Best 11119 quotes in «beautiful quotes» category

Morning came in through the blinds cutting everything into ribbons.

Morning is sweet and always like a beautiful women, evening always shines like a man.

…more than a half million books, all of them smelling like dust and ink, two terrible smells that blend mystically to make something beautiful. Powells is another church to me, a paperback sort of heaven.

Most of the time you can't see how truly beautiful you are, but everyone else can. So stop worrying and enjoy your existence.

Most people do not know at all how beautiful the world is and how much magnificence is revealed in the tiniest things, in some flower, in a stone, in tree bark, or in a birch leaf. (Letters on Life)

Mother Nature is capable of the most beautiful things and the most destructive forces.

Mumbai is the sweet, sweaty smell of hope, which is the opposite of hate; and it's the sour, stifled smell of greed, which is the opposite of love. It's the smell of Gods, demons, empires, and civilizations in resurrection and decay. Its the blue skin-smell of the sea, no matter where you are in the island city, and the blood metal smell of machines. It smells of the stir and sleep and the waste of sixty million animals, more than half of them humans and rats. It smells of heartbreak, and the struggle to live, and of the crucial failures and love that produces courage. It smells of ten thousand restaurants, five thousand temples, shrines, churches and mosques, and of hunderd bazaar devoted exclusively to perfume, spices, incense, and freshly cut flowers. That smell, above all things - is that what welcomes me and tells me that I have come home. Then there were people. Assamese, Jats, and Punjabis; people from Rajasthan, Bengal, and Tamil Nadu; from Pushkar, Cochin, and Konark; warrior caste, Brahmin, and untouchable; Hindi, Muslim, Christian, Buddhist, Jain, Parsee, Animist; fair skin and dark, green eyes and golden brown and black; every different face and form of that extravagant variety, that incoparable beauty, India.

My beauty is my eccentricity, when I am out people stare at me and speak, look at that creative guy, unique guy, different guy.

My beautiful " Bim" as they call you, East of the West Indies,all166 square miles, This is where my beauty lies.

My breath catches in my throat as a chill makes me shiver, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. My eyes latch on to his, pleading with him to kiss me.

My Dear Friend, Don't ever allow yourself to forget how incredibly special you are, even for a single second. Without you, the world would not be as magnificent. Let yourself remember to love again, starting with you loving you.

...my desire for him exploded into a great hunger. I was dizzy with it.

My expectations for the future? A beautiful past.

My heart beats for you and the most precious and beautifully fated life we share together.

My heart’s been empty since you left - but still I refuse to put up a vacancy sign. I’m just not ready for anybody else to move in yet.

My heart's been broken in a thousand pieces I've lived and died a thousand times And in each of those lifetimes With all of those pieces I chose you… A million times.

My life: under construction, but beautiful.

Nature is nature.

My love, my love, is a flame in the dark covered in glass. So glowingly beautiful to others on the outside, while slowly suffocating inside.

My patience finally snapped. “This is ridiculous.” I swept her up and swung her over my shoulder, her bare feet dangling in front of me. Tinkling laughter filled the room. “What are you doing?” I tossed her onto the bed. Her fire-red hair sprawled over the pillow. My siren smiled up at me. “Getting comfortable,” I said. Echo blinked and raw hunger replaced the laughter that danced in her eyes moments before. Her delicate fingers glided up my arm, exciting every cell. “You don’t look very comfortable.” The sultry tone caused something deep within me to stir. I swallowed, attempting to push away the unexpected flutter of nerves in my stomach. “Echo …” My heart swelled, causing my chest to ache and breathing to become nearly impossible. Paralyzed by her beauty, I hovered over her. She was no nymph, but a goddess. Her hands continued their burning climb up my arm and onto my chest. Bold moves for her. Echo’s breasts rose and fell at a faster rate. “I want to stay with you tonight.” I sucked in a breath as her fingers trailed down the indentations of my chest muscles and willed her to continue as they made their slow descent. Caressing the warm redness forming on her cheek, I sank onto the bed beside her. “Are you sure?” “Yes.”

My Universe, crashing into yours, was the most beautiful accident this creation had ever witnessed.

Nature is powerful and beautiful, Nature is destructive and creative, Nature is amazing and wonderful, Nature is loving and graceful.

Nessa had never really felt truly beautiful before, but tonight she not only understood that she was beautiful, she understood that everyone was. That for all the competition and fear and knowing that the next runner was coming up behind you, she had been missing out on how beautiful life could be. She should have been watching and appreciating others instead of waiting inside herself for the right time to shine. The time was now.

My soule, poore soule thou talkes of things/ Thou knowest not what, my soule hath sliver wings,/ That mounts me up unto the highest heavens.

Naming something beautiful made it so. I'd seen this in the way the church spoke of marriage as a sacred institution and in the one man plus one woman bumper stickers people sported on their vehicles. The same ones my father would hand to any customer passing through his dealership service department. Naming something ugly had a similar effect. The sound of my mother's vomiting the night she drove me home had taught me this lesson better than anything else ever had. I was gay, had been named as such, a fact that once ingested had to be immediately expelled.

Never believe the beautiful. Trust me on this.

Never forget that all these people are primarily a visual people. They are designers, window dressers, models, photographers, graphic artists. They design the windows at Saks. Do you understand? They are a visual people, and they value the eye, and their sins, as Saint Augustine said, are the sins of the eye. And being people who live on the surface of the eye, they cannot be expected to have minds or hearts. It sounds absurd but it’s that simple. Everything is beautiful here, and that is all it is: beautiful. Do not expect anything else, do not expect nourishment for anything but your eye—and you will handle it all beautifully. You will know exactly what you are dealing with.

Never look back. The past is done. The future is a blank canvas. Work on creating a masterpiece. Only you have the power to make your painting beautiful.

New York was always so beautiful in the very crux of parting with it.

Never settle for an ordinary lover, never settle for less than you deserve, you are so worthy of being loved so passionately and madly. You deserve to be loved as whole with all your imperfections and flaws, you deserve someone who puts you first as if you were the only thing that matters, you deserve someone who will always choose to stay when you are on your lowest and you deserve someone who will always choose to love you even when you are not so lovable..

Nieva sobre Edimburgo el 16 de abril de 1874. Un frío gélido azota la ciudad. Los viejos especulan que podría tratarse del día más frío de la historia. Diríase que el sol ha desaparecido para siempre. El viento es cortante; los copos de nieve son más ligeros que el aire. ¡Blanco! ¡Blanco! ¡Blanco! Explosión sorda. No se ve más que eso. Las casas parecen locomotoras de vapor, sus chimeneas desprenden un humo grisáceo que hace crepitar el cielo de acero. Las pequeñas callejuelas de Edimburgo se metamorfosean. Las fuentes se transforman en jarrones helados que sujetan ramilletes de hielo. El viejo río se ha disfrazado de lago de azúcar glaseado y se extiende hasta el mar. Las olas resuenan como cristales rotos. La escarcha cae cubriendo de lentejuelas a los gatos. Los árboles parecen grandes hadas que visten camisón blanco, estiran sus ramas, bostezan a la luna y observan cómo derrapan los coches de caballos sobre los adoquines. El frío es tan intenso que los pájaros se congelan en pleno vuelo antes de caer estrellados contra el suelo. El sonido que emiten al fallecer es dulce, a pesar de que se trata del ruido de la muerte. Es el día más frío de la historia. Y hoy es el día de mi nacimiento. […] Fuera nieva con auténtica ferocidad. La hiedra plateada trepa hasta esconderse bajo los tejados. Las rosas translúcidas se inclinan hacia las ventanas, sonrojando las avenidas, los gatos se transforman en gárgolas, con las garras afiladas. En el río, los peces se detienen con una mueca de sorpresa. Todo el mundo está encantado por la mano de un soplador de vidrio que congela la ciudad, expirando un frío que mordisquea las orejas. En escasos segundos, los pocos valientes que salen al exterior se encuentran paralizados, como si un dios cualquiera acabara de tomarles una foto. Los transeúntes, llevados por el impulso de su trote, se deslizan por el hielo a modo de baile. Son figuras hermosas, cada una en su estilo, ángeles retorcidos con bufandas suspendidas en el aire, bailarinas de caja de música en sus compases finales, perdiendo velocidad al ritmo de su ultimísimo suspiro. Por todas partes, paseantes congelados o en proceso de estarlo se quedan atrapados. Solo los relojes siguen haciendo batir el corazón de la ciudad como si nada ocurriera.

No beautiful face can have serious intellectual expression. ‘Beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins. Intellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face. The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid’, as accurately describes Oscar Wilde in his ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’. That is why you are unlikely to ever meet a beautiful intellectual woman; whenever she is beautiful, she is not so intellectual, and vice versa, when she is intellectual, she is not so beautiful.

No matter how furious and wild a wave is, it will always be beautiful and captivating. The same goes for her.

No living thing is ugly in this world. Even a tarantula considers itself beautiful

No matter how beautiful a house is, without a solid foundation, it is all in vain.

No matter how beautiful a rose is it must still grow in dirt.

No matter how much the woman is beautiful, she will lose her womanhood if she is dumb, arrogant or liar.

No man sings as beautifully as when his song is accompanied by a woman’s voice.

No matter how hard your struggles to find a Beautiful World,since you have an unbridled mind to Travel,a pair of wings to fly.

No matter who’s looking at you, love, honesty, and kindness will always make you beautiful!

No more things should be presumed to exist than are absolutely necessary

No one leaves this hidden treasure, Feeling the same way they came, They always refer their friends to this Gem, This island with a beautiful name, My beautiful “Bim”—Barbados

No one could have imagined a place like Havana, Cuba. It is absurdly contradictory, always arguing with itself over whether it is audacious or meek, heroic or stupid, beautiful or abhorrent.

Not even a flower knows it's beauty.

Not a sound, but a sort of silence, a faint hum like the space between note and note in a song.

Not every sketch needs to be colored in order to be beautiful.

Not for the first time, I wonder what it would feel like that, to be so beautiful that you don't even realize people are watching you, to be so confident that you don't even have to worry about being nervous or feeling self-conscious. I've spent my whole life trying to pretend I'm that way. What would it be like to have it just come naturally?

Nothing has changed, except everything.

Not forever, Tessa thought. They had a long, long time. A lifetime. His lifetime. And she would lose him one day, as she had lost Will, and her heart would break, as it had broken before. And she would put herself back together and go on, because the memory of having had Jem would be better than never having had him at all.

Now he told me again as I stared up into the night, the stars switching on, disintegrating the sky into glitter, a dark body slowly consumed with light.