Quotes About Beauty

That's always seemed so ridiculous to me, that people want to be around someone because they're pretty. It's like picking your breakfeast cereals based on color instead of taste.

So dawn goes down today... Nothing gold can stay. -- Robert Frost

You're arguing that the fragile, rare thing is beautiful simply because it is fragile and rare. But that's a lie, and you know it.

Look, let me just say it: He was hot. A nonhot boy stares at you relentlessly and it is, at best, awkward and, at worst, a form of assault. But a hot boy . . . well.

Up from the meadows rich with corn,Clear in the cool September morn.

Beauty seen is never lost, God's colors all are fast.

Flowers spring to blossom where she walks The careful ways of duty; Our hard, stiff lines of life with her Are flowing curves of beauty.

The tints of autumn...a mighty flower garden blossoming under the spell of the enchanter, frost.

Behind the cloud the starlight lurks, Through showers the sunbeams fall; For God, who loveth all His works, Has left His hope with all!

And what's a butterfly? At best, He's but a caterpillar, at rest.

And what's a buterfly? At best, He's but a ceterpillar, drest.

the best things in science are both beautiful and simple, a fact that all too many teacher conceal from their students, by accident or design.

She looked radiant in her shimmering white dress, itself a daring and unconventional choice

their diamonds struggled for luster in the empty light.

If the birds sing, the nudes are not far off.

And with the morn those angel faces smile Which I have loved long since and lost awhile.

Over everything—up through the wreckage of the city, in gutters, along the riverbanks, tangled among tiles and tin roofing, climbing on charred tree trunks—was a blanket of fresh, vivid, lush, optimistic green; the verdancy rose even from the foundations of ruined houses. Weeds already hid the ashes, and wild flowers were in bloom among the city's bones. The bomb had not only left the underground organs of the plants intact; it had stimulated them.

she looked like Vivien, the Lady of the Lake, only she was fat and her lake was dust, sand and dust, bones and dust and sand.

All a green willow, willow, willow,All a green willow is my garland.

Maine is a beautiful place that I paradoxically want to hoard to myself and share with everyone I meet.

Your window square a yellow kite, and the Moon a white balloon

I see you from afar—fragile and shy as a star gleaming through a cloudy rift

I love it when the dark bottle of night spills out, and the Moon writes in chalk about us

Your skin is transparent as distilled moonlight