seen, that really doesn't sound like much. It works out, on a daily basis, to one flower for every twenty-five people. Another way to look at it: Every man, woman, and child gets fourteen stems a year. That's just over one flower a month. How can anybody get by on one flower a month?

The man who worries morning and night about the dandelions in the lawn will find great relief in loving the dandelions. —L. H. BAILEY, Manual of Gardening, 1910

I am like a falling star who has finally found her place next to another in a lovely constellation, where we will sparkle in the heavens forever.

Purple and orange weren't two colors Ruby would ever put together and she couldn't for the life f her understand how this Lord God of theirs could have come up with the combination, but He had, and there they were in the sky outside the Winnebago's windshield.

Wealth and beauty-whatever dangers they brought, one never wished them away.

De tan levísimo el oleaje, el mar parecía una laguna. Me quité los zapatos para probar la temperatura del agua, que refulgía blanca bajo el fogaje del sol.

Enfrente, a su espalda, a sus costados, estaban las otras cumbres: Oz, Cuatro Cruces, los agudos colmillos de Sagrado, Vientoduro. Más allá, la lejanía del Negromonte. Casí transparente, más allá de los pinares y las hayas, se adivinaba la ingrata zona de las Artámilas, con su hambre y su miseria.

Sabeis, muchachos? No creais que al morir recordareis hazañas, ni sucesos importantes que os hayan ocurrido. No creais que recordareis grandes aventuras, ni siquiera momentos felices que aún podais vivir. Solo cosas como ésta: una tarde así, unas copas de vino, esas rosas cubiertas de agua.

Eres bonita -dijo Raúl-. Más aún de lo que pueda parecer a primera vista. Tienes una belleza escondida, que sólo puede conocerse al cabo de un gran rato de verte, de hablarte.

Poetry is dancing with words.

Life Is, a Rose.

Venus, queen of soft desire, Leading Hymen's happy choir.

Horns to bulls wise Nature lends; Horses she with hoofs defends; Hares with nimble feet relieves; Dreadful teeth to lions gives; Fishes learn through streams to slide; Birds through yielding air to glide; Men with courage she supplies; But to women these denies. What then gives she? Beauty, this Both their arms and armour is: She, that can this weapon use, Fire and sword with ease subdues.

Pretty Rose, thou gaudy flower, Sacred to Love's almighty power, Whence there's no Lover ever seeks, But finds Thee in his Mistress' cheeks.

Carve for me, O admirable artist, the pleasant cup of Spring.

And, on the ocean's crystal mirror,

Love, truth, beauty, wisdom, and consolation against death. - Anatole Broyard in his dislike of "Lending Books" from editor Rabinowitz's collection "A Passion for Books