Quotes About Beauty

In most gardens, the Tiger-lily said, they make the beds too soft-so that the flowers are always asleep.

And it certainly did seem a little provoking ('almost as if it happened on purpose,' she thought) that, though she managed to pick plenty of beautiful rushes as the boat glided by, there was always a more lovely one that she couldn't reach. The prettiest are always further! she said at last, with a sigh at the obstinacy of the rushes in growing so far off.

I entered my room, and undrew the window-curtains, just in time to see the sun burst in glory from his ocean-prison, and clothe the world in the light of a new day.

What mattered it to her just then that the rushes had begun to fade and to lose all their scent and beauty, from the very moment that she picked them? Even real scented rushes, you know, last only a very little while-- and these, being dream-rushes, melted away almost like snow, as they lay in heaps at her feet-- but Alice hardly noticed this, there were so many other curious things to think about.

In winter, when the fields are white, I sing this song for your delight—

I'm sure the woods look sleepy in the autumn, when the leaves are getting brown.

You are sad, the Knight said in an anxious tone: let me sing you a song to comfort you. Is it very long? Alice asked, for she had heard a good deal of poetry that day. It's long, said the Knight, but very, VERY beautiful. Everyone that hears me sing it - either it brings the TEARS into their eyes, or else - Or else what? said Alice, for the Knight had made a sudden pause. Or else it doesn't, you know.

Su cara refleja algo de sentido común, ¡Aunque no es una niña demasiado lista!. Sin embargo, tienes un bonito color, y eso siempre ayuda.

En la mayoría de los jardines las flores están plantadas en unos lechos tan blandos que siempre están dormidas.

Te estás empezando a marchitar, ¿sabes?, y cuando llega ese momento nadie puede evitar que sus pétalos estén desordenados.

He was overwhelmed by the beauty of the world. Beside that nothing seemed to matter.

the only painting worth anything was done with the heart.

Her hair was the blackest I ever saw. Her eyes matched her hair. Her nose was not quite large enough, I admit. Her mouth and chin were (to quote Mr. Franklin) morsels for the gods; and her complexion (on the same undeniable authority) was as warm as the sun itself, with this great advantage over the sun, that it was always in nice order to look at.

Me pregunto si será por amor por lo que la nieve besa tan delicadamente a los árboles y a los campos

first kneeling to thank that unseen Friend, who sends you the beautiful sun?

So that was Chris and her reading and schooling, two Chrisses there were that fought for her heart and tormented her. You hated the land and the coarse speak of the folk and learning was brave and fine one day; and the next you'd waken with the peewits crying across the hills, deep and deep, crying in the heart of you and the smell of the earth in your face, almost you'd cry for that, the beauty of it and the sweetness of the Scottish land and skies.

there were lovely things in the world, lovely that didn't endure, and the lovelier for that... Nothing endures.

A day spent without the sight or sound of beauty, the contemplation of mystery, or the search of truth is a poverty-stricken day; and a succession of such days is fatal to human life.

If we had better hearing, and could discern the descants of sea birds, the rhythmic tympani of schools of mollusks, or even the distant harmonics of midges hanging over meadows in the sun, the combined sound might lift us off our feet.

A dog's bark amid the water's sound, Peach blossom that's made thicker by the rain. Deep in the trees, I sometimes see a deer, And at the stream I hear no noonday bell. Wild bamboo divides the green mist, A flying spring hangs from the jasper peak. No-one knows the place to which he's gone, Sadly, I lean on two or three pines

CROWS CALLING AT NIGHT Yellow clouds beside the walls; crows roosting near. Flying back, they caw, caw; calling in the boughs. In the loom she weaves brocade, the Qin river girl. Made of emerald yarn like mist, the window hides her words. She stops the shuttle, sorrowful, and thinks of the distant man. She stays alone in the lonely room, her tears just like the rain.

SITTING ALONE ON JINGTING SHAN HILL A flock of birds is flying high in the distance, A lonely cloud drifts idly on its own. We gaze at each other, neither growing tired, There is only Jingting Shan.

QUESTION AND ANSWER ON THE MOUNTAIN You ask for what reason I stay on the green mountain, I smile, but do not answer, my heart is at leisure. Peach blossom is carried far off by flowing water, Apart, I have heaven and earth in the human world.

VISITING THE TAOIST PRIEST DAI TIANSHAN, BUT NOT FINDING HIM A dog's bark amid the water's sound, Peach blossom that's made thicker by the rain. Deep in the trees, I sometimes see a deer, And at the stream I hear no noonday bell. Wild bamboo divides the green mist, A flying spring hangs from the jasper peak. No-one knows the place to which he's gone, Sadly, I lean on two or three pines.