Quotes About Beauty

I used to believe my art had to be about the things that brought me joy and gave me hope. But I learned that art can be found in all of life, even in pain. --Valentine, while in Italy (pg 267)

When people are filled to the brim with love, they are their most beautiful.

Art makes the spirit soar. And when the spirit is lifted, life follows.

There is no greater purpose for art than to move you, to elevate your mood, to make you think, to remind you of places you have been or places you want to build. It does everything—nourishes the soul and lifts the spirits of the people.

What a boon to live on the water! Such delicious shades and hues! This is a template worthy of the greatest painters. The textures of sand and stone could inspire incomparable sculptures, and the sounds - the steady lapping of the waves, the sweet chirping of the birds, make this a sanctuary.

Fall in love with a plain girl. Plain girls never turn bitter. They appreciate their portion, no matter how meager A small pearl is enough. They never long for the diamond. Beautiful girls have high expectations. You bring them daisies, and they want roses. You buy them a hat, ad they want the matching coat. It's a well so deep you cannot fill it. I know. I've tried.

Even when we're broken, we're beautiful.

Powder and lipstick are the tank and the rifle in a woman's beauty arsenal." The

Art makes the spirit soar. And when the

Ciro, who loved machinery and its design, thought the tanks were ugly. What beauty could be found in something that was created with the sole purpose of destruction?

It seemed to Ciro that so much of life was about not holding on, but letting go and in so doing, the beauty of the past and the happiness he felt then came full circle like a band of gold.

What's a true Italian?" "He loved his family and he loved beauty. For a true Italian, those are the only two things that matter, because in the end that's what sustains you.

As Alda floated on the surface, the sky overhead reminded her of the deep blue the artist Giotto used on the ceiling of the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua.

Marvels, the Earth breeds many marvels, terrible marvels overwhelm us. The heaving arms of the sea embrace and swarm with savage life. And high in the no man's land of night torches hang like swords.

This fable shows that ornaments of the spirit are preferable to a beautiful body.

ugly plumage

I haven't come to you only to take , I haven't come to you empty handed : I bring you poetry as great as yours but in anther tongue , I bring you black eyes and golden skin and curly hair , I bring you Islam and Luxor and Alexandria and Lutes and tambourines and date-palms and silk rugs and sunshine and incense and voluptuous ways

She was--I keep using the past tense; I ought to say she is--one of those people who, at first sight, look plain, are quiet, unassertive, unmemorable even. But who, when they start to talk and you get to know them, become more and more attractive and impressive, and you see that in fact they are beautiful. Not conventionally beautiful, not celebrity beautiful, but beautiful all through.

But the sky is interesting, it changes all the time.

And in it all, the sensation of shaking my fists at the sky, shaking my fists high up to the sky, because that is what we do when someone dies too early, too beautiful, too undervalued by the world, or sometimes just at all -- we shake our fists at the big, beautiful, indifferent sky, and the anger is righteous and strong and helpless and huge. I shook and I shook, and I put all of it into the dress.

Her blush was the color of a coral reef, but smooth.

Joseph would reach out to me occasionally, the same way the desert blooms a flower every now and then. You get so used to the subtleties of beige and brown, and then a sunshine-yellow poppy bursts from the arm of a prickly pear. How I loved those flower moments, like when he pointed out the moon and Jupiter, but they were rare, and never to be expected.

The afternoons were getting longer again, stretching. I stayed too long at a stoplight because the sunlight was so pretty, sifting through all the leaves on the sycamore trees lining Sierra Bonita, turning each a pale jade green. The jacaranda trees preparing for their burst of true lavender blue come May. Go, said Dad. Sorry, I said.

Sono innamorata dello smettere. A suo modo è un'arte, se ci pensate. Smettere bene richiede un innato senso della bellezza; bisogna saper sentire il momento della svolta, proprio quando il desiderio fa la sua comparsa, quello è il momento di darci un taglio, giù deciso, l'istante in cui lo smettere è maturo come una pesca che si fa dolce sull'albero: crack, si spacca il picciolo, la pesca cade per terra, nera e argento di mosche.