My father says that there is only one perfect view — the view of the sky straight over our heads, and that all these views on earth are but bungled copies of it.

Scoundrels [...] simply don't die. The ones who die are always the gentle, sweet, and beautiful people. [...] Scoundrels live a long time. The beautiful die young.

Sometimes the beauty of something is created by time and experiences, and those things are often more precious to those who look hard enough, and value the burnishings.

She is not fair to outward viewAs many maidens be;Her loveliness I never knewUntil she smiled on me.Oh! then I saw her eye was bright,A well of love, a spring of light.

there is no universal rule for beauty. If we must speak of rules in this respect, we mustn’t be surprised to find as many rules as there are people in this world!

The mystery which underlies the beauty of women is never raised above the reach of all expression until it has claimed kindred with the deeper mystery in our own souls.

It creates, without itself fulfilling, the aspiration for enduring certitude. It comes to us, with no work of our own; then leaves us prepared to undergo a giant labor.

There is beauty that soothes like the warm kiss of the spring sun upon the cheek, and then there is beauty that terrifies, like the cry of Ozymandias, inviting despair.

If I told you I love you nowHow many seconds would it takeHow long would you allowAll that I am to breakI turn awayBefore you can seeHow badly I need you to stayWith me

Beauty comes from a life well lived. If you've lived well, your smile lines are in the right places, and your frown lines aren't too bad, what more do you need?

There is something perfect to be found in the imperfect: the law keeps balance through the juxtaposition of beauty, which gains perfection through nurtured imperfection.

Beauty and love pass, I know... Oh, there's sadness, too. I suppose all great happiness is a little sad. Beauty means the scent of roses and then the death of roses-

She never knew when she trespassed and when she fell in love with Huzaf. Perhaps this is the beauty of love, it doesn't knock. It just creeps in slowly and steadily.

We wear on our faces the results of what we believe and how we behave, and such behavior is most evident in the eyes and on the faces of those who have lived many years.

There is nothing more rare not more beautiful than a woman being unapologetically herself; comfortable in her perfect imperfection To me hat is the true essence of beauty