Quotes About Beauty

Bees blew like cake-crumbs through the golden air, white butterflies like sugared wafers, and when it wasn't raining a diamond dust took over which veiled and yet magnified all things

I felt it was for this I had come: to wake at dawn on a hillside and look out on a world for which I had no words, to start at the beginning, speechless and without plan, in a place that still had no memories for me.

She could grow them anywhere, at any time, and they seemed to live longer for her. She grew them with rough, almost slap-dash love, but her hands possessed such an understanding of their needs they seemed to turn to her like another sun. She could snatch a dry root from field or hedgerow, dab it into the garden, give it a shake and almost immediately it flowered. One felt she could grow roses from a stick or chair-leg, so remarkable was this gift. Our

Is it just another pore expanding? God, I already have pores the size of pudding cups, that's the last thing I need, another pore...to fill in with spackle.

Expert Tip: "The day will come when you fervently wish that you are only as fat as you were the FIRST time you thought you were fat."—Michelle Loyet, MAW, whom I've been on vacation with numerous times

In the Anthropologie mirror, I saw wrinkles, dents, flaps, bumps, and something that caused me to say to myself, "I hope that's a tumor and not a horn.

I am watching bees.

Laurie R. King

Jerusalem is a golden bowl full of scorpions.

That animated, Hellenistic sculpture with the green eyes...

Right there! See the blue on its head? See the long tail?" "Oh, there he is," I said, just to bring this little farce to an end. I couldn't see the bird, and I knew I wasn't going to see the bird, and I was rapidly tiring of the whole enterprise. "Beautiful, isn't he?" "Gorgeous," I agreed. "I'd have hated to miss him.

She took kisses like so many coats of paint […] how long and how vainly I searched for excuses which might make her amorality if not palatable at lest understandable. I realize now the time I wasted in this way; instead of enjoying her and turning aside from these preoccupations with the thought, 'She is untrustworthy as she is beautiful. She takes love as plants do water, lightly, thoughtlessly.

I have been thinking about the girl I met last night in the mirror: dark on the marble-ivory white: glossy black hair: deep suspiring eyes in which one's glances sink because they are nervous, curious, turned to sexual curiosity.

People only see in us the contemptible skirt-fever which rules our actions but completely miss the beauty-hunger underlying it.

Frost in January minus 20 for a week. Dead birds frozen on the branch—they fall with the first thaw like ripe fruit—death-ripened. We shall all end like them—just a stain in the snow.

He hablado de la inutilidad del arte, pero no he dicho la verdad sobre el consuelo que procura.

the indifference of the natural world to the constructions of art

am recalling now how during that last spring (forever) we walked together at full moon, overcome by the soft dazed air of the city, the quiet ablutions of water and moonlight that polished it like a great casket. An aerial lunacy among the deserted trees of the dark squares, and the long dusty roads reaching away from midnight to midnight, bluer than oxygen.

And a flower, doesn't even know it's own beauty it's entire life. Sad, huh?

If there's one thing I really love... it's sad music.

As long as this exists, this sunshine and this cloudless sky, and as long as I can enjoy it, how can I be sad?

We are born sad and we die sad, but meanwhile we love bodies whose sad beauty is a miracle.

Why is it that so many of us persist in thinking that autumn is a sad season? Nature has merely fallen asleep, and her dreams must be beautiful if we are to judge by her countenance.

What do I care if you are good? Be beautiful! and be sad!