Quotes about Beauty

Night is beautiful when you are happy—comforting when you are in grief—terrible when you are lonely and unhappy.

It is a pity to gather wood-flowers. They lose half their witchery away from the green and the flicker. The way to enjoy wood-flowers is to track them down to their remote haunts—gloat over them—and then leave them with backward glances, taking with us only the beguiling memory of their grace and fragrance.

Folks say I'm good, he remarked whimsically upon one occasion, but I sometimes wish the Lord had made me only half as good and put the rest of it into looks. But there, I reckon He knew what He was about, as a good Captain should. Some of us have to be homely, or the purty ones—like Mistress Blythe here—wouldn't show up so well.

Death isn't terrible. The universe is full of love - and spring comes everywhere - and in death you open and shut a door. There are beautiful things on the other side of that door.

While the others chatted over their parcels Jean wrote her letter, and Jean could write delightful letters. She had a decided talent in that respect, and her correspondents all declared her letters to be things of beauty and joy forever.

Oh, isn't it good to be alive--like this? Wouldn't it be dreadful if one had never lived?

Outside in the garden, which was full of mellow sunset light streaming through the dark old firs to the west of it, stood Anne and Diana, gazing bashfully at each other over a clump of gorgeous tiger lilies.

she drank in the beauty of the summer dusk, sweet-scented with flower breaths from the garden below and sibilant and rustling from the stir of poplars. The eastern sky above the firs was flushed faintly pink from the reflection of the west, and Anne was wondering dreamily if the spirit of color looked like that

If one could only feel always like this, Pat had said once to Judy. All the little worries swallowed up...all the petty spites and fears and disappointments forgotten...just love and peace and beauty. Oh, oh, but what wud there be lift for heaven, girl dear? asked Judy.

Prose, rightly written and read, is sometimes as beautiful as poetry.

But, Felix, you may be sure that God is infinitely more beautiful and loving and tender and kind than anything we can imagine of Him. Never believe anything else, my boy.

The world looks like something God had just imagined for His own pleasure, doesn't it? Those trees look as if I could blow them away with a breath — pouf! I'm so glad I live in a world where there are white frosts, aren't you?