Quotes About Beauty

Spring is sweet, the baby season; summer is the teenage season -- too much energy, too much growth and beauty and heat and late nights, none of them what they are cracked up to be. Fall is the older season, a more seasoned season. The weather surrounds you instead of beating down on you.

This is a difficult country to look too different in—the United States of Advertising, as Paul Krassner puts it—and if you are too skinny or too tall or dark or weird or short or frizzy or homely or poor or nearsighted, you get crucified. I did. But

God's joy moves from unmarked box to unmarked box, from cell to cell. As rainwater, down into flowerbed. As roses, up from ground. Now it looks like a plate of rice and fish, now a cliff covered with vines, now a horse being saddled. It hides within these, till one day it cracks them open.

There is still something to be said for painting portraits of the people we have loved, for trying to express those moments that seem so inexpressibly beautiful, the ones that change us and deepen us.

Yet not matter how much we recycle, believe in our Priuses, and abide by local laws, we see that our beauty is being destroyed, crushed by greed and cruel stupidity.

The sky was blue and cloudless, everything was in bloom, and she wore a little lavender cotton cap. She was doing very well that day, except that she was dying.

Dying people can teach us this most directly. Often the attributes that define them drop away—the hair, the shape, the skills, the cleverness. And then it turns out that the packaging is not who that person has really been all along. Without the package, another sort of beauty shines through.

Anyone who wants to can be surprised by the beauty or pain of the natural world, of the human mind and heart, and can try to capture that--the details, the nuance, what is.

know there's solace in making do with what you've got, making things a little bit better. What might have been thrown out went from tattered scraps to something majestic and goofy and honest that holds together, that keeps people's eyes off me and my family, yet lets in the light and sun, like a poem or a song.

The search is the meaning, the search for beauty, love, kindness and restoration in this difficult, wired and often alien modern world. The miracle is that we are here, that no matter how undone we've been the night before, we wake up every morning and are still here. It is phenomenal just to be.

How come you can hear a chord, and then another chord, and then your heart breaks open?

An early spring arrived, with skies of faded-workshirt blue.

Mattie saw herself and Angela as the trees that grew out of cliffs and boulders above the ocean near Monterey—evergreen creatures, windswept, magnificent, twisty, gnarled pines growing out of the layers of rock, where maybe there had once been some nutrition, maybe there had once been soil from which the trees had sprung, but then the soil had blown away, and they still grew.

We are lovely as sparrows, and all sparrows are sweet. No one thinks, "That sparrow is kind of a loser, and boy, is that one letting herself go.

It stops and gasps at beauty and is bathed in it. And sometimes it begins to weep.

Never give up on intimate friendships or science or nature. They have always saved us, and they will again. And love is the mastermind of it all... We need to stop racing and to savor beauty, to look up from our screens at the weather, one another's faces, the ocean, the desert, a garden, and architecture, which is another kind of garden.

Keep walking, though there's no place to get to. Don't try to see through the distances. That's not for human beings. Move within, but don't move the way fear makes you move. Today, like every other day, we wake up empty and frightened. Don't open the door to the study and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument. Let the beauty we love be what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

Zolang dit bestaat, en ik het mag beleven, deze zonneschijn, die hemel waar geen wolk aan is, zo lang kan ik niet treurig zijn.

There were two bronzes, three browns, a blue and two greens.

In the lake, in the center, the stars were mirrored.

Find a way to make beauty necessary; find a way to make necessity beautiful.

Because the moon feels loved, she lets our eyes follow her across the field, stepping from her clothes, strewn silk glinting in furrows. Feeling loved, the moon loves to be looked at, swimming all night across the river.

the rain that held the light that fell, the rain that fell, the light that held

Find a way to make beauty necessary; find a way to make necessity beautiful. There are places that claim you and places that warn you away. Silence is the response to both emptiness and fullness.