Quotes About Beauty

One evening I pulled Beauty down on my knees. I found her embittered and I cursed her.

They know when they face the white paper for their real work that their unconscious mind is a lost continent which may give them flashes of wit and grossness and metaphorical beauty

The brook would lose its song if we removed the rocks

Thanks to the growing strength of environmental organizations, there will always be some back country to provide us with a touch of wonder and a breath of fresh air.

Our last impression of her as she turned the corner was that smile, flung backward like a handful of flowers.

Sally has a smile I would accept as my last view on earth...

I had stopped my chair at that exact place, coming out, because right there the spice of wisteria that hung around the house was invaded by the freshness of apple blossoms in a blend that lifted the top of my head. As between those who notice such things and those who don't, I prefer those who do.

As moonlight unto sunlight is that desert sage to other greens.

When she tipped her head and looked upward at the glowing dark blue dome pricked with its millions of lights, bigger and brighter than stars had ever been, she felt the mountains breathe in her face their ancient, frightening cold.

She was still developing her sundial theory of art, which would count no hours but the sunny ones.

There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood, Touch of manner, hint of mood . . ." How does it go?

Then I come out on the shoulder of the hill, and there is the whole sky, immense and full of light that has drowned the stars. Its edges are piled with hills. Over Stannard Mountain the air is hot gold, and as I watch, the sun surges up over the crest and stares me down.

And my lonely spirit thrills To see the frosty asters like smoke upon the hills?

When she stopped short just at the lower line of the apple tress, and stood for a moment with her face lifted, I chalked one up in her favor. I had stopped my chair at the exact place, coming out, because right there the spice of wisteria that hung around the house was invaded by the freshness of apple blossoms in a blend that lifted the top of my head. As between those who notice such things and those who don't, I prefer those who do.

harshly and beautifully colored, broken and worn until its bones are exposed, its great sky without a smudge or taint from Technocracy, and in hidden corners and pockets under its cliffs the sudden poetry of springs.

Dutton describes a process of westernization of the perceptions that has to happen before the West is beautiful to us. You have to get over the color green; you have to quit associating beauty with gardens and lawns; you have to get used to an inhuman scale; you have to understand geological time.

The summer night is like a perfection of thought.

LightIs the lion that comes down to drink.

She says, "But in contentment I still feelThe need of some imperishable bliss."Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,Alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreamsAnd our desires.

The plum survives its poems.

The essential gaudiness of poetry.

Beauty is momentary in the mind—The fitful tracing of a portal;But in the flesh it is immortal.The body dies; the body's beauty lives.

Poor, dear, silly Spring, preparing her annual surprise!

And still the grossest iridescence of oceanHowls hoo and rises and howls hoo and falls.