Quotes About Beauty

The beauty of the sensation was so intense that fear dropped away. It felt like a kind of birth. She opened her eyes. Sunlight through a foggy window. A green plant on a shelf. The dim delicious fall air. She was a new baby—skin frail as paper, arms weak as milk, brain forming shapes into thought.

White double bloodroot and blue scilla covered yards on my path to the store. The leather knuckles of milkweed were pushing from the earth. Dark hemlocks and pine were tipped with tiny tender green needles. People wandered about like toddlers, bending over to look at last year's dried grass. They watched the sky and examined the tags of newly planted city trees. And the air—it was a clean cold food.

As they plodded along, the golden radiance intensified until it seemed to emanate from every feature of the land.

The world was tender with significance. "Onizhishin, so beautiful," Patrice murmured.

They dance together in a line, murmuring in swift, low voices, smiling carefully as they are too proud to give away their beauty. They are light steppers with a gravity of sure grace.

She didn't use any makeup but lipstick, a bright carmine red that emphasized everything she said.

Outside, the snow drifted down the layers of air, flake by flake. Watching the snow glide down put Patrice into a trance

The black sky was a poem beyond meaning.

There was the residue of joy in their tattered yard.

She was as sturdily made as a captain's chair, yet drew water with graceful wrists and ran dancing across the rutted road on curved white ankles.

I have never felt so supremely right in my emotions, not since I took my vows. To love another human in all of her splendor and imperfect perfection, it is a magnificent task, dear Father Damien, tremendous and foolish and human. I'm sick because I can't eat for the beauty of it, and the anguish is beautiful too.

The Blue Flower, by Penelope Fitzgerald

I wondered if this was a thing regular mothers felt looking at their daughters from a distance, finding them perilous in their magnetic beauty, which makes no distinction in which screws and nuts it attracts.

Our love is a hurting delicacy, an old killer whiskey, a curse, and too beautiful for words.

Rain tapping through the brilliant leaves the only sound. She stopped. The sense of something there, with her, all around her, swirling and seething with energy. How intimately the trees seized the earth. How exquisitely she was included. Patrice closed her eyes and felt a tug. Her spirit poured into the air like song.

They were graceful. It looked like they were pollinating flowers

Effortless. Easy. The lack of trying is what makes them lovely. We all try too hard. Striving wears down our edges, dulls the best of us.

Ayiih! Tell me, does this Chopin know love songs? I have a few I don't sing unless I mean for sure to capture my woman." "This Chopin makes songs so beautiful your knees shake. Dogs cry. The trees moan. Your thoughts fly up nowhere. You can't think. You become flooded in the heart.

Rain tapping through the brilliant leaves the only sound. She stopped. The sense of something there, with her, all around her, swirling and seething with energy. How intimately the trees seized the earth. How exquisitely she was included. Patrice closed her eyes and felt a tug. Her spirit poured into the air like song. Wait! She opened her eyes and threw her weight into her cold feet. This must be how Gerald felt when he flew across the earth. Sometimes she frightened herself.

The prairie almost seemed to mock them with its beauty. Every inch of their skin was covered with bites upon bites. Their faces were purple and swollen. The mosquitoes bit through cloth, they bit through hair, they were implacable. Every being suffered. Yet they kept moving.

A camomile rinse is excellent for blond hair. Use three or four tablespoons of dried flowers to a pint of water. Boil twenty to thirty minutes, straining when cool. Shampoo the hair before using, since it must be free of oil. Pour rinse over the hair several times and do not rinse with clear water after using. It will leave the hair smelling like sweet clover.

Beauty is like drink or comfort, once you get used to it, you stop paying attention.

Two years is the time it takes to perceive at one glance, a glance as sure as instinct, the ugliness that can come over a face, even one that was delicious in its day. For

Two years is the time it takes to perceive at one glance, a glance as sure as instinct, the ugliness that can come over a face, even one that was delicious in its day.