Quotes About Beauty

Oh my Petite,clearest of all God's creatures, still all air and nerve.

The thick lemony honeysuckle, climbing from the earthroot to your window, will open more beautiful blossoms to the evening;

distant hills powdered blue as a girl's eyelid

For a week my heart has pointed elsewhere: it brings us here tonight, and ties our hands– if we leaned forward, and should dip a finger into this river's momentary black flow, infinite small stars would break like fish. from "The Charles River

Things last, but sometimes for days here only children seem fit to handle children, and there is no utility or inspiration in the wind smashing without direction. The fresh paint on the captains' houses hides softer wood.

And blue-lung'd combers lumbered to the kill.

Beauty and the devil are the same thing.

I am obsessed with beauty. I want everything to be perfect, and of course it isn't. And that's a tough place to be because you're never satisfied.

The closer she looked at those windows, the lovelier and more irresistible the house became.

It is as if mankind is trying to . . . obliterate itself, and every beautiful thing that it has made.

They were like a million glistening grains of sugar on a black velvet cloth, and the waning moon shone like a Saracen's blade.

Every species, from the blue whale to the fruit fly, will struggle, with every fiber of its being, to preserve its own existence. And the more I studied them, even the single-celled diatoms, the more beautiful they all appeared to me. Life is a miracle—an absolute fucking miracle—in every form it takes, and I just never felt right again about taking any of it unnecessarily.

Life is absurd. But there is one meaningful thing, one inarguable thing, and that is that there is suffering. Fine writing helps alleviate that suffering – and anything that puts meaning and beauty into the world in the form of story, helps people to live with more peace and purpose and balance, is deeply worthwhile.

The Italian landscape has always harmonized the vulgar and the Vitruvian: the contorni around the duomo, the portiere'S laundry across the padrone's portone, Supercortemaggiore against the Romanesque apse. Naked children have never played in our fountains, and I. M. Pei will never be happy on Route 66.

The Clown turned his powdered face to the mirror. If to be fair is to be beautiful, he said, who can compare with me in my white mask? Who can compare with him in his white mask? I asked Death beside me. Who can compare with me? said Death, for I am paler still. You are very beautiful, sighed the Clown, turning his powdered face from the mirror.

Come and see my rose-coloured bath full of death!

There's gold, and it's haunting and haunting; It's luring me on as of old; Yet it isn't the gold that I'm wanting So much as just finding the gold. It's the great, big, broad land 'way up yonder, It's the forests where silence has lease; It's the beauty that thrills me with wonder, It's the stillness that fills me with peace.

Yet it isn't the gold that I'm wanting So much as just finding the gold. It's the great, big, broad land 'way up yonder, It's the forests where silence has lease; It's the beauty that thrills me with wonder, It's the stillness that fills me with peace.

Instances of delightfulness are always intrinsically beautiful, so to speak, and yet under the right circumstances they may be swinish as well, for what is humanly beautiful might, as it were, be too beautiful for human beings, for which reason people are glad to place beauty in proximity to pigpens, as one is no doubt justified in saying.

Wherever poesie can be felt, all poetic touches are superfluous.

Perhaps there were a few repetitions here and there. But I would like to confess that I consider nature and human life to be a lovely and charming flow of fleeting repetitions, and I would like further to confess that I regard this phenomenon as a beauty and a blessing.

there come moments when we know we are no more and no less than waves and snowflakes, or than that which surely feels, now and then, from its so wonderfully charming confinement, the pull of longing: the leaf.

You must not come to the dark conclusion that everything in the world is hard, false, and wicked. The forest likes you. In its company you will find health and good spirits again, and entertain more lofty and beautiful thoughts.

She's as light as any fairy; she's as pretty as a peach; She's mistress of the witchcraft to beguile; There's sunshine in her manner, there is music in her speech, And there's concentrated honey in her smile.