I have a pretty good memory, but memories are time beings, too, like cherry blossoms or ginkgo leaves; for a while they are beautiful, and then they fade and die.
It was a stark choice: shoes or food; beauty or sustenance; the sensible or the self-indulgent. "I'll take the shoes," she said firmly.
And a beautiful world we live in, when it is possible, and when many other such things are possible, and not only possible, but done-- done, see you!-- under that sky there, every day.
The sublime beauty was almost hidden withing the castle walls. She believed that the treasured things in life were often hard to find - a pearl in an oyster shell, a kind word in the heat of the moment.
Your understanding and interpretation of [a novel] is undoubtedly unique…and that is the real beauty of the relationship that joins readers, books and writers together in a literary trinity—a bookish triumvirate.
…there’s just something beautiful about walking on snow that nobody else has walked on. It makes you believe you’re special, even though you know you’re not.
Who says that fictions only and false hair Become a verse? Is there in truth no beauty? Is all good structure in a winding stair?
Most people tend to think the best of those who are blessed with beauty; we have difficulty imagining that physical perfection can conceal twisted emotions or a damaged mind.
All marriages were a consequence of security, tradition, money and beauty. Love was a chance, a lucky coincidence. Its existence was an after-thought, for more serious matters cemented marriage.
Because he tells me. All the fucking time. I’m precious to him and I know it because he shows me and he tells me. It’s beautiful. It’s real. It’s right.
In Indian society every institution – prayer, education, family, beauty, chastity and career – was a rung of the ladder of life, which had to be climbed to reach the top rung, marriage.
Whatever is destroyed, the act of destruction does not vary much. Beauty if vapour from the pit of death.
It is beautiful in a picture to wash the disciples’ feet; but the sands of the real desert have no lustre in them to compensate for the servile nature of the occupation.
Your back looks so pretty with my name written on it in those beautiful little welts. If you continue to be a good boy, I'll kiss them all better when I'm done.
Awareness is a gentle beauty. It hovers around me like a fairy, pointing to those things I would miss if I didn't look past the obvious and on the other side of busy.
This beautiful body, sweetness? It’s made for pleasure. It’s singing to me, telling me what it wants and needs. Those other idiots you were with weren’t fuckin listening.
There's that horrible-beautiful moment, that bitter-sweet impasse where you know that somebody is bullshitting you but they're doing it with such panache and conviction...no, it's because they say exactly what you want to hear, at that point in time.
Day, the boy from the streets with nothing except the clothes on his back and the earnestness in his eyes, owns my heart. He is beauty, inside and out. He is the silver lining in a world of darkness. He is my light.
I've never thought of describing her beauty as delicate, because delicate just isn't a word that fits June... but here, now that she's sick, I realize just how fragile she can be.
No lists of things to be done. The day providential to itself. The hour. There is no later. This is later. All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one's heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth in grief and ashes.
You can take your gold, but afterwards, things are, things are . There is less beauty in a rainbow, less meaning in a sermon, less joy in a kiss…Less.
