Best 79 of Beauty and the beast quotes - MyQuotes
Be the beauty which beasts will never fancy but which gentlemen will respect.
Your curse still isn't really broken. The castle and everyone in it have been forgotten. No one remembers this place. You could find all les charmantes and bring them here. Bring them home. And get yourself... uncursed." "Hmmm," Rosalind said, thinking. "Not bad. It's an odd idea, considering this is the place we almost came to our end... but it's intriguing. Yes, I like it. Go find everyone and bring them home. Really, it's the least you could do after what your parents did." Maurice might have given Rosalind a little frown at that last bit, but she shrugged. The Beast blinked. "Go... find them? Me?" "Yes. Why not?" Belle said with a smile, reading his thoughts. "You would have to actually go out into the world that you've been watching for so long in your magic mirror." "With you," the Beast said without missing a beat. "I could do anything, with you." Belle grinned and started to answer... ... and then saw Maurice and Rosalind, who were both watching her to see what she would do. Belle had a family again. She had a mother- the most interesting, perplexing mother in the world- whom she had just met. There was too much to ask her, to talk about. But this was finally her chance to go out on those adventures she had always dreamed of. Abandoned Greek islands, the hearts of never-before-seen forests, even Paris and Rome.... They would travel the world looking for reclusive charmantes to bring home. Who knew what they might see!
It is winter now, and the roses are blooming again, their petals bright against the snow. My father died last April; my sisters no longer write, except at the turning of the year, content with their fine houses and their grandchildren. Beast and I putter in the gardens and walk slowly on the forest paths. [from the poem, Beauty and the Beast: An Anniversary]
On impulse, he leaned over and brushed his lips against hers.
I heard her voice, her stories, her softness as she spoke of her family, and her iron as she spoke of me - I heard her scream, and I moved without thought.
Beauty is an illusion.
Say to yourself, I am perfect, the way I am. Say to yourself, I am beautiful the way I am. Say to yourself, those who do not accept me the way I am, do not deserve me in their life.
He fought to destroy those monsters, yet found they never seemed to die—rising anew every dawn.
They were in love with him because he was a prince and a faerie and magical and you were supposed to love princes and faeries and magic people. They loved him the way they’d loved Beast the first time he swept Belle around the dance floor in her yellow dress. They loved him as they loved the Eleventh Doctor with his bow tie and his flippy hair and the Tenth Doctor with his mad laugh. They loved him as they loved lead singers of bands and actors in movies, loved him in such a way that their shared love brought them closer together.
If I’m a monster, mademoiselle, it’s because man’s cruelty has made me so.
Lucanos nodded [...] 'She's the girl who sees with her heart.' Aranae rolled all eight of her eyes. She chittered again, in a scolding tone this time. When she finished, she crossed two of her legs and gave Belle a dirty look. Belle shrank under her disapproving glare, 'What did she say?' she asked timidly. 'She said your heart needs glasses.
This is a tale of a beauty much deeper than that. It is the story of two people drawn together under the most interesting of circumstances, two people who learn to truly see what matters only after they meet each other and their tale—one both as old as time and as fresh as a rose—begins.
This is nice," Beast said with a sigh. "Like... one of those paintings where a nymph or Athena is reading to the gods and goddesses." "And here I was thinking you were an utterly uneducated beast," Belle said teasingly. "I am a prince," he responded with hauteur. "I am classically educated. "Plus, nymphs are pretty," he added. Belle laughed. "I could stare at them all day," he continued. His tone was carefully neutral, but his eyes never left hers. And Belle found she could look back. And not blush. And not have to look away.
Would you come with me, Belle? Help me do this? We may not succeed... I may always be a beast." "No," Belle said with a smile, touching him on the nose. "You will always be my prince." "Well, you're not exactly what I wanted out of a son-in-law- because of your parents, not because of your form, I mean," Rosalind said quickly. "But you're certainly a fair bit better than that Gaston fellow... what is his story, if I may ask? Was he also a patient at the asylum?" Belle almost choked on her laughter. "No, and that was not the first time he proposed to me." "I think," Maurice said, putting his arms around the couple, "we should all have one last night together before you start out... just the four of us. There are a lot of stories to tell before we see you again." "And most of them," Belle observed with a smile, "seem to almost have a happy ending.
A society where feminine beauty is defined not by the human self on genuine intellectual and sentimental grounds, but by a computer software on the grounds of economic interest, is more dead than alive. It is a society of human bodies, not human beings.
The female brain itself is a highly intuitive emotion-processing machine, which when put to practice in the progress of the society, would do much more than any man can with all his analytical perspectives.
Cannot a Beast be tamed?
You managed to stop yourself from becoming a full-fledged beast. Well done! Recovering your human soul and mind on your own, I mean." The Beast blinked. "Permanently? I'm not going to... relapse? Go back to being a beast- I mean, in my head- again?" "Of course not," Rosalind said impatiently. "As long as your love for Belle- and hers for you- lasts. The spell is broken, or mitigated, at least." Belle and the Beast looked at each other, eyes wide. The Beast suddenly began to scratch the back of his neck in embarrassment. Belle blushed. And then she found herself almost overcome with giggles. "It's pretty obvious," Maurice pointed out with a smile. "Yes, another factor in my punishment," Rosalind said grimly. "Magic always comes back on itself... of course it would be my daughter who would break the spell. I am an idiot. And now here you are, her future husband. A prince." "King," Maurice corrected mildly.
Reflecting on the creation of the songs and vocal performances, Peter [Schneider] speaks with respect and regret: "It's sad that Howard [Ashman] never saw the finished movie of Beauty and the Beast, because it's basically him. It was his conception, it was his idea, it was his songs, it was his emotions, it was his storytelling. Alan [Menken] was a very important partner in this: you can't discount Alan. But it was Howard's vision that made this all happen. And what survives is these characters and these emotions and these songs. They will be around a lot longer than we will. And given the choice, that's what he would have chosen to have survive.
I was innocent but certain, now I'm wiser but unsure.
We all have a choice—to be monsters or men. It is not a matter of blood, but a condition of the heart.
You only fix something, when it’s broken. And you - are far from broken.
You think very little of me, don't you?" "On the contrary. I think very highly of you and become disappointed when you do not live up to my standards.
He gazed into her eyes. "I was never any good at saying no to you." He cupped her face and put his forehead to hers. "I was going to protest, and then give in." Aribelle smiled. "I hope you never get good at saying no to me.
The princess found herself being gently prodded and pushed and combed and magicked, and her hair felt weird. When she was spun around to face the mirror again, she was in a yellow dress, waves of sunshine spilling down from her bodice to her toes. Her shoulders were bare, which was a little strange, but they were pale and perfect and delicate. 'Swanlike,' she could hear the minstrel saying. Her hair was loosely braided over one shoulder, a yellow ribbon tying it off. The fairies gasped. "You are 'sooooo' beautiful!" Even 'more' beautiful!" "Can it be possible?" "Look at 'this'," a fairy commanded. With a serious look and a wave of her wand, she transformed the princess again. This time her hair was piled high on her head in an elegant chignon, a simple ribbon holding it back. A light blue dress puffed out around her softly, like a cloud. The finest gloves she had ever worn covered her bare arms up to her shoulders. Funny little tinkling shoes felt chilly on her feet. She put her hands on the skirt and twisted this way and that; what a dress to dance in! She would look like a fairy herself. Or a bride.
I want adventure in the great wide somewhere. I want it more than I can tell. And for once it might be grand To have someone understand I want so much more than they’ve got planned…
Sometimes,' Beauty said softly, sipping from her silver goblet, 'everyone needs to let the beast inside them out for a while'. She laughed, a sound like a waterfall meeting the sea and more glitter escaped from her fingertips. 'I like to see it. We all have our dark lusts. We should enjoy them.
Heat flashed in his gaze, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “Perhaps you have never danced with a man.” “Boys, yes. A man?” Sorcha’s eyes followed the ragged edge of crystals, the barbaric braid swaying from the peak of his head to his waist, the linen tunic belted by sheep skin. “Never a man such as you.
Enchantments and dreams: I suspect they are made of the same stuff. They each beguile the mind and confuse the senses with wonder and strangeness so all that was familiar becomes freakish, and the most bizarre of things intimate and natural. For the longest time after the curse fell, I did not know if I was a beast who dreamed of being a man, or a man who dreamed he was a beast.
A ferocious growl drew my gaze to the back of the room, where a hairy beast wore a yellow ball gown. I tried to block out the memory of Beauty in that dress earlier this evening.
I don’t hate you,” I said, and I almost believed it.
Sometimes it's hard to look at a flower, when your dying inside.
When Walt became all wrapped up in the theme parks and live-action films, we tried to get him interested in animation again," recalls Frank Thomas, one of the Studio's "Nine Old Men." "Walt said, 'If I ever do go back, there are only two subjects I would want to do. One of them is Beauty and the Beast.' For the life of me, I can't remember what the other one was.
C. Joybell C
My mother used to tell me, every time we were watching Cinderella, that Cinderella had the best attitude and that I should strive to be just like her. Later when I grew up, I resented my mother for teaching me that way, as I saw it as the reason why I often felt preyed on by people who were much more like the ugly stepsisters. But now, all of a sudden, I’ve realized that what my mom meant was that no matter how ugly people can be to you, no matter how rough they treat you, no matter how much their actions tempt you to become your worst— you should overcome them by never letting them steal your gentleness. People only win when they are able to take away your gentleness, your sweetness. But if you remember that you’re a princess, and they’re just not, at the end of the day you win! Still, my mom should have pointed me in the direction of Belle from Beauty and the Beast. Cinderella is fine, but had she taught me that Belle was the best way to be, I would have probably never grown to resent that. Belle always retained her gentleness but she could still beat up a pack of wolves at the same time and that’s the kind of princess I wanted to be like! Not to mention she loved books!
O my Courageous Sister! You have to become the beacon of hope for all women around you and then for the whole society.
She waved, hoping the little creatures sealed inside the glass and bone chrysalis could see her, and tried not to cry. The Beast saw her. "I'll come back. Whatever happens," he promised. "I'm... king now. I need to share the fate of my people." Somehow that only made Belle want to cry more. "You aren't out of danger yourself," the Beast reminded her gravely. "You're in the middle of the woods with a beast as the curse grows stronger. I won't be able to control it forever." Belle had a sudden vision of her body, and blood-stained snow, like something out of a fairy tale gone wrong. She shook her head. "No. You would never hurt me." The Beast gave a wan smile.... and then leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "I would kill myself first," he whispered.
We're prisoners here." "What would Jack do, Belle?" When did he become the insightful one? She mock pouted. "I suppose he would figure out some super clever way around it." The Beast looked at her with wry amusement. "Since you're the clever one here and haven't come up with a cunning plan, I was going to suggest brute force. Like we're a castle under siege, fighting them off. That's what I know." "That's a fair point," she ceded, smiling. "We should... round up everything sharp and cutting," he said. "And hammers and mallets to smash the panes between them." "Yes, sir, prince general, sir," Belle said, saluting him with a sparkle in her eye.
The beautiful know they have power, and she had, in her diminutive charm, a certain power of which she was always casually aware.
N. R. Hart
Legend has it there is always a reason why souls meet. Maybe they found each other for reasons that weren't so different after all. They were two souls searching and found a home lost in each other. When souls find comfort in one another separation is not possible. The reasons they are brought together are no accident. Maybe she needed someone to show her how to live and he needed someone to show him how to love.
Love didn't seem like something that could be organized or contained; it should be messy and emotional, like exploding and imploding with someone at the exact same time.
Smiles from girls like you are what started the Trojan War.
If he were... a prince... a real one, a human one... would he get to just go inside with her on his arm? What would her father say? A prince on the arm of his daughter? What would happen then? Could they... could they marry? There was no one left in the kingdom to object to him marrying below his station. Would Belle even like him? Did she like him now? She hadn't pulled away when he had kissed her, before... and she had kissed him just now. That was something, right?
Her eyes widened as she took in what must be thousands of titles. She stepped farther into the room finding the bookcases rose up at least two stories. Like a bee to honey, she was drawn to the remarkable library. There was a ladder that glided along a set of rails to reach the top shelves. And a spiral staircase for the second floor of shelves with yet another ladder. t was truly remarkable. She didn't know whether she had walked onto the set of My Fair Lady or the library of Beauty and the Beast. She'd never seen anything so magnificent.
There is something out there, he'd said. Something cunning.
N. R. Hart
Maybe she needed someone to show her how to live and he needed someone to show him how to love.
There are dead bodies at my feet and children whimpering in the snow. Any minute, my brain is going to catch up and I'm going to collapse into sobs. Instead, I saw the only thing my addled mind can come up with. "Thanks.
Listen my dear sister! You only fix something, when it’s broken. And you - are far from broken. Say to yourself, I am perfect, the way I am. Say to yourself, I am beautiful the way I am. Say to yourself, those who do not accept me the way I am, do not deserve me in their life.
She moves like beauty, she whispers to us of wind and forest—and she tells us stories, such stories that we wake in the night, dreaming dreams of a life long past. she reminds us of what we used to be. She reminds us of what we could be.
Almost immediately, I found the red door into the library. I opened it idly- and the breath stopped in my throat. It was the same room I remembered: the shelves, the lion-footed table, the white bass-relief of Clio. But now, tendrils of dark green ivy grew between the shelves, reaching toward the books as if they were hungry to read. White mist flowed along the floor, rippling and tumbling as if blown by wind. Across the ceiling wove a network of icy ropes like tree roots. They dripped- not little droplets like the ice melting off a tree but grape-sized drops of water, like giant tears, that splashed on the table, plopped to the floor.
I've spent my life wondering when I would earn the right to be a man again. Despite the undeserved good fortune of finding my true love, I always held a kernel of bitterness in my heart that things were not different... I will never be the man that I was. That man is dead—slain—for better or for worse, by my life as the Beast. In your words, the world does not need who I was.