Best 11119 quotes in «beautiful quotes» category

Use your imagination to create your beautiful life.

Us in the graveyard, we wants you to stay alive. We wants you to surprise us and disappoint us and impress us and amaze us.

Usually, the murmur that rises up from Paris by day is the city talking; in the night it is the city breathing; but here it is the city singing. Listen, then, to this chorus of bell-towers - diffuse over the whole the murmur of half a million people - the eternal lament of the river - the endless sighing of the wind - the grave and distant quartet of the four forests placed upon the hills, in the distance, like immense organpipes - extinguish to a half light all in the central chime that would otherwise be too harsh or too shrill; and then say whetehr you know of anything in the world more rich, more joyous, more golden, more dazzling, than this tumult of bells and chimes - this furnace of music - these thousands of brazen voices, all singing together in flutes of stone three hundred feet high, than this city which is but one orchestra - this symphony which roars like a tempest.

Venom didn't answer until they'd crossed teh street, his body moving with liquid grace. Holly couldn't help it; she watched him. There was something deadly about Venom. Not just power, but him. She wondered if he'd been like this as a human, too, dangerous and beautiful. She blinked, shook her head. Obviously, if she was starting to think Venom beautiful, it was time to break her self-imposed celibacy and go get laid.

Very nice," said Rick after a while. "Very nice," he repeated, with more emphasis the second time. "What is?" I asked, turning to him, though I knew. "Everything," he said. And it was true.

Verstehst du, Frauen sind wie Feuer, wie Flammen. Manche Frauen sind wie Kerzen, hell und freundlich. Andere sind wie einzelne Funken oder wie ein Glühwürmchen, dem man an einem Sommerabend nachjagt. Manche sind wie ein Lagerfeuer - Licht und Wärme für eine Nacht, und es stört sie nicht, wenn man sie am nächsten Tag zurücklässt. Manche Frauen gleichen auch einem Herdfeuer - sie sehen nach nichts aus, brennen aber tagaus tagein. Dianne aber ... Dianne ist wie ein Funkenregen, der sich von einer scharfen Eisenkante ergießt, die Gott an einen Schleifstein hält. Ein faszinierender Anblick. Vielleicht berührt man die Funken sogar eine Sekunde lang. Aber man kann sie nicht festhalten. - Sie wird dir das Herz brechen ...

Viewed from a distance, everything is beautiful.

violent storms. and beautiful smiles. both have electricity. both are equally destructive in nature.

Wanaume hupenda nyama kwenye mifupa.

Wasn’t it correct in America to call a man ‘handsome’ rather than ‘beautiful’?

Wasn't it beautiful when you believed in everything?

Watching her is like watching the piece of exquisite art

Watching them was like watching the sunset and the sunrise, equally beautiful in different ways.

We all labor against our own cure, for death is the cure of all diseases

We all want to feel like the most beautiful woman in the room, to be chosen and loved forever. The Cinderella story gives us hope of our impossible dreams becoming true.

We all want to feel like the most beautiful girl in the room, to be chosen and loved forever. The Cinderella story gives us hope of our impossible dreams becoming true.

We almost bumped into each other. But your eyes were down so you didn't know it was me. And together we said it. "I'm sorry." Then you looked up. You saw me. And there, in your eyes, what was it? Sadness? Pain? You moved around and tried pushing your hair away from your face. Your fingernails were painted dark blue. I watched you walk down the long stretch of hallway. I stood there and watched you disappear. Forever.

We are all damaged, broken creatures, searching for love, acceptance, understanding, in a world that has no patience or tolerance for beautiful things.

We are all beautiful instruments of God. He created many notes in music so that we would not be stuck playing the same song. Be music always. Keep changing the keys, tones, pitch, and volume of each of the songs you create along your journey and play on. Nobody will ever reach ultimate perfection in this lifetime, but trying to achieve it is a full-time job. Start now and don't stop. Make your book of life a musical. Never abandon obligations, but have fun leaving behind a colorful legacy. Never allow anybody to be the composer of your own destiny. Take control of your life, and never allow limitations implanted by society, tell you how your music is supposed to sound — or how your book is supposed to be written.

We are noble, good, beautiful, and happy!

We believe that beautiful people must have equally beautiful personalities. But what is amazing is how complete is this delusion!

We celebrate beauty in life and all its possibility so we open it up for others and at the same time for ourselves.

We encounter great souls, who lived in historical times, in ancient books.

We encountered beautiful souls on the travel path.

We can see for ourselves how beautiful we both are.

We fit the pieces of our life together in a pattern, but there is no image on the puzzlebox to guide us.

We grooved together with a rhythm so beautiful that I could feel the moment turned into poetry.

Welcome to the real world, Mother Robot, a beautiful and dangerous place. Now you can truly begin to live.

We know what we want to do, but are afraid of hurting those around us by abandoning everything in order to pursue our dream

Well, at least this is what I told myself every day as I fell asleep with the fire still burning and the moon shining high up in the sky and my head spinning comforting from two bottles of wine, and I smiled with tears in my eyes because it was beautiful and so god damn sad and I did not know how to be one of those without the other.

We'll go down to the stream behind the house with a bottle of wine and none of our clothes and remind each other that--even in the midst of so much goodness--there are delightful ways to be wicked. And we'll swim and laugh and kiss, and the stars will shine, beautiful and bright, but Ariel will always shine brighter. At least for me.

Well, that was the end of me, the real end. Two pound ten every Tuesday and a room of the Gray's Inn Road. Saved, rescued and with my place to hide in - what more did I want? I crept in and hid. The lid of the coffin shut down with a bang. Now I no longer wish to be loved, beautiful, happy or successful. I want one thing and one thing only - to be left alone. No more pawings, no more pryings - leave me alone.

Well you, young man, need to learn about what is much more important than cool. And that is: what is beautiful.

We never actually have serious conversations about anything for more than 20 seconds. So there’s a beautiful superficiality to our relationship which sometimes gets covered up by all the genuine affection flowing back and forth.

We must pay a price if we are to become priceless.

We need to be patient to wait for the beautiful beginning of a new day

We must remember that beauty is dictated from the spectators opinion therefore anyone can be beautiful depending on who is watching you

We pretended to be of mud instead of stars. We pretended not to fly.

We're at war. On the verge of an apocalypse filled with monsters and torture in a nightmare world. And I'm standing here, a moonstruck teenager pining for an enemy soldier. What am I, crazy? This time, I'm the first to turn away.

We search for happiness across every landscape, if only we knew that the seed in which it first grows, is planted within ourselves...

We often seek beauty in the outside, in the unknown, and often lack to realize the sheer beauty right in front of our very eyes, back home.

We slept on mattresses stuffed with the soft seed-heads of dandelions.

We stand dead still and we listen to the night. The city drones. An owl hoots and a cat howls and a dog barks and a siren wails. We let the stars shine into us.

We stood, separated by space, certainly, in identical conditions of pleasant uncertainty and anticipation, and we both held our heart in our hands, all pink and palpitating and ready for pleasure and pain, and we were about to throw these hearts in each other's faces like snowballs, or cricket balls (How's that?) or, more accurately, like great bleeding wounds: "Take my wound". Because the last thing one ever thinks at such moments is that he (or she) will say: Take my wound, please remove the spear from my side. No, not at all; one simply expects to get rid of one's one.

We travel to see beautiful places and to meet great souls.

We too can repair our cracks with gold And glow again. Crazed by life, More beautiful than ever before.

We were characters out of a movie. We were thoroughly alive. And we were absolutely beautiful.

We walked out of there, and for the first time I felt the mood of a night without feeling that an author was ramming it down my throat for story purposes. I looked at the clean-swept, star-reaching cubism of the Radio City area and its living snakes of neon, and I suddenly thought of an Evelyn Smith story the general idea of which was “After they found out the atom bomb was magic, the rest of the magicians who enchanted refrigerators and washing machines and the telephone system came out into the open.” I felt a breath of wind and wondered what it was that had breathed. I heard the snoring of the city and for an awesome second felt it would roll over, open its eyes, and … speak.

We were created to look at one another, weren't we

What a face this girl possessed!—could I not gaze at it every day I would need to recreate it through painting, sculpture, or fatherhood until a second such face is born. Her face, at once innocent and feral, soft and wild! Her mouth voluptuous. Eyes deep as oceans, her eyes as wide as planets. I likened her to the slender Psyché and judged that the perfection of her face ennobled everything unclean around her: the dusty hems of her bunched-up skirt, the worn straps of her nightshirt; the blackened soles of her tiny bare feet, the coal-stained balcony bricks upon which she sat, and that dusty wrought-ironwork that framed her perch. All this and the pungent air!—almost foul, with so many odors. Ô, that and the spicy night! …Pungency, spice, filth and night, dust and light; all things dark did blossom in sight; flower and bloom, the night has its pearl too—the moon! And once a month it will make the face of this tender girl bloom.