My work always tried to unite the true with the beautiful; but when I had to choose one or the other, I usually chose the beautiful.
No woman can be handsome by the force of features alone, any more that she can be witty by only the help of speech.
No; we have been as usual asking the wrong question. It does not matter a hoot what the mockingbird on the chimney is singing. The real and proper question is: Why is it beautiful?
Nothing can be beautiful which is not true.
Nothing is beautiful, only man: on this piece of naivete rests all aesthetics, it is the first truth of aesthetics. Let us immediately add its second: nothing is ugly but degenerate man — the domain of aesthetic judgment is therewith defined.
Nothing's beautiful from every point of view.
O, thou art fairer than the evening air clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.
One evening I sat Beauty on my knees –And I found her bitter –And I reviled her.
Personal beauty is a greater recommendation than any letter of reference.
Remember if you marry for beauty, thou bindest thyself all thy life for that which perchance, will neither last nor please thee one year: and when thou hast it, it will be to thee of no price at all.
Remember that the most beautiful things in the world are the most useless; peacocks and lilies, for instance.
Strange that the vanity which accompanies beauty –excusable, perhaps, when there is such great beauty, or at any rate understandable –should persist after the beauty was gone.
Sunsets are so beautiful that they almost seem as if we were looking through the gates of Heaven.
Taught from infancy that beauty is woman's scepter, the mind shapes itself to the body, and roaming round its gilt cage, only seeks to adorn its prison.
That which is striking and beautiful is not always good; but that which is good is always beautiful.
The average girl would rather have beauty than brains because she knows the average man can see much better than he can think.
The beautiful seems right by force of beauty, and the feeble wrong because of weakness.
The beauty myth moves for men as a mirage; its power lies in its ever-receding nature. When the gap is closed, the lover embraces only his own disillusion.
The beauty of stature is the only beauty of men.
The beauty seen, is partly in him who sees it.
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