Best 11119 quotes in «beautiful quotes» category

Special Logan Kiss... Yeah, but you didn't know that I'd recited how i felt for you right then, in that moment, in my mins. The words flowed silently, so easily. There's no mistaking them. When I gave you those kisses, I was telling myself and you.... He peck my nose "I..." He kisses my forehead "..LOVE.." My heart swells as He presses his lips to my chin, then he whispers " YOU...

Speaking a beautiful lie is a great art, which is often presented to us in the form of fiction.

Speaking a truth does not need any application of mind or intelligence. A computer always tells the truth, but it has no intelligence. You must have great intelligence to speak beautiful lies.

Speaking with her always felt like sitting on a seashore. Hearing the waves and feeling them crashing into my feet, While gazing the setting sun and the way he colours the whole sky. I never got tired of it.

Spend the beautiful days of your life to someone you want to spend with until your last breath.

Spring dances with joy in every flower and in every bud letting us know that changes are beautiful and an inevitable law of life.

Split in two,” he sang, “Loved by one, and then another. Pulled in a direction and then the other. If I could breathe you in, all of you, every day of my life, it wouldn’t be enough. My heart was captive long ago — then you stole it away, you helped me grow. Now I’m staring at my crossroads with a choice to make, wondering how in the world I even thought there was one way to take.” His hands flew over the piano, muscles tightened in his forearms as he leaned forward and continued singing. “My biggest fear, is not the ending of this life, but going through it without you by my side.” He repeated the chorus and closed his eyes, humming the haunting melody in such a way that I felt hypnotized. “Letting her go will be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do — but I’m doing it so I can say goodbye to her — and good morning to you. Tell me it’s not too late to ask for a second.” He smirked but continued singing. “Third, fourth, tenth date.” His hands slowed. “Loving you will always be easy because when I look into your eyes I know you see the real me, so be my love, be my rain, be my clouds, be my pain.” “My biggest fear, is not the ending of this life, but going through it without you by my side.” He stopped playing. The room fell silent.

Standing there small among the boxes of Kandy Kakes that rose like brownish cartoon cliffs around him, he resembled the videos I'd seen of sea lions floating angelically among the kelp, black bodies filmed from below, their shapes cut out in bright sunlight, bodies mistakable for those of a human being. I felt the memory of a shadowy arm around me, a watcher again, sitting there on the couch with my boyfriend, watching the animals become prey. Somewhere there were giant whales feeding on creatures too small to see, pressing them against fronds of baleen with a tongue the size of a sedan. There were polar bears killing seals, tearing ovoid chunks from out of their smooth, round bellies. In the surrounding vastness of the warehouse, I heard something scratching against the concrete floor and knew there were rats here, scraping a thin film of nutrient from the dry packaged matter that surrounded them. Life was everywhere, inescapable, imperative.

Stare up at the stars, Don't be fearful of the night. For, it is the darkness, That lets us know the light.

Stay beautiful because the world is beautiful, So is the universe!

Stella scribbled in thick black texta across half the pages of my best storybook, filled with people who ventured where their hearts took them. Beautiful worlds beyond mine.

Stop looking back when your future is ahead of you

Stop worrying about and believing in what other people think of you, do not let their opinions define who you are because all of us are amazing in our own ways.

Success' is world's most beautiful thing

Such beautiful minds. Yet such silence and darkness around them.

Sunrise is the start of something beautiful: the day. Sunset is the start of something beautiful: the night.

Sur lui je ferai descendre la faim et le feu Jusqu'à ce qu'il connaisse L'abomination de la désolation. Et que tous les démons qui peuplent les ténèbres Comprennent enfin, avec stupeur, Que, sans répit, la vengeance Dévore le cœur de l'homme.

Sweet wine from Spain and gossip from France; the sun in the windows dimmed, sorrowed prettily as the day declined, until the candles' light was mirrored in the glass. Their dabbling flames were like guesses at a feeling, the hearth's fire like the feeling itself. It was a beautiful pastime she had missed; hours that had stepped light-footed on Emilia's memory and passed on.

Take a deep breath right now… Look at the sky; it's a beautiful night, isn't it?

Take your million smiles through billion miles; life will never get boring for you even for a while.

Take a moment to reflect on your life. If you are not satisfied with your reflection, then make adjustments. It's never too late to live the life of your dreams. Believe in your ability to make it happen.

Tana would sit near the door to the basement with fingers in her ears, tears and snot running down her face as she cried and cried and cried. And little Pearl would toddle up, crying, too. They cried while they ate their cereal, cried while they watched cartoons, and cried themselves to sleep at night, huddled together in Tana's little bed. 'Make her stop' Pearl said, but Tana couldn't.

Talk to yourself. Tell yourself you are beautiful. Tell yourself you are strong. See all the beauty that you have inside and speak it aloud. Let your mind see yourself in a positive light.

Tell me again about the girl whose hands have no color. Whose hands are completely white. This time make them damned, or untouched, or have her open a red umbrella or point at some maple leaves and damned near cry. Those hands. As freakish goes, I wish I had a tail. Maybe then you’d know how much I like you. It shakes me through, damn through. It shakes me. When she carries a peacock feather. When she touches her neck or thighs. You’re a person. It’s not so bad. You have hands. You are a person with hands to hold things. Things you like. Tremendous things. Tell me what you will hold today. I know there is room for everything. There is no need to be ceremonious. Tell what gets let go.

Tears of joy, I can handle. Tears of sadness, I can handle. Tears of sorrows, I can handle. But, tears of nature, it’s the most beautiful feel that anyone can ever get. The feel you get while walking in the rain and the smell of mud as added essence, this beautiful feel is what they call love. Then, I’m in love. I call it “Tears of Love”.

That casual glance was the beginning of a cataclysm of love that had still not ended half a century later.

That day and night, the bleeding and the screaming, had knocked something askew for Esme, like a picture swinging crooked on a wall. She loved the life she lived with her mother. It was beautiful. It was, she sometimes thought, a sweet emulation of the fairy tales they cherished in their lovely, gold-edged books. They sewed their own clothes from bolts of velvet and silk, ate all their meals as picnics, indoors or out, and danced on the rooftop, cutting passageways through the fog with their bodies. They embroidered tapestries of their own design, wove endless melodies on their violins, charted the course of the moon each month, and went to the theater and the ballet as often as they liked--every night last week to see Swan Lake again and again. Esme herself could dance like a faerie, climb trees like a squirrel, and sit so still in the park that birds would come to perch on her. Her mother had taught her all that, and for years it had been enough. But she wasn't a little girl anymore, and she had begun to catch hints and glints of another world outside her pretty little life, one filled with spice and poetry and strangers.

That was New York; a whole cacophony of sounds and tastes that all somehow came together to form something beautiful

That reminds me of when you used to call and see us before Christmas, the year before last. Somehow–somehow life was all dark and secret and beautiful then.

That's the worst thing they do to you, to any of you. Whatever those brain lesions are all about, the worst damage is done before they even pick up the knife: You're all brainwashed into believing you're ugly.

That still did not invalidate their purity in his eyes, so long as they continued to live the way they lived: sitting on the floor, eating with their fingers, cooking and sleeping first in one room, then in another, or in the vast patio with its fountains, or on the roof, leading the existence of nomads inside the beautiful shell which was the house. If he had felt that they were capable of discarding their utter preoccupation with the present, in order to consider the time not yet arrived, he would straightway have lost interest in them and condemned them as corrupt.

That— we seemed to have decided without saying a word— might go a long way toward spoiling something that was special, and beautiful, by virtue of its strangeness and delicacy.

The aching in my chest isn't because I miss you, it's realizing that you have become someone I no longer know, your fears, your 4 am thoughts, your achievements, are things I no longer have an equivalent to. Who we were and who we are are four different people, and the me from now doesn't relate to the me from then, let alone to the you from now. -Tanzy Sayadi and Jarod Kintz

The aim is to love God because the pure heart loves loving God and because the true mind knows He deserves it. Unlike the accusations and beliefs of the critics and skeptics, it is neither an obligation of duty; nor a fear of damnation; nor a wish for power; nor a desire to appear more righteous than others; nor because God needs it; but because through all love, truth, reason, faith, honesty, and joy in and beyond oneself and the universe, He is worthy.

The amazing feeling of being alive beautifully conquers the fear of death

The air is full of flying kisses sent by the people who are watching you.

The air moved slowly around his body, somehow tangible, gold flaked, every dust mote a lantern.

The beauty of the soul is wrapped in modest fashion.

The beauty of the soul enfold in spiritual-life.

The beautiful must be incongruous.

The beauty of life is a great wonder.

The beauty of nature-humanity: Animal is animal. Book is book. Forest is forest. Happiness is happiness. Human is human. Joy is joy. Mountain is mountain. Music is music. Ocean is ocean. Life is life. Light is light. Love is love. Plant is plant. Peace is peace. Stream is stream. Sun is sun. Spirit is spirit. Snow is snow. Rain is rain Rainbow is rainbow. River is river. Wind is wind.

The beauty of your passion is in the colours of your belief.

The best art is not always the most popular art, and the most popular art is never truly the best art. The best art is that which is streamed through God. And the worst art is that which is void of God. The master artist of the universe is the Creator of All Things, and his reflection is in all of us. Only the artist who is aware that he is a reflection of that greatness, and that creativity is supreme love, is a true divine artist. Even if he is not the most popular artist, he will be very popular among the stars of His universe. That is the master artist, one who uses his talents to serve as a vehicle of God. In his work, you hear God's voice and see with His eyes.

The beautiful have so much easier a time of it than the ugly, don't you think? They get smiled at the whole time. Strangers offer them things. People notice the beautiful; the beautiful are constantly acknowledged.

The beautiful is powerless but always exceeds what frames it, and what always frames it is discourse.

The beautiful world!

The best self is a beautiful spirit.

The closer you got to anything beautiful, the less beautiful it became. Allure was in the mystery, not the appearance.

The clock’s pendulum catches the firelight, and in the rattle-breathed final moments of Jacob de Zoet, amber shadows in the far corner coagulate into a woman’s form. She slips between the bigger, taller onlookers unnoticed … … and adjusts her headscarf, the better to hide her burn. She places her cool palms on Jacob’s fever-glazed face. Jacob sees himself, when he was young, in her narrow eyes. Her lips touch the place between his eyebrows. A well-waxed paper door slides open.