Best 11119 quotes in «beautiful quotes» category

Gently Agatha touched her face in the mirror, glowing from inside. A face no one recognized because it was so happy. There could be no turning back now. The bread crumbs on the dark trail were gone. Instead, she had the truth to guide her. A truth greater than any magic. I've been beautiful all along.

Gina was beautiful like a sunset. You see it and you think of how beautiful it is, and then it’s over and you move on. But Trista was beautiful like a song. The kind of song you play over and over and never get sick of hearing. The kind of song he wanted to write for her, but he knew he would never be able to string together the right combination of notes to show her how he really felt.

Glacier National Park in Montana is steadfastly considered to be one of the most beautiful places in the country.

God can take the ordinary and create the extraordinary. Our incredible God has the power to transform your simple life and give you the life of your dreams. Remarkable things happen in your life when you believe.

God design of you is divine act.

God gave you them shoes to fit you, so put them on and wear them. Be yourself man, be proud of who you are. Even if it sounds corny, don’t let no one tell you, you ain’t beautiful.

God's blessings, however, aren't always bigger, better, and beautiful. In fact, I truly believe that God gifts His chosen leaders with a very unusual blessing. You might even call it a weird blessing because most of the time we call it...a burden.

God's creation is absolute amazing. He is the great God of wonders.

God’s beautiful woman spares no effort to provide the best she can for her beloved family.

Good people are always beautiful.

Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, In every gesture dignity and love.’ ” Looking at Roarke now, Morris managed a small smile. “Well said.

Grass is greener at other people’s feet because they watered it. You need not to let your environment control you; you have what it takes to make it look beautiful!

Great Lady !! with beautiful mind ...

Growing age can kill the beauty, not the style.

Happiness is a beautiful feeling. It is a beautiful mind, and a peaceful mind

Had it been possible for me to fix the plane permanently in the sky, to defy the winds and clouds and all the forces pushing it upward and pulling it earthward, I would have willingly done so. I would have stayed in my seat with my eyes closed, all strength and passion gone, my mind as quiescent as a coat rack under a forgotten hat, and I would have remained there, timeless, unmeasured, unjudged, bothering no one, suspended forever between my past and my future.

Happiness is in love, in service, and in beautiful memory.

Happiness is a beautiful smile.

Have a look around, my pretty, we are surrounded by Death in all forms – just the two of us are still alive –

Haven't you ever heard that modesty is an attractive trait?" "Only from ugly people," Jace confided. "The meek may inherit the earth, but at the moment it belongs to the conceited. Like me." He winked at the girls, who giggled and hid behind their hair.

Happiness makes people beautiful

Have intercourse with females, acquire wealth.

He’d lapped at her ankles like a lovesick pup, and she’d been exactly what she was now, a woman born too beautiful and too rich to worry about a small thing like integrity.

He continued to stare out the window. "I meant what I said before. You need to walk away, Pidge. God knows I can't walk away from you.

He didn't really care if they felt that way or not: he just needed them to say it, he needed to feel that something lay beneath their imperturbable calm, that somewhere within them ran a thin stream of quick, cool water, teeming with delicate lives, minnows and grasses and tiny white flowers, all tender and easily wounded and so vulnerable you couldn't see them without aching for them.

…he grabbed my hand again. That same warmth hit me, seeping into my skin. I bit my lip and forced myself not to relish in the tingling heat. Samuel’s eyes widened. Fangs erupted from his gums. His nostrils flared as he inhaled me.

He growled. The noise echoed through the area. Birds flew from the trees. They appeared like dark dots in the starry sky.

He fell as gently as a tree falls. There was not even any sound..

He had danced with fair maidens before, but Odette was different. She was graceful and beautiful, but there was something in her eyes and in the things she said, an intelligence and a boldness that belied her quiet demeanor.

He holds Willem so close that he can feel muscles from his back to his fingertips come alive, so close that he can feel Willem's heart beating against his, can feel his rib cage against his, and his stomach deflating and inflating with air. 'Harder,' Willem tells him, and he does until his arms grow first fatigued and then numb, until his body is sagging with tiredness, until he feels that he really is falling: first through the mattress, and then the bed frame, and then the floor itself, until he is sinking in slow motion through all the floors of the building, which yield and swallow him like jelly. Down he goes through the fifth floor, where Richard's family is now storing stacks of Moroccan tiles, down through the fourth floor, which is empty, down through Richard and India's apartment, and Richard's studio, and then to the ground floor, and into the pool, and then down and down, farther and farther, past the subway tunnels, past bedrock and silt, through underground lakes and oceans of oil, through layers of fossil and shale, until he is drifting into the fire at the earth's core. And the entire time, Willem is wrapped around him, and as they enter the fire, they aren't burned but melted into one being, their legs and chests and arms and heads fusing into one.

He laughed then. It was the first time I’d ever heard his laugh, a lovely dark sound that rippled through the air. “Well, that part definitely isn’t true.

He listened like a cactus drinks the rain.

He listened the way a cactus drinks rain—every word a precious drop in a world frugal with wonder.

He looked at me like I was the stars when all I’d ever felt like was the dark nothingness between them.

He looked at the boy with the knife to his throat, the boy whose black eyelashes feathered down against his cheekbones as he glanced away from Kit, and he felt something like a shock of recognition pass through him. He thought, how beautiful.

He kissed her gently on her neck and said, trying to sound as romantic as possible, ‘As beautiful as the stars might be tonight, they could never compare to your beauty.

He kissed me. He kissed me like a thousand promises were being exchanged through that one kiss.

HE LIKED TO COOK AND LAUGH AND SING, COULD START A FIRE WITH HIS HANDS, FIX THINGS THAT WERE BROKEN, AND EXPLAIN HOW TO LAUNCH THINGS INTO SPACE, BUT HE DIED WITHIN NINE MONTHS

He looked different in sleep, beautiful but cold as moonlight. I found myself wishing he would wake so that I might watch the life return.

He looked into her eyes and said "When everything falls apart, and the day my soul refuses to move any further, I'll come back home. A home that fills me with courage and love. My home neither has doors and nor windows, All it have is walls. The walls that beat every second. And it has a pair of eyes too. Through which I can see this world more beautifully than I ever did".

He looked different in sleep, beautiful but cold as moonlight.

Here, illuminated at last, Nestles the ruddy glint of spiritual certainty; Sweet moments of passion and healing, Of sensual release.

Her beauty effortlessly managed to arrest the pulse of each heart at the office and keep it in a dreamlike cage where she could have a look at each at her will and derive pleasure that, it had to be said, was a touch malicious in nature.

Here's the thing about Hazel: Almost everyone is obsessed with leaving a mark upon the world. Bequeathing a legacy. Outlasting death. We all want to be remembered. I do, too. That's what bothers me most, is being another unremembered casualty in the ancient and inglorious war against disease. I want to leave a mark. But Van Houten: The marks humans leave are too often scars. You build a hideous minimall or start a coup or try to become a rock star and you think, "They'll remember me now," but (a) they don't remember you, and (b) all you leave behind are more scars. Your coup becomes a dictatorship. Your minimall becomes a lesion. ... We are like a bunch of dogs squirting on fire hydrants. We poison the groundwater with our toxic piss, marking everything MINE in a ridiculous attempt to survive our deaths. I can't stop pissing on fire hydrants. I know it's silly and useless--epically useless in my current state--but I am an animal like any other. Hazel is different. She walks lightly, old man. She walks lightly upon the earth. Hazel knows the truth: We're as likely to hurt the universe as we are to help it, and we're not likely to do either. People will say it's sad that she leaves a lesser scar, that fewer remember her, that she was loved deeply but not widely. But it's not sad, Van Houten. It's triumphant. It's heroic. Isn't that the real heroism? Like the doctors say: First, do no harm. The real heroes anyway aren't the people doing things; the real heroes are the people NOTICING things, paying attention. The guy who invented the smallpox vaccine didn't actually invent anything. He just noticed that people with cowpox didn't get smallpox. ... But then I wanted more time so we could fall in love. I got my wish, I suppose. I left my scar. ... What else? She is so beautiful. You don't get tired of looking at her. You never worry if she is smarter than you: You know she is. She is funny without ever being mean. I love her. I am so lucky to love her, Van Houten. You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world, old man, but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices. I hope she likes hers.

Her freckles looked as if someone had blown cinnamon across her nose and high cheekbones.

Her heart is of a much harder material... A diamond. Beautiful, but deadly… And amid people with hearts of diamonds, it is best to remember that no one is exempt from their malevolence. Not even themselves.

Her jaw was firmly set, but her lips... her full, perfect lips were slightly parted in an expression that matched the vulnerability in her eyes -frightened yet determined. His heart skippeed a beat, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

Her hair is full of icy wind and daylight. She is every princess, every queen, in the history book.

Her voice was a hushed whisper against my ear. An audible smile.

Her smile so beautiful . Like the loveliest sunset ...