Quotes About Beauty

Some one has defined a work of art as a "thing beautifully done." I like it better if we cut away the adverb and preserve the word "done," and let it stand alone in its fullest meaning. Things are not done beautifully. The beauty is an integral part of their being done.

There is always a commanding and simple line around each head. Learn to have a love for the big simple line.

And so all great music, great prose, everything beautiful must depend upon the sure, free measure with which it is gardened and put into language for the people, for each lovely thing has its intrinsic value and belongs in its own position for the world to study, understand and thrive upon.

Every great artist is a man who has freed himself . . . Every man who has shown the world the way to beauty, to true culture, has been a rebel, a "universal" without patriotism, without home, who has found his people everywhere.

Each man must seek for himself the people who hold the essential beauty, and each man must eventually say to himself as I do, 'these are my people and all that I have I owe to them.

The firmament payntit with sternis cleirFrom eist to west rolland in cirkill round,And everilk planet in his proper spheir,In moving makand harmonie and sound;The fyre, the air, the watter, and the ground—Till understand it is aneuch, I wis,That God in all His werkis wittie is.

Her pretty feet, like snails, did creepA little out, and then,As if they played at bo-peep,Did soon draw in again.

But ne'er the rose without the thorn.

Get up, sweet Slug-a-bed, and seeThe dew bespangling herb and tree.

Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry,Full and fair ones; come and buy!If so be you ask me whereThey do grow, I answer, there,Where my Julia's lips do smile;There's the land, or cherry-isle.

A sweet disorder in the dressKindles in clothes a wantonness.

Fair daffodils, we weep to seeYou haste away so soon.

Some asked how pearls did grow, and where?Then spoke I to my girlTo part her lips, and showed them thereThe quarelets of pearl.

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds and bowers, Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers...

Whenas in silks my Julia goes,Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flowsThat liquefaction of her clothes.Next, when I cast mine eyes and seeThat brave vibration each way free;Oh how that glittering taketh me!

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Times is still a-flying And this same flower that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying.

THE ROCK OF RUBIES, AND THE QUARRY OF PEARLS Some ask'd me where the Rubies grew: And nothing I did say, But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia. Some ask'd how Pearls did grow, and where: Then spoke I to my girl, To part her lips, and shew me there The quarrelets of Pearl.

Have ye beheld (with much delight) A red rose peeping through a white? Or else a cherry (double graced) Within a lily? Centre placed? Or ever marked the pretty beam A strawberry shows half drowned in cream? Or seen rich rubies blushing through A pure smooth pearl, and orient too? So like to this, nay all the rest, Is each neat niplet of her breast.

you is all of Heaven. Every leaf that falls is given life in you. Each bird that ever sang will sing again in you. And every flower that ever bloomed has saved its perfume and its loveliness for you. Text-25.

Nothing they design ever gets in the way of a work of art.

Weirdness is beauty, beauty weirdness.

Magic is absurd. It is a system of thinking that does not work and does not get one anywhere," said the friar. "It works, but it does not get one anywhere," said Vance. "But it is very beautiful. Magic is an art that pleases the eye and the ear," said Bulbul.

The construction of its wall was of jasper; and the city was pure gold, like clear glass. – Revelation 21:18

I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys. – Song of Solomon 2:1