Quotes About Beauty

People are like stained glass windows, they sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when darkness sets in, their true beauty is only seen if there is a light within.

I've spent my whole life reading beautiful books and watching beautiful movies, dreaming that there was some real place out there where I would fit and be beautiful, too.

And you have suffered through your own selves—your own critical eyes, your own standards, your own minds. Your spirits are beautiful, but they are not easy.

I wondered if I would remember this feeling after Catherine. The feeling of seeing a friend—someone I knew and who knew me, too, someone who cared about me—walking in through a door or waving from across a hall or bending to whisper in another friend's ear. Of being inside, so inside, such an intimacy, and at the same time seeing it from outside. A feeling of being seen, beautiful and young, seated at a mythic table.

I love thee, as I love the calm Of sweet, star-lighted hours! I love thee, as I love the balm Of early jest 'mine flowers.

The human face is the organic seat of beauty. It is the register of value in development, a record of Experience, whose legitimate office is to perfect the life, a legible language to those who will study it, of the majestic mistress, the soul.

No, Child! 'Tis your Business to make Hay while the Sun shines — for when Youth and Beauty are no more — Farewell Hope

Oh, it was fair in Arcady! Birds built and sang in every tree, And trill and warble, chirp and song, Rang sweet and clear the whole day long; The violets blossomed all the year, No lightnings scathed our happy sphere, Nor frost congealed on wood or lea, What time we dwelt in Arcady!

O flowers! the soul that faints or grieves New comfort from your lips receives; Sweet confidence and patient faith are hidden in your leaves.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final. Don't let yourself lose me. Nearby is the country they call life. You will know it by its seriousness. Give me your hand.

They shared an unshakeable belief in beauty, in overflow, in everythingness, the bursting, indelible beauty in a world where there is so much suffering and wounding and pain.

It happened; it is part of who we are; it is our beauty and our terror. We must be gleaners from what life has set before us.

Flowers live, they are perfect and they affect us; they are God's glory, they make us know why we are alive and human, that we behold. They are beautiful, and then they die and rot and go back to the earth that gave birth to them.

Hold fast to youth and beauty.

Do some little, special thing for yourself each day. Put a candle on the table, set out a bowl of fruit, put a flower by your sink, look at the stars, take a walk, and so on.

Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God.

The face, which, duly as the sun, Rose up for me with life begun, To mark all bright hours of the day With hourly love, is dimmed away And yet my days go on, go on.

Here's ivy! take them, as I used to do Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine. Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true, And tell thy soul, their roots are left in mine.

Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God;

The heart doth recognise thee, Alone, alone! The heart doth smell thee sweet, Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete,—- Though seeing now those changes that disguise thee.

It is rather when We gloriously forget ourselves, and plunge Soul-forward, headlong, into a book's profound, Impassioned for its beauty and salt of truth— 'Tis then we get the right good from a book.

Di mana-mana terdapat rumput jelatang, Tapi rumput hijau yang lembut tetap lebih banyak, Kebiruan langit lebih luas daripada awan gelap.

And here fantastic fishes duskly float, Using the calm for waters, while their fires Throb out quick rhythms along the shallow air.

Unlike we are, unlike, O princely Heart! Unlike our uses and our destinies... Thou, bethink thee, art A guest for queens to social pageantries, With gages from a hundred brighter eyes Than tears even can make mine... What hast though to do With looking from the lattice-lights at me, A poor, tired, wandering singer...