Quotes About Beauty

When we are young, we think life will be like a su po: one fabric, one weave, one grand design. But in truth, life turns out to be more like the patchwork cloths—bits and pieces, odds and ends—people, places, things we never expected, never wanted, perhaps. There is harmony in this, too, and beauty. I suppose that is why I like the chogak po.

The difference between Old Honolulu and New, she would come to decide, was the difference between a beautiful woman who was simply being herself and a beautiful woman calling attention to herself: a little vain perhaps, but you couldn't say she wasn't attractive.

There is beauty,' she said, 'in the least beautiful of things.

There is beauty,' she said, 'in the least beautiful things.

To see the infinite pity of this place, The mangled limb, the devastated face, The innocent sufferers smiling at the rod, A fool were tempted to deny his God. He sees, and shrinks; but if he look again, Lo, beauty springing from the breast of pain!— He marks the sisters on the painful shores, And even a fool is silent and adores.

If you have ever followed a rainbow to its end, it leads you to the ground on which you are standing.

Those who love you are not fooled by mistakes you have made or dark images you hold about yourself. They remember your beauty when you feel ugly; your wholeness when you are broken; your innocence when you feel guilty; and your purpose when you are confused

Tu trabajo consiste en que tu conciencia se establezca en el asombro, la belleza y el valor del momento presente, que es lo que te hará feliz ahora y te ayudará a seguir siéndolo.

Todo tu pasado, excepto su belleza, ha desaparecido, y no queda ni rastro de él, salvo una bendición» (T-5.IV.8:2).

All your past except its beauty is gone, and nothing is left but a blessing.

There was a freshness about her that the surrounding harsh landscape had failed to eliminate

The poetry, you see, was when he moved. -- Dream Done Green

He stood on the sand watching the double sunset as first one and then the other of Tatooine's twin suns sank slowly behind the distant range of dunes. In the fading light the sands turned gold, russet, and flaming red-orange before advancing night put the bright colors to sleep for another day.

This land, like so much of the French countryside, was a painting, but Mercier felt his heart touched with melancholy and realized, not for the first time, that beautiful places were hard on lonely people.

You've got to empathize, not sympathize. Take that loose thread. Start to pull. Let the whole thing unravel. Let's start making something stronger. More beautiful.

Start seeing the world for what it really is—dirty, rough, tragic, and beautiful. It is truly a wonderful mess.

I was applying myself to the subtler connoisseurship of the out-of-season, days without warmth and nights without encounters, empty pleasure-grounds and the violence of the tides.

When Senta started singing it was spellbinding—Daphne said this word to herself with a further shiver of pleasure.

Humanism was not wrong in thinking that truth, beauty, liberty, and equality are of infinite value"; but it was tragically wrong "in thinking that man can get them for himself without grace."16

when your feelings are properly cultivated, when that part of your life is strong and healthy, then your responses to the world will be adequate to what the world is really like. To have your feelings moved by the beauty of a landscape is to respond to that landscape in the way that it deserves;

And I think of the night-blooming cereus, a plant that looks like a leathery weed most of the year. But for one night each summer its flower opens to reveal silky white petals, which encircle yellow lacelike threads, and another whole flower like a tiny sea anemone within the outer flower. By morning, the flower has shriveled. One night of the year, as delicate and fleeting as a life in the universe.

The catchers delight in the moment so frozen but soon discover that the nightingale expires, its clear flutelike song diminishes to silence, the trapped moment grows withered and without life.

caressing each moment as an emerald on temporary consignment.

like the luminescence of the night above the trees just when a rising moon has touched the treeline.