Quotes About Beauty

Rainwater purls from cloud to roof to eave.

What do I care, she whispers, for cities and princes and histories?

Ca inchipuiti mai sunt oamenii! De ce sa te obosesti sa compui muzica daca tacerea si vantul sunt mai cuprinzatoare? De ce sa aprinzi lampi daca intunericul, inevitabil, le va stinge?

El mar es todo. Cubre siete décimas partes del globo… El mar no es más que un receptáculo para todas las criaturas prodigiosas y sobrenaturales

What you realize, ultimately, when you have nothing to lose, is that even though the world can be kind to you, and reveal its beauty through the thin cracks in everything, in the end it will either take you or leave you.

His voice bore an astonishing faith, in the slow and beautiful way it trilled sentences, in the way it braided each syllable.

All the things he did not see... (a black bear, two hawks, horsemen, a trio of summer cabins far below him...)

she gazed at places but could not enter them, witnessed beauty but could not experience it. It was as though she had been excised neatly out of each moment. The world had become like an exhibit at Ward's museum: pretty and nostalgic and watered down, something old and sealed off you weren't allowed to touch.

from Marilynne Robinson's Gilead comes back to me. "There are a thousand thousand reasons to live this life, every one of them sufficient.

I look up at John Paul's bedroom and think, If his bed is near the window, he can watch clouds soaring past the cupola - huge anvils of cumulus, pale and full of shoulders. The wind slowly tears them to shreds. Thin blades of light slip through and touch down everywhere.

And the skies: in one day the sky could travel from green at dawn to a noontime blue so severe it was almost black to hot silver in the afternoon to roiling burgundy at sunset. Just before night it flowered in yawning, imperial violets. Wedges of mauve, cauldrons of peach—skies more like drugs than colors.

But as he reconstructs Zeno's translation, he realizes that the truth is infinitely more complicated, that we are all beautiful even as we are all part of the problem, and that to be a part of the problem is to be human.

Doesn't look like much, does he?" murmurs Fredrick. "Hardly a couple of ounces of feathers and bones. But that bird can fly to Africa and back. Powered by bugs and worms and desire.

We rise again in the grass. In the flowers. In songs.

A real diamond is never perfect.

That something so small could be so beautiful. Worth so much. Only the strongest people can turn away from feelings like that.

Children are often called our greatest resource, as if they were deposits of tin. But a child is not (just as an adult is not) a lever in an economic machine, a vehicle for commerce, a revenue source for the all-powerful state. He is a human being, made in the image and likeness of God— made, that is, for goodness and truth and beauty.

Virtue liberates; vice enslaves. A passion for genuine beauty liberates;

Art reveals to us the mysteries of our existence, or perhaps reveals to us for the first time that there are mysteries at all.

In other words, man's imagination, when it is not corrupt, yearns for the holy—to behold its beauty from a distance, to be possessed by it. All the greatest art of the past, pagan and Christian, testifies to this desire. It

Planned Parenthood (Planned Predators would perhaps be more apt) have long declared, with crocodilian tears, that every child should be a wanted child, predicating the child's value upon the lusts of the parents, rather than valuing the parents' actions according to the being and the beauty of a child.

A piece of land not so very large, with a garden, and near the house a spring of ever-flowing water, and up above these a bit of woodland.

Cleopatra took her time, but when she appeared she brought everything that was needed.

It is as if nothing had ever happened on that bloodstained shore. Had Helen been worth it?