Quotes About Beauty

Frances Hodgson Burnett

It's the best fun I ever had in my life—shut in here an' wakenin' up a garden.

A veces, desde que he estado en el jardín, alzo la vista y miro el cielo entre los árboles y he tenido ese extraño sentimiento de estar feliz, como si algo estuviera empujándome el pecho, tirándome y haciéndome respirar de prisa. La magia siempre está empujando, tirando y haciendo cosas de la nada. Todo está hecho de magia, las hojas y los árboles, las flores y los pájaros, los tejones y las zorras y las ardillas y la gente.

Donde cuides una rosa, muchacho, No puede crecer un cardo

If the sun is going to shine, little pink clouds float about, and I feel as if I could touch them. And if it rains, the drops patter and patter as if they were saying something nice. Then if there are stars, you can lie and try to count how many go into the patch.

fond of driving and the brown cob was a beauty, she felt that she was being given a treat on a level with the rest of her ladyship's generous hospitalities. She drove well, and her straight, strong figure showed to much advantage on the high seat of the cart. Lord Walderhurst himself commented on her as he

So taking it, she stood among the dried, withered things and looked in tender regret at them.

A grin might have split me down the middle and my questions might come spilling out. Am I pretty? How much bigger am I than you? Do you love me—still love me, or love me more for having done this? Did you love me before? Was it possible to love me when I was fat? What do you love now? Am I gonna be OK—be a person, be Frances? Will I figure this out? How? What have I done?

There is so much jasmine and nightshade in the garden that we all wake with lyrical headaches.

Don't plant any Peace roses," a friend and connoisseur of roses advised. "They're such a cliché." But not only are they dazzling, the vanilla cream, peach, and rosy blush colors repeat the colors of the house.

Vicki shines with intelligence as brightly as with beauty, a clear open face, black eyes, and a smile that makes you see what she looked like as a nine-year-old.

The first thing to know about living in an old house: The walls are alive.

You know why trees smell the way they do? Murphy asked, looking up from her hammering. Sap? Logan guessed. Chlorophyll? Murphy shook her head. Stars. Trees breathe in starlight year after year, and it goes deep into their bones. So when you cut a tree open, you smell a hundred years' worth of light. Ancient starlight that took millions of years to reach earth. That's why trees smell so beautiful and old.

Flowers are reincarnation. They come out of the earth of our ashes. Nothing else looks so soul-like.

I want to be untouchable and beautiful and completely dead inside.

At first we raced through space, like shadows and light; her rants, my raves; her dark hair, my blonde; black dresses, white. She's a purple-black African-violet-dark butterfly and I a white moth. We were two wild ponies, Dawn and Midnight, the wind electrifying our manes and our hooves quaking the city; we were photo negatives of each other, together making the perfect image of a girl.

Every girl is a goddess.

This was not a faerie tale. This was not the movies. This was life. It hurt more. It was excruciating. It was excruciatingly beautiful.

I dreamed you were standing in this dark place and you touched these dead flowers and they lit up like they were electric or something. Electric lilies. Lighting up the Valley.

Think of your pain like a bunch of red roses, a beautiful thorn necklace. Everyone has one.

Under the pink Harlequin sunglasses strawberry dangling charms, and sugar-frosted eyeshadow she was really almost beautiful.

You are my Marilyn. You are my lake full of fishes. You are my sky set, my 'Hollywood in Miniature,' my pink Cadillac, my highway, my martini, the stage for my heart to rock and roll on, the screen where my movies light up.

No matter how bad things get, you can always see the beauty in them. The worse things get, the more you have to make yourself see the magic in order to survive.

I'd sit around dreaming that the boys I saw at shows or at work - the boys with silver earrings and big boots - would tell me I was beautiful, take me home and feed me Thai food or omelets and undress me and make love to me all night with the palm trees whispering windsongs about a tortured gleaming city and the moonlight like flame melting our candle bodies.