Quotes About Beauty

every woman is a vessel of beauty, life, and love—though most don't know it. And all the forces of evil in the world are dead-set against her. That's why loving a woman is the hardest battle you'll ever face. Love isn't going to fall into your lap—you've got to fight for it.

we can't see are the only things that make life worth living.

was only God's rough draft, but Eve was his masterpiece.

The biggest challenge was buying health and beauty aids at low cost and staying stocked up on them because those items were really at the heart of almost every early discounter's strategy.

The physical union of a man and a woman, in essence, is a supernatural act, a reminiscence of paradise, the most beautiful of all the hymns of praise dedicated to the Creator by the creature; it is the alpha and the omega of all creation.

Poetry is the art of uniting pleasure with truth.

Of all noises, I think music is the least disagreeable.

Parts are not to be examined till the whole has been surveyed; there is a kind of intellectual remoteness necessary for the comprehension of any great work in its full design and its true proportions; a close approach shews the smaller niceties, but the beauty of the whole is discerned no longer.

There is scarcely any writer who has not celebrated the happiness of rural privacy, and delighted himself and his reader with the melody of birds, the whisper of groves, and the murmur of rivulets.

The composition of Shakespeare is a forest, in which oaks extend in the air, interspersed sometimes with weeds and brambles, and sometimes giving shelting to myrtles and to roses; filling the eye with awful pomp, and gratifying the mind with endless diversity.

Shakespeare opens a mine which contains gold and diamonds in unexhaustible plenty, though clouded by incrustations, debased by impurities, and mingled with a mass of meaner minerales.

AMETHYST  (A'METHYST)   n.s.[al  contrary to wine, or contrary to drunkenness; so called, either because it is not quite of the colour of wine, or because it was imagined to prevent inebriation.] A precious stone of a violet colour, bordering on purple. The

To a poet nothing can be useless. Whatever is beautiful and whatever is dreadful, must be familiar to his imagination: he must be conversant with all that is awfully vast or elegantly little.

She did apparel her apparel, and with the preciousness of her body made it most sumptuous.Sidney.3. To

That she thought me the prettiest creature she ever beheld. — Creature was her word — We are all creatures, 'tis true: But I think I never was more displeased with the sound of the word Creature, than I was from Lady Anne.

Handsome husbands often make a wife's heart ache.

A beautiful woman must expect to be more accountable for her steps, than one less attractive.

What good creatures are we women!

I have just received my uncle's Letter. And, after his charge upon me of Vanity and Pride, will my parade, as above, stand me in any stead? — I must trust to it. Only one word to my dear and everhonoured uncle — Don't you, Sir, impute to me a belief of the truth of those extravagant compliments made by men professing Love to me; and I will not wish you to think me one bit the wiser, the handsomer, the better for them, than I was before.

In nature there is nothing melancholy

The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.

Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee, Whether the summer clothe the general earth With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall Heard only in the trances of the blast, Or if the secret ministry of frost Shall hang them up in silent icicles, Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.

The frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind.

Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 'Twas sad as sad could be; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea! All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.