If you look round Hollywood there’s no end of white smiles and six packs. Long lines of beautiful people lining up to be incredible on film.
Beauty is the only thing that time cannot harm. Philosophies fall away like sand, and creeds follow one another like the withered leaves of autumn; but what is beautiful is a joy for all seasons and a possession for all eternity.
The beautiful has but one type, the ugly has a thousand.[Le beau n’a qu’un type; le laid en a mille.]
Beauty is unbearable, drives us to despair, offering us for a minute the glimpse of an eternity that we should like to stretch out over the whole of time.[La beauté est insupportable. Elle nous desespere, éternité d’une minute que nous voudrions pourtant étirer tout le long du temps.]
At some point in life the world’s beauty becomes enough. You don’t need to photograph, paint, or even remember it. It is enough.
Youth is happy, because it has the ability to see beauty. When this ability is lost, wretched old age begins, decay, unhappiness.
We turn our back on nature, we are ashamed of beauty. Our miserable tragedies have the smell of an office, and their blood is the color of dirty ink.[Nous tournons le dos à la nature, nous avons honte de la beauté. Nos misérables tragédies traînent une odeur de bureau et le sang dont elles ruissellent a couleur d’encre grasse.]