Quotes About Beauty

If you knew yourself for even one moment, if you could just glimpse your most beautiful face, maybe you wouldn't slumber so deeply in that house of clay. Why not move into your house of joy and shine into every crevice! For you are the secret Treasure-bearer, and always have been. Didn't you know?

I turn all thorn then, but you come back again and make my thorniness fragrant and pink and petaled.

You are a fountain of the sun's light. I am a willow shadow on the ground. You make my raggedness silky.

Oh soul, you worry too much. You have seen your own strength. You have seen your own beauty. You have seen your golden wings. Of anything less, why do you worry? You are in truth the soul, of the soul, of the soul.

Tonight the moon kisses the stars.

Every tree and plant in the medouw seemed to be dancing, those with average eyes would see as fixed and still.

We gather at night to celebrate being human. Sometimes we call out low to the tamborine. Fish drink the sea, but the sea does not get smaller! We eat the clouds and evening light. We are slaves tasting the royal wine.

Beauty is not defined by the masses but by the opinion of the individual.

Look at me--a big old black man under all of this makeup, and if I can look beautiful, so can you.

Only now I imagine myself in the future looking back at myself as I am today. I see how smart, beautiful, and fortunate I am, and all the many options I have open to me. I bring that loving perspective into the present moment and seize all those options in the now.

When in doubt, go for a three-quarter pose at the camera. It's an angle that captures the best of the cheekbones, the chin line, and a long neck.

HAVING A FAT ASS IS A GOOD THING.

Inside of us all is great power, creativity, and beauty.

Then from the sad west turning wearily, I saw the pines against the white north sky. Very beautiful, and still, and bending over Their sharp black heads against a quiet sky.

And in my flower-beds, I think, Smile the carnation and the pink.

Breathless, we flung us on the windy hill,Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.

Then, the cool kindliness of sheets, that soonSmooth away trouble; and the rough male kissOf blankets; grainy wood; live hair that isShining and free; blue-massing clouds; the keenUnpassioned beauty of a great machine;The benison of hot water; furs to touch;The good smell of old clothes.

Her face was her chaperone.

She looked the way a rose petal looks when you crush it between finger and thumb.

The sun snagged on his crooked skin.

The pure, the bright, the beautiful, That stirred our hearts in youth, The impulse to a wordless prayer, The dreams of love and truth; The longings after something lost, The spirit's yearning cry, The striving after better hopes … These things can never die.

And when the rains were over and it was October and the birds were in song again, I could lie in the sun on sweet-smelling grass and gaze up through a pattern of oak leaves into a blind-blue heaven. And I would thank my God for leaves and grass and the smell of things, the smell of mint and myrtle and bruised clover, and the touch of things, the touch of grass and air and sky, the touch of the sky's blueness.

Enough for me that you are beautiful: Beauty possessed diminishes. Better a dream of love Than love's dream broken; Better a look exchanged Than love's word spoken. Enough for me that you walk past, A firefly flashing in the dark.

The sunlight, penetrating the gaps in the tall trees, plays chess on the gravestones, shifting slowly and thoughtfully across the worn old stones. The wind, like a hundred violins, plays perpetually in the topmost branches of the deodars.