Quotes About Elegance

In the next room, perhaps twenty people were sitting around, drinking what looked like wine out of wine-glasses. They were the sort of people William and Louisa used to be in the habit of knowing, a crowd of elegant furniture, like the legs of a herd of gazelle taken together, and equally useless, when all things are considered.

The old man took out an extraordinarily beautiful and elegant handkerchief and gave it to her to dry her tears. It was the sort of handkerchief that one might be content to be judged by if it was all that remained of one after one's death.

The queen always smelled like strawberries, and everyone said that she was as beautiful at forty as she had been when the king had married her. Tall and slender and stately, with her long dark hair pinned up with gold combs, she wore a travel dress of soft green that set off her eyes.

Now I could stand easily in my pure, white dress and smile while King Caxel glared away.

My idea of beauty is somebody that doesn't have to try too much, someone who is effortless and fresh.

There was romance of a kind in the shabby

She was very beautiful and he felt he loved her. She was not beautiful as a state or a picture is beautiful; she was beautiful as a meadow across which the wind blows. It was life that pulsed in her and that had formed her into what she was.

He knew not only WHAT to wear, but HOW to wear it.

A battle followed, fought in true Gilded Age fashion with oblique snubs and poisonous courtesy.

A boutonniere rested beside each plate. Everyone wore tuxedos. There was not a woman in sight.

Unmistakable and invulnerable, a floating village in steel, the Lusitania glided by in the night as a giant black shadow cast upon the sea.

look as if they had been plucked from the Palace of Versailles or a Jacobean mansion—that you were aboard a ship being propelled far into the bluest reaches of the ocean.

New York's perennial attraction was shopping.

She flowed across that office with the rippling, effortless progress of a cylinder of jelly sliding off a tilted plate.

The inimitable stories of Tong-King never have any real ending, and this one, being in his most elevated style, has even less end than most of them. But the whole narrative is permeated with the odour of joss-sticks and honourable high-mindedness, and the two characters are both of noble birth.

Brett was damned good-looking. She wore a slip-over jersey sweater and a tweed skirt, and her hair was brushed back like a boy's. She started all that. She was built with curves like the hull of a racing yacht, and you missed none of it with that wool jersey.

Here's the beautiful lady with the beer.

Brett was damned good-looking. She wore a slipover jersey sweater and a tweed skirt, and her hair was brushed back like a boy's. She started all that. She was built with curves like the hull of a racing yacht, and you missed none of it with that wool jersey.

She was built with curves like the hull of a racing yacht, and you missed none of it with that wool jersey.

Brett vypadala sakra báje?nÄ›. MÄ›la na sobÄ› pletený pulovr a tvídovou sukni a vlasy mÄ›la skartá?ované dozadu jako kluk. Ona to vÅ¡echno za?ala. Byla stavÄ›ná jako závodní jachta a v tom pulovru ?lovÄ›k žádnou její zaoblinu nepÃ…â"¢ehlíd.

This wine is too good for toast-drinking, my dear. You don't want to mix emotions up with a wine like that. You lose the taste.

He is performing a work of art and he is playing with death, bringing it closer, closer, closer, to himself, a death that you know is in the horns because you have the canvas-covered bodies of the horses on the sand to prove it. He gives the feeling of his immortality, and, as you watch it, it becomes yours. Then when it belongs to both of you, he proves it with the sword.

It is a radiant parenthesis, a poetic interlude in the prose of life.

like a woman in a ball gown sitting at a bus stop.