Quotes About Beauty

Knyghtwood, though the gales had stripped away most of its leaves, had not lost its fascination for Ben and the twins. Indeed, its spell seemed deeper than before. The trees all had faces now, the twins said, and fingers and toes. They dug their toes in hard when the wind blew, and stretched up their arms to the sky, and pulled down the clouds with their long, grey fingers, and made purple cloaks out of them that they wrapped about their bare limbs when the night fell coldly.

Had her mother endured this same torture for her, and had she rewarded her with so little love? But it was too late to love Sophie now. She was dead. Did all women go through this agony whenever a child was born? Then women were greater than she had thought. Hine-Moa had had six children and was still beautiful and serene. And Charlotte had many children. She must not scream. She was sure that neither Charlotte nor Hine-Moa had ever screamed.

So when it happened suddenly this was how it happened. She had often wondered. But the magazine stories had got it all wrong. It was not an affair of sudden heartbeats, and hot and cold flushes, as though one were going to have influenza, it was just this quiet recognition. But in the approach of love there must be a sharpness, for that moment of beauty that had come down like a sword had cut her life in two. When she crossed the bridge she had crossed from her girlhood to womanhood.

What in the world was she saying? Not what she ought to be saying. She was repeating the verse of some old Elizabethan poet whom she had read in the days when she had been a cultured young woman of the world who had prided herself upon her cosmopolitan reading. Yes, she had been young once, young and beautiful—and warm. And now

A fair woman is a paradise to the eye, a purgatory to the purse, and a hell to the soul.

People forget that the colliers didn't just bring the canaries into the mines to warn them against the gases. They took them down because they sang so beautifully, even in the dark.

Her earliest memory was of wings. Luminous red and blue, yellow and green and orange; a black so rich it appeared liquid, edible. They moved above her and the sunlight made them glow as though they were themselves made of light, fragments of another, brighter world falling to earth about her crib. Her tiny hands stretched upwards to grasp them but could not: they were too elusive, too radiant, too much of the air.

I was immensely moved by this novel when I read it recently and yet I cannot think of anything to say about it except that it is wonderful. The people are not characters, there is no plot in the usual sense. What can you bring to bear: verisimilitude — to what? You can merely say over and over that it is very good, very beautiful, that when you were reading it you were happy.

No garment which distorts the shape and motion of the wearer is beautiful, nor s any garment beautiful which emphasizes more than one or at most two of your sexual characteristics.

You see the same plain landscape day after day, and then one day, perhaps it's the play of light or the time of year, you find it beautiful and other landscapes at fault. So it must be with fashion. Ordinary judgement falls into abeyance and something else, some bewitchment, takes over. How else to explain the appeal of garments that in a few years look so ridiculous?

her voice sounded like a tarnished silver spoon.

Overhead were ravens and lake gulls, all around were low hills made of the oldest rock in the world bathed by the most beautiful light on earth, and lovely miniature birches, and small flowers clinging and spreading.

Sometimes you fall in love with someone because of the way they laugh with their eyes the moments they make you feel beautiful even when you aren't and how you see their face every time someone says "Love"...

She looked up into his face and asked him "What does it feel like to have someone so beautiful?" He looked down at her naive eyes and said "It feels like a wave from the sea. The wave crashes over you and you go under unaware of the surface above you. You forget about everything while your with her. And eventually you feel beautiful too.

I was once beautiful you know, I ran with feet that knew nothing of falling, and wished hopeless wishes on shooting stars that I knew would never come true.

When we first met, his face broke into a full-out smile. Not one of those polite smiles you give a stranger on the street. No, the smile sped up my heart and brought on a whole new definition to the word beautiful.

Kiss kiss most beautiful girl.

A garden always has a point.

Aunt Zoë gave her a pot of Elizabeth Arden Eight Hour Cream. 'Put it on your mouth at night,' she said. 'It's wonderful for stopping chapped lips.

For me, poetry is always a search for order.

The day was so lovely that, to Flora, it seemed possible to leave only if it was impossible to stay. She tried to imagine leaving. She imagined that her body was asking her to leave. She

The tarn was surrounded by tough alpine grasses and thorn bushes with berries of candy pink and cough-drop red. At that camp the party's fire looked choked and small. And when the moon came out its light shone on and through the blue ice cliffs fastened to the black rock faces of surrounding mountains. The night breeze came as an icy downdraught carrying a scent of hostile nothingness, as if it blew all the way from the stars.

Coral sex is a rare and amazing sight.

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