#beauty

Be born happy rather than beautiful. ↗

— Unknown_

#beauty

Hi I am Joseph Letzelter, “Beauty is power; a smile is its sword”; Laugh until your cheeks hurt; there is nothing worse than being ordinary; “A censor is a man who knows more than he thinks you ought to”. ↗

— Joseph Letzelter

#beauty

Without imagination, we merely see or hear, and even if we see or hear that the objects of the senses are beautiful, we cannot feel that they are so. The difference is this: in feeling the beauty of objects, we enjoy not only the common, shared pleasures of the senses, but also the private pleasures of the imagination, peculiar to ourselves, and such that we have to struggle to articulate them. ↗

— Mary Warnock

#imagination #beauty

Are you saying we're not ravish-worthy? ↗

— Libba Bray

#beauty

He is wearing he same black pants from yesterday, but no shirt, his body is brown and hard, perfectly proportioned. He knows that he is beautiful and somehow his makes him ugly. ↗

— Damon Galgut

#beauty

Let Sporus tremble — "What? that thing of silk, Sporus, that mere white curd of ass's milk? Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel? Who breaks a Butterfly upon a Wheel?" Yet let me flap this Bug with gilded wings, This painted Child of Dirt that stinks and stings; Whose Buzz the Witty and the Fair annoys, Yet Wit ne'er tastes, and Beauty ne'er enjoys, ↗

— Alexander Pope

#beauty

...she said that life was too precious to cast away; that even the foulest and meanest expression of life was precious, full of grandeur and inestimable beauty, although we are often too blind to recognize it. ↗

— Christi Phillips

#beauty

He died last year. He had endured that life for six years. He was found one morning on the mountainside lying quite peacefully as though he had died in his sleep. From where he lay he had been able to see those two great rocks called the Faraglioni which stand out of the sea. It was full moon and he must have gone to see them by moonlight. Perhaps he died of the beauty of that sight. ↗

— W. Somerset Maugham

#beauty

All in a moment Hurlow forgot the beauty of the sounds and smelt fear. He smelt it as an animal smells it, the breath cold in his nostrils. He had read about Pan, a dead god who might safely be patronized while poring over a book in a London lodging, but here and at this hour a god not to be scorned. ("Furze Hollow") ↗

— A.M. Burrage

#pan #beauty

The sun, sides bulging, squashed itself between two hills. It sent up a flare of golden light. The sky, patterned with a million tiny clouds like fish scales was illuminated. ↗

— Karen Foxlee

#beauty