Quotes About Beauty

He was in love with every pretty woman he saw now, their forms at a distance, their shadows on a wall.

that was true he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream. He must have looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass. A

He was enough older than Nicole to take pleasure in her youthful vanities and delights, the way she paused fractionally in front of the hall mirror on leaving the restaurant, so that the incorruptible quicksilver could give her back to herself.

A mile from the sea, where pines give way to dusty poplars, is an isolated railroad stop, whence one June morning in 1925 a victoria brought a woman and her daughter down to Gausse's Hotel. The mother's face was of a fading prettiness that

Apoi o saruta.La atingerea buzelor lui,Daisy se deschise ca o floare,iar intruchiparea se desavarsi.

Back at two o'clock in the Roi George corridor the beauty of Nicole had been the beauty of Rosemary as the beauty of Leonardo's girl was to that of the girl of an illustrator. Dick moved on through the rain, demoniac and frightened, the passions of many men inside him and nothing simple that he could see.

As the still ocean paths before the shark in starred and glittering waterways, beauty-high, the moon-swathed trees divided, pair on pair, while flapping nightbirds cried across the air.

She did not know yet that splendor is something in the heart; at the moment when she realized that and melted into the passion of the universe he could take her without question or regret.

She was incomprehensible, for, in her, soul and spirit were one- the beauty of her body was the essence of her soul.

For him time stood still and then every few years accelerated in a rush, like the quick re-wind of a film, but for Nicole the years slipped away by clock and calendar and birthday, with the added poignance of her perishable beauty.

He was remembering too vividly the youth and freshness of her lips.

The sheath that held her soul had assumed significance—that was all. She was a sun, radiant, growing, gathering light and storing it—then after an eternity pouring it forth in a glance, the fragment of a sentence, to that part of him that cherished all beauty and all illusion. CHAPTER

compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired

Almost impersonally he was convinced that no woman he had ever met compared in any way with Gloria. She was deeply herself; she was immeasurably sincere—of these things he was certain. Beside her the two dozen schoolgirls and débutantes, young married women and waifs and strays whom he had known were so many females, in the word's most contemptuous sense, breeders and bearers, exuding still that faintly odorous atmosphere of the cave and the nursery.

It was a huge horse-chestnut tree in full bloom bound for the Champs-Elysees, strapped now into a long truck and simply shaking with laughter-like a lovely person in an undignified position yet confident none the less of being lovely.

You're the only girl I've seen for a long time that actually did look like something blooming.

Poetry is dying first. It'll be absorbed into prose sooner or later. For instance, the beautiful word, the colored and glittering word, and the beautiful simile belong in prose now. To get attention poetry has got to strain for the unusual word, the harsh, earthy word that's never been beautiful before.

J'aimerais attraper un de ces nuages roses, vous y enfermer, et vous envoyer rouler dans l'espace.

She was dressed in pale green, and a gold ribbon bound back her dark, straight hair like a crown.

She's said to be very beautiful by people who ought to know.

Where are you from? inquired Anthony. He knew, but beauty had rendered him thoughtless.

Her eyebrows had been plucked and then drawn on again at a more rakish angle, but the efforts of nature toward the restoration of the old alignment gave a blurred air to her face.

Her throat, full of aching, grieving beauty.

Je crois que cette voix l'attachait plus que tout, avec ses inflexions exaltantes, envoûtantes, car aucun de ses rêves n'aurait pu en imaginer de plus belle — cette voix était un chant d'immortalité.