Quotes About Beauty

Dry hands, hot, callused. Eyes dripping silver light, so it pooled and ran down the Wolf's creased cheeks like tears. But the look on his face wasn't sorrow.

The moon continued to darken, even as the eastern sky grew pale. A third of the disc had vanished into shadow and Will caught his breath at the beauty of it, and the danger.

In those places where the gold and auburn leaves still cling to the trees and brushes, the dappled shadows moving underneath them formed diminished crescents, layer on layer of moving images.

Her lips were lacquered red as the rubies waved through her hair like frozen blood, and diamonds set in platinum glittered in her ears and on her wrists and at her throat, cold as a frost-hardened dew.

Whatever he was before, he's but a candle-flicker now. A beautiful one, polished and glossy, all the more perfect for the terrible, disfiguring scar that puckers and knots the right side of his face when he smiles. It doesn't seem to bother the young man's admirers; if anything, the wolf thinks some of them find it erotic. The boy shies away like a startled horse, an animal he will never see when women and men wonderingly brush the raw-lipped pink line.

Carel stood under the crimson and bone-white shower of the rambling roses, breathing deeply.

Is that so surprising, that you should be desirable?

She shook a clatter of braids over her shoulder, the sweep of her hand encompassing the dale and the line of the forest beyond, before she tucked it into her pocket.

Startle not. Startle not, my beauty.

He steps forward, tossing his forelock about the root of his horn, and his beauty does not strangle me.

He looks nothing like he did. But he is still ruined and still beautiful.

He knows who this was, when he was something other than a tall, pretty young whore.

She smiled as he came closer, her eyes as violet now as twilight, matching the shadows that surrounded them and lay under her cheekbones. The lines of her collarbone glinted like knives, and he could see the rings of her larynx through the translucent skin of her throat. He thought the bones of her fingers might crumble if he simply reached out and took her hand; even her amazing hair was lusterless and dry in its floor-long beads.

The Queen's voice had dropped, softened. Carel recognized it: the voice of the woman, not the Queen, unheard in seven years. In another circumstance, she might have found it beautiful.

Katya, Lesa's surviving daughter, surprised the activity on the veranda, her glossy black hair braided off her neck, unhatted in the sun.

She was old, and too worn thin to wonder. But oh, what a beautiful boy he was then.

Her light gold complexion was dusted in cobwebs of silver.

The woman looking back at me is a stranger indeed. Her hair has grown out into a sort of boyish bob, steel black, silvering bangs falling across her forehead. They mostly hide the places where smooth, paler skin blends into her tanned medium-brown hide. The skin on the left side of her face, near the hairline, is oddly mottled, like a frog.

Shall I compare thee to a docking ring? Thou are more beautiful and more temperate, though that's not really hard when you're talking about an airlock whose external temperature is measured on the low end of kelvins. On the other hand, I'm not sure I could have been happier with anything or felt more raw, unfettered love than I did for that docking ring, right there. Free and my afthands on metal, I stretched against the rotational acceleration and I sighed.

Galaxies dances across her drawn skin. Mine moved in reflection.

He was shining dark, and exceeding fair: beautiful and awful, his long hands pale as bones against the red velvet of his coat.

In the souls of the craftsmen who carved this mine, utility was no excuse for a thing to be anything but beautiful.

Her long green-and-silver body lay like a jeweled ribbon dropped on the dust-colored winter grass near that strange white tree, her woman's torso rose among the ice-covered branches, her hands upraised like a supplicating sinner.

Benedick's domaine was a heaven, bigger than Mallory's, full of stark black-limbed trees, twig-rimmed in ice. They came on a high ledge overlooking a valley of sorts, the whole thing dark with true night and frozen cold.