What you do, the way you think, makes you beautiful.
The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.
It is not beauty that endears, it’s love that makes us see beauty.
Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem.
There’s more beauty in the truth even if it is dreadful beauty.
The beauty of the world which is so soon to perish, has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder.
Beauty of whatever kind in its supreme development invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.
All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow.
You’re lovely, but you’re empty. One couldn’t die for you.[translation by Richard Howard]You are beautiful, but you are empty. One could not die for you.[translation by Katherine Woods]
What a strange illusion it is to suppose that beauty is goodness!
To love beauty is to see light.
To look almost pretty is an acquisition of higher delight to a girl who has been looking plain the first fifteen years of her life than a beauty from her cradle can ever receive.
