Italia! O Italia! thou who hast The fatal gift of beauty, which became A funeral dower of present woes and past, On thy sweet brow is sorrow plough'd by shame, And annals graved in characters of flame. [It., Italia, Italia, O tu cui feo la sorte, Dono infelice di bellezza, ond' hai Funesta dote d'infiniti guai Che in fronte scritti per gran doglia porte.]
Nay, tarry a moment, my charming girl; Here is a jewel of gold and pearl; A beautiful cross it is I ween As ever on beauty's breast was seen; There's nothing at all but love to pay; Take it and wear it, but only stay! Ah! Sir Hunter, what excellent taste! I'm not--in such--particular--haste.
I see, the jewel best enamelled Will lose his beauty; yet the gold bides still That others touch, and often touching will Wear gold; and no man that hath a name, By falsehood and corruption doth it shame.
And these are joys, like beauty, but skin deep.
A special kind of beauty exists which is born in language, of language, and for language.
What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare. No time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long as sheep or cows. No time to see, when woods we pass, Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass. No time to see, in broad daylight, Streams full of stars, like skies at night. No time to turn at Beauty's glance, And watch her feet, how they can dance. No time to wait till her mouth can Enrich that smile her eyes began. A poor life this if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare.
Beauty is in the eye of the beerholder.
When the waves are round me breaking,As I pace the deck alone,And my eye in vain is seekingSome green leaf to rest upon;What would not I give to wanderWhere my old companions dwell?Absence makes the heart grow fonder,Isle of Beauty, fare thee well! - Paradise Lost.
Beauty is but a flower,Which wrinkles will devour;Brightness falls from the air;Queens have died young and fair;Dust hath closed Helen's eye.I am sick, I must die;Lord have mercy on us. - Song in Time of Pestilence.
"There beauty half her glory veils, In cabs, those gondolas on wheels."
Ask not of me, love, what is love? Ask what is good of God above; Ask of the great sum what is light; Ask what is darkness of the night; Ask sin of what may be forgiven; Ask what is happiness of heaven; Ask what is folly of the crowd; Ask what is fashion of the shroud; Ask what is sweetness of thy kiss; Ask of thyself what beauty is.
Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.
Information is not knowledge, knowledge is not wisdom, wisdom is not truth, truth is not beauty, beauty is not love. -Unknown love quote.
The most wonderful of all things in life, I believe, is the discovery of another human being with whom one's relationship has a glowing depth, beauty, and joy as the years increase. This inner progressiveness of love between two human beings is a most marvelous thing, it cannot be found by looking for it or by passionately wishing for it. It is a sort of Divine accident. -Sir Hugh Walpoe.
This flower that first appeared as summer's guest Preserves her beauty 'mid autumnal leaves And to her mournful habits fondly cleaves.
There never was such beauty in another man. Nature made him, and then broke the mould. [Fr., Non e un si bello in tante altre persone, Natura il fece, e poi roppa la stampa.]
It's not beauty but fine qualities, my girl, that keep a husband.
Sexiness wears thin after a while and beauty fades, but to be married to a man who makes you laugh every day, ah, now that's a real treat.
As for everything else, so for a mathematical theory: beauty can be perceived but not explained.
Mathematics, rightly viewed, possesses not only truth, but supreme beauty--a beauty cold and austere, like that of sculpture.
There's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last of December.
But now will canker sorrow eat my bud And chase the native beauty from his cheek, And he will look as hollow as a ghost, As dim and meagre as an ague's fit, And so he'll die; and rising so again, When I shall meet him in the court of heaven I shall not know him.
Ugliness is in a way superior to beauty because it lasts.
Beauty is the wisdom of women. Wisdom is the beauty of men.
A bachelor never quite gets over the idea that he is a thing of beauty and a boy forever.