Quotes About Beauty

Understand, I'll slip quietly away from the noisy crowd when I see the pale stars rising, blooming, over the oaks.

Finally, after weeks of daily resistance, one finds oneself somewhat composed again, even though still a bit confused, and one says to oneself: No, there is not more beauty here than in other places, and all these objects, which have been marveled at by generation after generation, mended and restored by the hands of workmen, mean nothing, are nothing, and have no heart and no value; — but there is much beauty here, because everywhere there is much beauty

All things exist in order to become images for us in some sense. And this does not cause them any harm: for while they express us ever more clearly, our soul bows down to them to the same degree.

you would cry out as purely as a bird when the quickly ascending season lifts him up, nearly forgetting that he is a suffering creature and not just a single heart being flung into brightness, into the intimate skies.

Rainer Maria Rilke

A ella sólo nosotros la vemos; el animal libre tiene siempre su ocaso detrás de si y ante sí tiene a Dios, y cuando anda, anda en la eternidad, como andan las fuentes. Nosotros nunca tenemos, ni siquiera un solo día, el espacio puro ante nosotros, al que las flores se abren infinitamente.

Von deinen Sinnen hinausgesandt, geh bis an deiner Sehnsucht Rand; gieb mir Gewand. Hinter den Dingen wachse als Brand, dass ihre Schatten, ausgespannt, immer mich ganz bedecken. Lass dir Alles geschehn: Schönheit und Schrecken. Man muss nur gehn: Kein Gefühl ist das fernste.

Dann brachte mir dein Brief den sanften Segen, ich wußte, daß es keine Ferne gibt: Aus allem Schönen gehst du mir entgegen, mein Frühlingswind du, du mein Sommerregen, du meine Juninacht mit tausend Wegen, auf denen kein Geweihter schritt vor mir: ich bin in dir!

Weißt du, ich will mich schleichen leise aus lautem Kreis, wenn ich erst die bleichen Sterne über den Eichen blühen weiß. Wege will ich erkiesen, die selten wer betritt in blassen Abendwiesen? und keinen Traum, als diesen: Du gehst mit.

I am touched by your beautiful anxiety about life.

Boo'ful, she said, life could be so diff'rent— But it never is, I said.

Every serious novel is, beyond its immediate thematic preoccupations, a discussion of the craft, a conquest of the form, a conflict with its difficulties and a pursuit of its felicities and beauty.

Something in Mama's voice was vast and high, like a rainbow; yet something sad and deep, like when the organ played in church, was around Mama's words.

I passed on to a window decorated with switches of wiry false hair, ointments guaranteed to produce the miracle of whitening black skin. "You too can be truly beautiful," a sign proclaimed. "Win greater happiness with whiter complexion. Be outstanding in your social set.

I passed on to a window decorated with switches of wiry false hair, ointments guaranteed to produce the miracle of whitening black skin. You too can be truly beautiful, a sign proclaimed.

Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us, or we find it not.

This is my wish for you: Comfort on difficult days, smiles when sadness intrudes, rainbows to follow the clouds, laughter to kiss your lips, sunsets to warm your heart, hugs when spirits sag, beauty for your eyes to see, friendships to brighten your being, faith so that you can believe, confidence for when you doubt, courage to know yourself, patience to accept the truth, Love to complete your life.

What is success? To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate the beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch Or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded!

Even in the mud and scum of things, something always, always sings.

He who is in love is wise and is becoming wiser, sees newly every time he looks at the object beloved, drawing from it with his eyes and his mind those virtues which it possesses.

What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.

Beauty without expression is boring.

Many eyes go through the meadow, but few see the flowers in it

I am the lover of uncontained and immortal beauty. In the wilderness, I find something more dear and connate than in streets or villages. In the tranquil landscape, and especially in the distant line of the horizon, man beholds somewhat as beautiful as his own nature.