Beauty

This iceberg cuts its facets from within. Like jewelry from a grave it saves itself perpetually and adorns Only itself.

Icebergs behoove the soul (both being self-made from elements least visible) to see them so: fleshed, fair, erected, indivisible.

These palms are greater than Versailles, for no man made them.

Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.

California is an Italy without its art. There are subjects for the artist, but it is universally true that the only scenery which inspires utterance is that which man feels himself the master of. The mountains of California are so gigantic that they are not favorable to art or poetry. There are good poets in England but none in Switzerland. There the mountains are too high. Art cannot add to nature.

Oh better than the minting / Of a gold-crowned king / Is the safe-kept memory / Of a lovely thing.

Death has made His darkness beautiful with thee.

 

And the new plants, still awkward in their soil, The lovely diminutives. I could watch! I could watch! I saw the separateness of all things!

Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fring’d legend haunts about thy shape?

I do not know which to prefer,

The world is so full of a number of things,

Nothing can be pleasing which is not also becoming.

Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars, And all thy heart lies open unto me.

 

Beauty more than bitterness / Makes the heart break.

To love rightly is to love what is orderly and beautiful in an educated and disciplined way.

Too late came I to love thee, O thou Beauty both so ancient and so fresh, yea too late came I to love thee. And behold, thou wert within me, and I out of myself, where I made search for thee.

What do I care that you are good? Be beautiful! and be sad! 11

As you are woman, so be lovely: As you are lovely, so be various, Merciful as constant, constant as various, So be mine, as I yours for ever.

A thing of beauty is a joy forever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

He is a portion of the loveliness

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,

Love is of the beautiful, and therefore has not the beautiful. And the beautiful is the good, and therefore, in wanting and desiring the beautiful, love also wants and desires the good

Of life's two chief prizes, beauty and truth, I found the first in a loving heart and the second in a labourer’s hand.

Sweet is every sound, Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet; Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn, The moan of doves in immemorial elms, And murmuring of innumerable bees.