Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem.
It is not beauty that endears, it’s love that makes us see beauty.[Не по хорошỳ мил, а по милỳ хорош.]
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.
Beauty of whatever kind in its supreme development invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.
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.
The beautiful word begets the beautiful deed.
All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow.[Все разнообразие, вся прелесть, вся красота жизни слагается из тени и света.]
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]
When a woman isn’t beautiful, people always say, ‘You have lovely eyes, you have lovely hair.’[Когда женщина некрасива, то ей говорят: «у вас прекрасные глаза, у вас прекрасные волосы»…]
What’s the point of truth or beauty or knowledge when the anthrax bombs are popping all around you?
