Best 5193 quotes in «beauty quotes» category

A community is only being created when its members accept that they are not going to achieve great things, that they are not going to be heroes, but simply live each day with new hope, like children, in wonderment as the sun rises and in thanksgiving as it sets. Community is only being created when they have recognized that the greatness of man is to accept his insignificance, his human condition and his earth, and to thank God for having put in a finite body the seeds of eternity which are visible in small and daily gestures of love and forgiveness. The beauty of man is in this fidelity to the wonder of each day.

A compassionate heart radiates rays of beauty that remove the clouds of million hearts.

A compliment about one’s nature is more important because a person has to choose how to behave, whilst a compliment about one’s appearance doesn’t mean overly much because there is no choice involved there.

A country which prefers guns to flowers will live the beauty of the flowers only in its graveyards!

A connection could be drawn between the secular ascent of biblical values in today's world and the depreciation of beauty that characterizes it on so many levels. Beauty today is often depreciated as monotonous or denounced as a constraining norm, when it is simply reduced to a pure spectacle accompanied by a rehabilitation or even exaltation of deformity and ugliness, as can be seen in many areas. The degeneration of beauty and the promotion of ugliness, tied to the flowering of intellectualism, could be certainly be part of the Umwertung stigmatized by Nietzsche.

Act'. How many good people do you really know? I discount those who mouth out platitudes for the edification of the young, and who truly are 'good', whatever that means?" What a strange subject, and from such a strange person!"Everyone I know is a mixture, some with more good than bad, and it varies on different days,

A couple of them were school beauty-queen pretty while a few were that more real-looking type. A realer kind of pretty.

A cowboy’s hands are as strong as steel, as tough as leather, but soft enough to touch a butterfly’s wing and the skin of a woman without disturbing the beauty of either.

A critic must be knowledgeable in several fields, practices, and mediums. Brushing off art that they personally don't understand, is not a critique.

Act for the joy and beauty of action not for the fruits of creation.

A culture fixated on female thinness is not an obsession about female beauty, but an obsession about female obedience. Dieting is the most potent political sedative in women’s history; a quietly mad population is a tractable one.

Act to create beauty without expecting results.

A different and much deeper sort of beauty altogether. The thing and yet not the thing.

Adorn your beauty with elegant fashion and embellish it with a genuine smile of pride.

Adorn yourself with modest dressing.

Adrian kom denna klara höst till socialisterna, dit varje ung individualist kommer, då han vill söka uttrycket för sin individualism, utan att finna det. Människan vill aristokrati. Den fattigaste arbetare älskar djupast sett endast lyxkvinnan, som bäst förkroppsligar hans kvinnoideal, står över hans förnuft och även över klasskampen, liksom skönheten står över allting. Men när den ensamme icke når dit han vill, då går individualisten till socialisterna och inordnar sig i kampen för den demokratiska idén." (Sid. 231)

A far cicada rings high and clear over the river’s heavy wash. Morning glory, a lone dandelion, cassia, orchids. So far from the nearest sea, I am taken aback by the sight of a purple land crab, like a relict of the ancient days when the Indian subcontinent, adrift on the earth’s mantle, moved northward to collide with the Asian landmass, driving these marine rocks, inch by inch, five miles into the skies. The rise of the Himalaya, begun in the Eocene, some fifty million years ago, is still continuing: an earthquake in 1959 caused mountains to fall into the rivers and changed the course of the great Brahmaputra, which comes down out of Tibet through northeastern India to join the Ganges near its delta at the Bay of Bengal.

A few minutes ago every tree was excited, bowing to the roaring storm, waving, swirling, tossing their branches in glorious enthusiasm like worship. But though to the outer ear these trees are now silent, their songs never cease. -John Muir, naturalist, explorer, and writer (1838-1914)

AFFIRMATION: Letting love flow abundantly from me before me with illuminating unique and miraculous richness in every unfolding moment. Healing my hurts and inspiring my actions. Letting love live within me, that spreads beauty through all that I do and all that I am. Filling my thoughts with goodness and my intentions with kindness. Letting love brighten every corner of my world

A flower blooms to reveal her beauty just to express her gratitude for all the life, love, and light.

A flower does not diminish in beauty, no matter how many weeds envy it.

A flower doesn't lose its beauty because weeds mocked it.

A flower just blooms without knowing who will enjoy and appreciate her beauty.

A flawed rose is better than a flawless dandy lion.

A flower must bloom inside first before revealing its beauty to the world.

A flower's structure leads a bee toward having pollen adhere to its body . . . we don't know of any such reason why beautiful places attract humans.

A flower does not use words to announce its arrival to the world; it just blooms.

A flower’s beauty is birthed in a seed’s ugly struggles.

A flower's soul is made of beauty, which is why it lives on even after it dies.

After a deep silence, mingled with sweet dreams, I asked, "Speak to me of that beauty which the people interpret and define, each one according to his own conception; I have seen her honoured and worshipped in different ways and manners." She answered, "Beauty is that which attracts your soul, and that which loves to give and not to receive. When you meet Beauty, you feel that the hands deep within your inner self are stretched forth to bring her into the domain of your heart. It is the magnificence combined of sorrow and joy; it is the Unseen which you see, and the Vague which you understand, and the Mute which you hear−−it is the Holy of Holies that begins in yourself and ends vastly beyond your earthly imagination.

After having grown up surrounded by so much manufactured beauty, Amara had come to want something different. Something that wasn't necessarily beautiful. Something imperfect, interesting, and perhaps even ugly.

After all the imagination is a beautiful thing.

After I see a painting, I go into a room, I close my eyes and I slowly escape into the beauty of the painting. I reflect on the painting, the nuances of the artwork, it's theme, mood and highlights -until the magic of the painting flashes before me.

After tomorrow, I'll see a different face staring back at me from the mirror - at first, a swollen face, but then one with a smaller jaw and a straighter smile. This is what I've wanted for years, but standing on the edge of all this change, I feel like I want to pause time and remember exactly what if feels like to be here now - in the before.

Again, a beautiful object, whether it be a living organism or any whole composed of parts, must not only have an orderly arrangement of parts, but must also be of a certain magnitude; for beauty depends on magnitude and order. Hence a very small animal organism cannot be beautiful; for the view of it is confused, the object being seen in an almost imperceptible moment of time. Nor, again, can one of vast size be beautiful; for as the eye cannot take it all in at once, the unity and sense of the whole is lost for the spectator; as for instance if there were one a thousand miles long. As, therefore, in the case of animate bodies and organisms a certain magnitude is necessary, and a magnitude which may be easily embraced in one view; so in the plot, a certain length is necessary, and a length which can be easily embraced by the memory. The limit of length in relation to dramatic competition and sensuous presentment, is no part of artistic theory. For had it been the rule for a hundred tragedies to compete together, the performance would have been regulated by the water-clock,--as indeed we are told was formerly done. But the limit as fixed by the nature of the drama itself is this: the greater the length, the more beautiful will the piece be by reason of its size, provided that the whole be perspicuous. And to define the matter roughly, we may say that the proper magnitude is comprised within such limits, that the sequence of events, according to the law of probability or necessity, will admit of a change from bad fortune to good, or from good fortune to bad.

A garden's beauty never lies in one flower.

Age can’t dull the beauty of life that reflects and radiates from within.

Again, no disrespect intended, but she looked to me like a divorce that hadn't found a courtroom yet.

Age doesn’t protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age.

A full moon, although less splendid than that earlier on,lit everything around. Before I reached the point where I would have to leave the road and set off across country, the narrow path I was following seemed suddenly to end and disappear behind a large hedge, and there before me, as if blocking my way, stood a single, tall tree, very dark at first against the transparently clear night sky. Out of nowhere, a breeze got up. It set the tender stems of the grasses shivering, made the green blades of the reeds shudder and sent a ripple across the brown waters of a puddle. Like a wave, it lifted up the spreading branches of the tree and, murmuring, climbed the trunk, and then, suddenly, the leaves turned their undersides to the moon and the whole beech tree (because it was a beech) was covered in white as far as the topmost branch.It was only a moment, no more than that, but the memory of it will last as long as my life lasts.

A garden is beautiful only when it is filled with people; they determine its beauty

A girl stood before him in midstream, alone and still, gazing out to sea. She seemed like one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird. Her long slender bare legs were delicate as a crane's and pure save where an emerald trail of seaweed had fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh. Her thighs, fuller and soft-hued as ivory, were bared almost to the hips, where the white fringes of her drawers were like feathering of soft white down. Her slate-blue skirts were kilted boldly about her waist and dovetailed behind her. Her bosom was as a bird's, soft and slight, slight and soft as the breast of some dark-plumaged dove. But her long fair hair was girlish: and girlish, and touched with the wonder of mortal beauty, her face.

A girl without braids is like a city without bridges.

Against all odds, a seed rises from darkness and beautifies the universe.

A great philosopher once said: 'We are what we Contemplate' And in these modern times when mankind is constantly confronted with images of conflict and world disasters, it seems very important to contemplate the Beautiful. It has become my personal crusade as an artist, to create images which uplift and nurture the human heart; to create that which serves as a reminder of what is Sacred and Beautiful within the drama of Life.... Ever since I can remember, my innermost nature has always been to do acts of kindness and to create, from saving lost animals, to organizing charitable events; from mothering my four children to now giving birth to the 'Art of Beauty'.

A healthy marriage acts as the vessel of wellbeing and stability for both partners as well as the children.

A happy heart is the beauty of being.

Ah, and then her beautiful face…actually, the level and angle that she was holding the umbrella, the whole time as she passed within Suresh’s view, only allowed him to see the bottom of her chin at most. Still, with a body as beautiful as hers, Suresh was quite certain that her face would be nothing less than positively stunning!

Ah, beloved,” he murmured, his fingers caressing the faint lines in her brow, tracing the shadows at the sides of her lips. “How beautiful you are.” She couldn’t help a chortle. Inda heard the unsteadiness in her attempt at laughter, the disbelief, and beneath it, question. “Joret was never beautiful to me,” he said. “Not ugly, either. She was just Joret. Pleased the eye, but beauty, it strikes you right here.” He closed a fist lightly and thumped it against his breast bone. “Joret was art. Tau was art. But to me, you were always beautiful. Before I really knew what beauty was. It was your face I saw when I was away. Awake and in dreams.” She laughed again, even more unsteadily, but he heard the genuine humor there, then she wound her fingers in his wet hair, bumped up against him, and said, “Prove it.

Ah, fairest maiden, thine beauty doth maketh mine loins stir, and mine cup runneth over.