You know, I've always thought scars were beautiful. Really. They remind me of my Saviour. You know, without scars, Jesus would look like any other man. His scars proved his love for you and me. He became marred and disfigured by choice, because of hi...
Bea did not want a new mother. She'd hardly even seen the one she once had, except for glimpses out the window when her mother was climbing into a carriage to go off to a party. She'd been as beautiful as an angel, all sparkling and laughing in her l...
If there exist fortunate people, if from time to time the wild sun of joy soars towards foreign lands in a sweet whirling of ecstasy — then where are the words which might tell of this? And if in the world there exists a beauty for enchantment, the...
I didn’t want the person standing there, beside the bed, to have the same face I’d found so attractive at the airport. But you were there all right: the blue eyes, blondish hair, and tiny scar. Only you didn’t look beautiful this time. Just evi...
The girl danced like light on water. After I'd watched for a while I looked with all of me, not just my eyes, and then I saw the meaning of the dance. I wanted to stop looking because it was so sad, but I couldn't because it was so beautiful.
... I'll tell her about Tia. I'll tell her how beautiful she was and how brave. And I'll tell her the most important thing of all: that her mother loved her better than her life.
Buying flowers is not just a way to bring home beauty. It's an expression of confidence that better days are coming. It's a defiant finger in the face of those naysayers who would have you believe your fortunes will never improve.
You can only take steps toward the future you want. It's not guaranteed to be there. This is why you have to live inside each beautiful or terrible thing as it happens to you because the present may be all you've got. And if there's more ahead then t...
But it was not the note that counted so much as the writing of it. Just because it wouldn’t last forever out there didn’t mean it hadn’t existed. that’s why I was there. I was there for a moment. And because of a string of beautiful moments s...
During the last week of her father's life, Blanca stayed home with him. 'I didn't bathe. I didn't sleep. I sat in the bed with him in the living room. And we were communicating all the time. I kept thinking, and it's more beautiful in Spanish, but I ...
I get glimmers of the bad nineteenth-century teaching which has made Mother remove God from the realm of mystery and beauty and glory, but why do people half my age think that they don't have faith unless their faith is small and comprehensible and l...
Build a House for men and birds. Sit with them and play music. For a day, for just one day, talk about that which disturbs no one and bring some peace, my friend, into your beautiful eyes.
The real unforgivable acts are committed by calm men in beautiful green silk rooms, who deal death wholesale, by the shipload, without lust, without anger, or desire, or any redeeming emotion to excuse them but cold fear of some pretended future. But...
They lay on their heathery beds and listened to all the sounds of the night. They heard the little grunt of a hedgehog going by. They saw the flicker of bats overhead. They smelt the drifting scent of honeysuckle, and the delicious smell of wild thym...
Here, also, the future was cried aloud by the wind through the rocks, so that all those who heard would shiver, and then the liquid spring song of the thrush would make all the beauty of moonlight and sunlight blend together, making it true, so true,...
[She was] a creature full of eager, passionate longings for all that was beautiful and glad; thirsty for all knowledge; with an ear straining after dreamy music that died away and would not come near to her; with a blind unconscious yearning for some...
Her face looked ugly in the attempt to avoid tears; it was an ugliness which bound him to her more than any beauty could have done. It isn't being happy together, he thought as though it were a fresh discovery, that makes one love--it's being unhappy...
The purpose of writing is both to keep up with life and to run ahead of it. I am little comfort to myself, although I am the only comfort I have, excepting perhaps streets, clouds, the sun, the faces and voices of kids and the aged, and similar accid...
She could afford anything, she could give anything, but she could not share a moment of her life with anybody. She was a beautiful and a glamorous diamond with an astronomical price tag, but to a crude reality — she was still a stone, a living ston...
Life is messy. Grit and grace come at us fast, side by side. Sometimes the grit becomes overwhelming and diminishes our spirit. What’s good seems lost and gone forever. This is a story about the pathway back to what’s beautiful, when the way back...
...I wondered about the story we were writing and wanted even more to write a better story for myself, something that leaves a beautiful feeling even as the credits roll.
