Best 11119 quotes in «beautiful quotes» category

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

…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 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 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 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 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 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 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.

He raised himself on his hands and looked at Irene's face: the nudity of that feminine body had risen into her face, the body had reabsorbed it, as nature reabsorbs forsaken gardens.

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.

Here's the beautiful lady with the beer.

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

Here’s to all the strong women out there! Who stand up for themselves and face the world with a heart of soldier. Here’s to all the passionate women out there! Who won’t let the world stop them from achieving their dreams and doing the things they love. Here’s to all the independent women out there! Who have been there for themselves and show that they can. Here’s to all the unbreakable women out there! Who have been knocked down for countless times but they find a way to rise and stand up again. Here’s to all the women in this world You are beautiful, you are worthy, and no one has the power to dim your light ….

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 [Odette's] eyes were beautiful, but so large they seemed to droop beneath their own weight, strained the rest of her face and always made her appear unwell or in a bad mood.

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 heart is like a singing bird , Whose nest is in a water'd shoot ...

Her sadness makes her impossibly beautiful, like snow blanketing a barren landscape.

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

her smile was as beautiful as the only star in a dark night...

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

He sat there looking at her smiling and laughing, watching her hair fall over her eyes and she setting it back behind her ear. He turned away bowed his head down and smiled himself looking back at the sky.

He's beautiful. Not specifically to look at, but to be with.

He stood and stepped up behind her. Why not? It's the truth. I like spending time with you. You're strong, beautiful and brave. What more could a man ask for?

He's my father!" she bellowed, pointing to Trevanion. "Vestie!" Beatriss said firmly, stopping to stare up at her. "I'll snip at the tongue if I ever see it in such a way again! Trevanion, speak to her." Vestie hung her head, shamefaced. "Vestie," he said, his voice still gentle. "Yes, Father." "Shout it out louder, my love. Shout it out louder.

He simply translated what was in LuLing's heart: her better intentions, her hopes.

He saw her right after the seventh-period bell rang. She seemed dressed for the sole purpose of blending in with the lockers, but she stood out, anyway. It didn’t matter that her wide blue eyes were narrowed or that her pretty mouth was twisted into a near snarl — she was blatantly beautiful. It was kind of sick the way Ed was preoccupied with beautiful girls these days. He felt a little sorry for her. (He was also preoccupied with finding ways of feeling sorry for people.) She was new and trying hard not to look it. She was confused and trying to look tough. It was endearing is what it was.

he said this turning his strong body to face the beautiful, stunning, breathtaking, astonishing, bewildering girl who was a princess and his one true love, Eodwyn. she had hair like raven wings and skin like snow that the dogs haven’t peed on yet and cheeks like cherry blossoms and eyes like a magnificent summer sky.

He swallowed nervously, but in a schoolboy crush kind of way. She was so beautiful. He had been admiring her beauty for the past few days, but it never seemed right to act on it. Somehow, things felt more normal being in his home. It was like the past few days were just a crazy nightmare that had finally ended, except it didn’t. It was only on hold for a while, but it was long enough to act on his feelings. He wanted this woman badly. Everything about her was absolutely perfect!

He tells her that she’s beautiful. She has never heard that before, though she has sometimes privately suspected it of herself, but it feels different to hear it from another person.

He was beautiful and still is, we just couldn’t flow within the same constellation.

He was sort of beautiful. In his own dark, depressing way, but still. She was going to miss that stupid fucking beautiful face.

He was fine; he, that orphan that foundling that outcast; he felt himself august and strong; he looked full in the face that society from which he was banished, and into which he had so powerfully intervened; that human justice from which he had snatched its prey; all those tigers whose jaws perforce remained empty; those myrmidons, those judges, those executioners, all that royal power which he, poor, insignificant being, had foiled with the power of God.

He who knows everything about the future must surely be a cursed person! Because life is beautiful if you do not know what life will bring you!

Hey, Beautiful… There is room for all that you are and everything you have to offer our world. Share yourself.

...he walked up and down through life.