Quotes About Beauty

What stars are these that sing so beautifully when all the world is languishing in dissonance?

Her lips were red, her looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold: Her skin was as white as leprosy, The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold.

La poesía debería tomarse en pequeñas dosis. Nadie necesita poesía. Nadie necesita obligarse a leerla.

We had been made over into portraits of ourselves in marble by a master sculptor.

Would that it were true, would that all the poems and paintings of the world were but a mirror of such hopeful splendor.

He looked rather splendid in his sorrow. Again he made me think of the paintings of Andrea del Sarto. There was something lush in his beauty, for all the sharp and clear well-drawn lines of his eyes and mouth.

leaving the air crystal and sweet and the dusty, used leaves sparkling. The lake surface was a diamond-dusted, dancing indigo...

Jenny looked, as usual, elegant and as fine-drawn as a young doe, but oddly muted, as if she had been outlined in sepia.

Her light brown eyes were the color of sherry, fringed with long, thick, gold-tipped lashes.

against the grape-flushed sky perfect amethyst night.

Yancey crawled from her tangled bed one morning and assembled her long limbs and sharp bones into something as exotic and seductive to the eye as a peacock or a griffin or a unicorn.

You never, never ask a young man to take you anywhere, Molly. It's cheap. It sounds desperate. It sounds like you can't get a date any other way. With your height and those big breasts, you're always going to have to be careful not to look desperate. A real beauty can get away with it, maybe, but the rest of us ordinary girls have to be very, very careful not to look desperate.

the villa) It's beautiful too, all hot pinks and reds, and rocks and sand and blinding blue and white.

So clear that you could see every delicate vein in the lacquered new leaves; so soft that you felt the air on newly bared arms like velvet; so suffused with every shade of green that it seemed that your very blood ran green, in harmony.

the pastel sea of trees and flowers.

I would have to ask her, just to make certain I'd done everything I could. But I'd warn her. I have no money, no prospects, an exceedingly ugly face, and my dearest friend is the King of Hell. You think that would stop her? I have no idea. Would it, Lydia? Nothing would stop her, if she loved you. And she does, Charles. She loves your pretty face and you scarred face. She loves your past and your present and she most especially loves your future. Just ask. Marry me, Lydia.

You've been pinning for him these last three years, God knows why. Admittedly he's gorgeous, but you're hardly the type to be overset by simple beauty. Why? Because he has sad eyes, she could have said. Because he tries so very hard to be bad, to be mean, to be cruel, and all you have to do is look past the studied ennui to see a hurt little boy trying to emerge. And yes, because he's bloody gorgeous.

Mind you she was quite exquisite when she wasn't on a tirade.

people notice the most beautiful dress every person can wear,......... a smile

He knew her weakness. She wanted to be pretty, and thought she wasn't. When in fact he thought she was quite the prettiest thing in his memory.

God help her, she wanted him. Not because of his beauty, but because of the odd gentleness in his manner when she didn't expect it, because of the lost look in his green eyes, because of the way he made her feel with just a few words, because of the way he made her melt when he touched her. The jaded rake he presented to the world was just as much a mask as her own was.

For one thing, she was quite astonishingly beautiful. Not at all in the common style, she was possessed of a thick mane of impossibly flame-colored hair, a tall, lush body of dangerous voluptuousness, and the warm, honey-colored eyes of a complete innocent. That red hair called to him, a siren lure, but he assumed it was only nostalgia and misplaced sentiment. Not that he'd ever been known to possess those two qualities.

Her longing for him was unbearably painful. In truth, she looked at the beautiful, spoiled, self-indulgent man and saw a wounded, angry child. One who needed her.

Being Irish, he was also possessed of a certain lethal charm, a ruined estate somewhere back in Ireland, and eyes the color of Lady Winnimere's world-famous emeralds. Add to that an almost sinful beauty of face framed by black curls, a tall, graceful body, and quite the most elegant hands in all of London, and Killoran, who disdained to use his title, was indeed a dangerously attractive member of society.