Quotes About Beauty

She 's to be strong-minded, is she?'–and Fanny's lip curled a little as she uttered the misused words[...]'Yes, strong-minded, strong-hearted, strong-souled, and strong-bodied; that is why I made her larger than the miserable, pinched-up woman of our day. Strength and beauty must go together. Don't you think these broad shoulders can bear burdens without breaking down, these hands work well, these eyes see clearly, and these lips do something besides simper and gossip?

Let us not tire of a good work, hard though it may be and wearisome; think of the many little hearts that in their sorrow look to us for help. What would the green Earth be without its lovely flowers!

few are the mortals to whom we give this lovely gift; what to you is now so full of music and of light, to others is but a pleasant summer world; they never know the language of butterfly or bird or flower, and they are blind to all that I have given you the power to see.

Comprendan el valor del tiempo usándolo bien. Así la juventud será encantadora, la vejez traerá pocas lamentaciones y la vida será dichosa y hermosa

The Old-Fashioned Girl is not intended as a perfect model, but as a possible improvement upon [Page] the Girl of the Period, who seems sorrowfully ignorant or ashamed of the good old fashions which make woman truly beautiful and honored, and, through her, render home what it should be,-a happy place, where parents and children, brothers and sisters, learn to love and know and help one another.

a kind little thought, an unselfish little act, a cheery little word, are so sweet and comfortable, that no one can fail to feel their beauty and love the giver, no matter how small they are. Mothers do a deal of this sort of thing, unseen, unthanked, but felt and remembered long afterward, and never lost, for this is the simple magic that binds hearts together, and keeps home happy.

Chide me not, laborious band, For the idle flowers I brought: Every aster in my hand Goes home laden with a thought.

Well, I see beauty in you, dear. And if you are not art, what is?

I was in love with the whole world and all that lived in its rainy arms.

We are so brief. A one-day dandelion. A seedpod skittering across the ice. We are a feather falling from the wing of a bird. I don't know why it is given to us to be so mortal and to feel so much. It is a cruel trick, and glorious.

which causes me to wonder, my own purpose on so many days as h umbel as the spider's, what is beautiful that I make? What is elegant? What feeds the world?

I love plants. For the longest time I thought that they died without pain. But of course after I had argued with Mary she showed me clippings on how plants went into shock when pulled up by their roots, and even uttered something indescribable, like panic, a drawn-out vowel only registered on special instruments. Still, I love their habit of constant return. I don't like cut flowers. Only the ones that grow in the ground.

Blue Juneberry, tough diamond willow.

How the flowers were fired and colored into the design. Perhaps this sort of gesture will be lost, perhaps it is a function of consciousness that we don't need in order to survive. Perhaps this piece of evolution makes no sense—our hunger for everyday sorts of visual pleasure—but I don't think so. I think we have survived because we love beauty and because we find each other beautiful. I think it may be our strongest quality.

Someone had cleared that hillside once to make an orchard that had fallen into ruin and was now only twisted silver branches and split trunks. I sat there and continued to watch the sky as, out of nowhere, great solid-looking clouds built hot stacks and cotton cones. I was sixteen years old.

He spent winters at the Villa Henriette in Monte Carlo, which had a beautiful view of the Mediterranean.

How fortunate we were to grow up there, in a beautiful country, with good neighbors, people of culture and refinement, kind friends.

It was his own Walden, a place where "fine views invest the soul and where we can live simply and quietly.

I have never met anyone so attractive.

He couldn't imagine such a moment, believed instead that Serena's beauty was like certain laws of math and physics, fixed and immutable

It was the kind of early-fall day Rachel had always loved, not warm or cold, the sky all deep-blue and cloudless and no breeze, the crops proud and ripe and the leaves so pretty but hardly a one yet fallen--a day so perfect that the earth itself seemed sorry to let it pass, so slowed down its roll into evening and let it linger.

a day so perfect that the earth itself seemed sorry to let it pass, so slowed down its roll into evening and let it linger.

The danger of Italy...is, it tends to make one florid.

One tooth missing. And only half roughed. on one side only. I'd not call her pretty.