Quotes About Elegance

And all the time he stood there . . . he was aware of Christina beside him, beautiful, elegant, gracious, smelling of lavender—and for this evening and a few more days his to look at, to admire, to yearn for.

unguarded moment she pictured herself waltzing with Viscount Whitleaf

He had glanced hastily around, but there were other riders in sight. He had had to content himself with lifting her hand, drawing her glove down to bare her wrist, and pressing his lips to the pulse there.

It was delicate and pretty and always semifashionable because it had never been ultrafashionable.

Clear pebbles of the rain

My heart dresses in black and dances.

With charm comes charm's sidekick, dilapidation.

instantaneous picture of a slender blue-gowned girl

My companion had recently lunched with Diana at Kensington Palace. She said being with Diana was like "being brushed by angels' wings.

Others likened Diana to Jack Kennedy. Both had died too soon and too suddenly, cut down in their prime, to be remembered always as youthful and vibrant. One dear friend consoled me by saying, "Remember, Mary, she'll always be thirty-six, young and beautiful." Another close friend wrote, "We'll never know what she's been spared.

You are still, as you ever were, lovely, beautiful beyond expression.

Dark-eyed, dark-haired, with smiles of enchanting archness and a step like a fawn—

I tried good taste, but the strain was too much for me.

There's a line in one of my dad's novels about the most beautiful parts of the female anatomy being the ones that are the most innocent—the ones that have never been scandalized by nudity.

Why Paris? Paris needs no reason. Paris is its own reason.

It was very pretty. It also made Marlene look very demure, which she probably hated. Ideally, Marlene probably wanted an outfit that had a special holder for a gun.

Paris seemed to make good on the promise it made in every photograph of it she'd ever seen.

Paris needs no reason. Paris is its own reason.

She stood leaning against a column, a cocktail glass in her hand. She wore a suit of black velvet; the heavy cloth, which transmitted no light rays, held her anchored to reality by stopping the light that flowed too freely through the flesh of her hands, her neck, her face. A white spark of fire flashed like a cold metallic cross in the glass she held, as if it were a lens gathering the diffused radiance of her skin.

the informality of his posture, combined with the strict formality of his clothes, gave him an air of superlative elegance. His was the only face that had the carefree look and the brilliant smile proper to the enjoyment of a party; but his eyes seemed intentionally expressionless, holding no trace of gaiety, showing—like a warning signal—nothing but the activity of a heightened perceptiveness.

The most beautiful words were those which were not needed.

The naked shoulder was gown's only ornament

a very costly simplicity, one can notice, but not the elegance of a woman who gives much thought to her clothes; rather that of one who knows she can make any rag attractive and does it unconsciously." Excerpt From: Ayn Rand. "Night of January 16th.

Her leg, sculptured by the tight sheen of the stocking, its long line running straight, over an arched instep, to the tip of a foot in a high-heeled pump, had a feminine elegance that seemed out of place in the dusty train car...