Quotes About Beauty

Such a pretty lad," she said. "I remember your brother very well. Good sport in that one.

Don't wander far. I'd hate to see kidnapped by pirates. They have an eye for a pretty man.

My braid was silver-black where his is like winter butter, but his eyes are gray as mine and as full of starlight.

Muire thought he might be a little too aware of his own quirky androgynous beauty. But he was nevertheless polite, and at last his teeth were cooked.

Such a pretty thing, and so flawed at his heart: it made the Devil's fingers itch to mend him.

She leaned back against the rough trunk of a tree, half-invisible in the twilight except where it caught in glimmers on the titian of her hair.

Someone unraveled from the shadows under a gorse shrub, uncoiling taller than anything had a right to from such a small hiding place. The woman swayed like a cobra, standing clad only in a deluge of golden bracelets and necklaces and a bright patterned sarong that stood out like blood on black marble against her skin. Rubies glittered in her ears, her nose, her navel. Rows of tiny beadlike scars shiny as drops of sweat covered her breasts, her arms, her forehead.

Lucifer's halo filled the grim little room with light, and he seemed suddenly more beautiful than ever. Something fragile and almost mortal, unreal, outlined against the sweating stone.

Pearl earrings stood in stark contrast to the twisted iron torc that rode her throat, matte black roundelles flanking the notch of her collar bone.

She was fashionably thin, the line of her jaw sharp as the detail on a porcelain horse, the tendons in her throat vanishing under the ivory silk collar of her suit.

Kadiska wore red pantaloons slung low across her belly, showing her navel and the beaded lines of scars. Gold cloth wound her breasts, golden sandals wound her ankles, and a shawl of cloudlike like woal wrapped her shoulders and muffled her arms. Except when she reached out, as she did now, and ran her fingers through Seeker's hair, tricking the dark strands behind an ear in which an emerald still glittered.

Nothing tastes as good as being thin feels.

She sits down and puts her hand to her chest and rocks. Thinks of all she has lost and will lose. All she has had and will have. It seems to her that life is like gathering berries into an apron with a hole. Why do we keep on? Because the berries are beautiful, and we must eat to survive. We catch what we can. We walk past what we lose for the promise of more, just ahead.

I will never forget experiencing Venice for the first time. It feels like you are transported to another time - the art, music, food and pure romance in the air is like no other place.

Why shouldn't we, so generally addicted to the gigantic, at last have some small works of art, some short poems, short pieces of music ... some intimate, low-voiced and delicate things in our mostly huge and roaring, glaring world?

The state with the prettiest name, the state that floats in brackish water, held together by mangrove roots.

Icebergs behoove the soul(both being self-made from elements least visible)to see them so: fleshed, fair, erected, indivisible.

This iceberg cuts its facets from within.Like jewelry from a graveit saves itself perpetually and adornsOnly itself.

Until everythingwas rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!And I let the fish go.

I leave a lovely opalescent ribbon: I know this.

Too pretty, dreamlike mimicry! O falling fire and piercing cry and panic, and a weak mailed fist clenched ignorant against the sky!

The day was meant for what ineffable creature we must have missed?

A window across the river caught the sun as if the miracle were working, on the wrong balcony.

Open the book. (The gilt rubs off the edges of the pages and pollinates the fingertips.)