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    On the beach at night,
    Stands a child with her father,
    Watching the east, the autumn sky.
    Up through the darkness,
    While ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black masses spreading,
    Lower sullen and fast athwart and down the sky,
    Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east,
    Ascends large and calm the lord-star Jupiter,
    And nigh at hand, only a very little above,
    Swim the delicate sisters the Pleiades.
    From the beach the child holding the hand of her father,
    Those burial-clouds that lower victorious soon to devour all,
    Watching, silently weeps.
    Weep not, child,
    Weep not, my darling,
    With these kisses let me remove your tears,
    The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious,
    They shall not long possess the sky, they devour the stars only in apparition,
    Jupiter shall emerge, be patient, watch again another night,
    the Pleiades shall emerge,
    They are immortal, all those stars both silvery and golden shall shine out again,
    The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again, they endure,
    The vast immortal suns and the long-enduring pensive moons shall again shine.
    Then dearest child mournest thou only for jupiter?
    Considerest thou alone the burial of the stars?
    Something there is, (With my lips soothing thee, adding I whisper,
    I give thee the first suggestion, the problem and indirection,)
    Something there is more immortal even than the stars,
    (Many the burials, many the days and nights, passing away,)
    Something that shall endure longer even than lustrous Jupiter
    Longer than sun or any revolving satellite,
    Or the radiant sisters the Pleiades.

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Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It read more

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Beauty is power; a smile is its sword.

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Rare is the union of beauty and purity.

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A lovely being, scarcely formed or moulded,
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Oh she's nice, she's kind, innocent too. She's probably pretty, the right one for you. So just forget me: I'm read more

Oh she's nice, she's kind, innocent too. She's probably pretty, the right one for you. So just forget me: I'm only a friend. Though I'll be with you, until the end.

by Albert Camus Found in: Beauty Quotes,
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Beauty is the lover's gift.

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The ability to see beauty is the beginning of our moral sensibility. What we believe is beautiful we will not read more

The ability to see beauty is the beginning of our moral sensibility. What we believe is beautiful we will not want only destroy.

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We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that read more

We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.

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Beauty is ten, nine of which is dressing.

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