Quotes About Elegance

Actually, I think I'm more into sleek-looking suits right now." I ran my fingers over the arm of his tuxedo and gave him an appraising stare. "You know, sort of that James Bond cool look.

Tu es tres belle quand tu marches dans les vestibules, quand tu empiles des livres, et quand tu pleures.

Pare down to the essence, but don't remove poetry. Keep things clean and unencumbered, buut don't sterilize.

Find a judo solution, one that delivers maximum efficiency with minimum effort.

Leonard Koren, author of a book on wabi-sabi, gives this advice: Pare down to the essence, but don't remove the poetry. Keep things clean and unencumbered but don't sterilize.

But we're just as proud of what our products don't do as we are of what they do. We design them to be simple because we believe most software is too complex: too many features, too many buttons, too much confusion.

Music is the tonal reflection of beauty.

Noone beautiful ever hurries.

It is sometimes necessary to use unnecessary words like thank you and please just to make life prettier.

Next to any kind of elegance, Claudia loved good clean smells.

Always use good grammar. It's like wearing designer clothing. People may not like your style, but they will pay attention to the cut of your cloth.

Her queenly head was poised haughtily upon her smooth red shoulders. Her

Magnifique! ejaculated the Countess de Coude, beneath her breath.

The sudden heat of his tone made her colour mount again, not with a rush, but gradually, delicately, like the reflection of a thought stealing slowly across her heart.

I can give you a cup of tea in no time-and you won't meet any bores.

She was like some rare flower grown for exhibition, a flower from which every bud had been nipped except the crowning blossom of her beauty.

But there was about her the mysterious authority of beauty, a sureness in the carriage of the head, the movement of the eyes, which, without being in the least theatrical, struck him as highly trained and full of a conscious power. (Newland Archer of Countess Olenska)

Then the house had been boldly planned with a ball-room, so that, instead of squeezing through a narrow passage to get to it (as at the Chiverses') one marched solemnly down a vista of enfiladed drawing-rooms (the sea-green, the crimson and the bouton d'or), seeing from afar the many-candled lustres reflected in the polished parquetry, and beyond that the depths of a conservatory where camellias and tree-ferns arched their costly foliage over seats of black and gold bamboo.

There were moments when she longed blindly for anything different, anything strange, remote and untried; but the utmost reach of her imagination did not go beyond picturing her usual life in a new setting. She could not figure herself as anywhere but in a drawing-room, diffusing elegance as a flower sheds perfume.

The Countess Olenska was the only young woman at the dinner; yet, as Archer scanned the smooth plump elderly faces between their diamond necklaces and towering ostrich feathers, they struck him as curiously immature compared with hers. It frightened him to think what must have gone to the making of her eyes.

In this interpretative light Mrs. Grancy acquired the charm which makes some women's faces like a book of which the last page is never turned. There was always something new to read in her eyes.

Couples were already gliding over the floor beyond: the light of the wax candles fell on revolving tulle skirts, on girlish heads wreathed with modest blossoms, on the dashing aigrettes and ornaments of the young married women's coiffures, and on the glitter of highly glazed shift-fronts and fresh glacé gloves.

She had just been for a row on the river, and the sun that netted the little waves with gold seemed to have caught her in its meshes. Across the warm brown of her cheek her blown hair glittered like silver wire; and her eyes too looked lighter, almost pale in their youthful limpidity. As she walked beside Archer with her long swinging gait her face wore the vacant serenity of a young marble athlete.

Her grey hair was arranged with precision, and her clothes looked excessively new and yet slightly old-fashioned. They were always black and tightly fitting, with an expensive glitter: she was the kind of woman who wore jet at breakfast. Lily had never seen her when she was not cuirassed in shining black, with small tight boots, and an air of being packed and ready to start; yet she never started.