Beauty is one of the rare things that do not lead to doubt of God.
It has been said that a pretty face is a passport. But it’s not; it’s a visa, and it runs out fast.
All God’s children are not beautiful. Most of God’s children are, in fact, barely presentable.
Nothing ruins a face so fast as double-dealing. Your face telling one story to the world. Your heart yanking your face to pieces, trying to let the truth be known.
Time engraves our faces with all the tears we have not shed.
Was she so loved because her eyes were so beautiful, or were her eyes so beautiful because she was so loved?
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.
Beauty is indeed a good gift of God; but that the good may not think it is a great good, God dispenses it even to the wicked.
A man finds room in the few square inches of the face for the traits of all his ancestors; for the expression of all his history, and his wants.
A face that has the marks of having lived intensely, that expresses some phase of life, some dominant quality or intellectual power, constitutes for me an interesting face. For this reason, the face of an older person, perhaps not beautiful in the strictest sense, is usually more appealing than the face of a younger person who has scarcely been touched by life.
At fifty, everyone has the face he deserves.
To seek after beauty as an end is a wild goose chase, a will-o’-the-wisp, because it is to misunderstand the very nature of beauty, which is the normal condition of a thing being as it should be.
I’m tired of all this nonsense about beauty being only skin-deep. That’s deep enough. What do you want — an adorable pancreas?
The most winning woman I ever knew was hanged for poisoning three little children for their insurance money, and the most repellent man of my acquaintance is a philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a million upon the London poor.
Cure yourself of the affliction of caring how you appear to others. Concern yourself only with how you appear before God, concern yourself only with the idea God may have of you.
Beauty is an ecstasy; it is as simple as hunger. There is really nothing to be said about it. It is like the perfume of the rose: you can smell it and that is all.
Death is patiently making my mask as I sleep. Each morning I awake to discover in the corners of my eyes the small tears of his wax.
