beautiful

The perfect orchestration of the symphony of life is one of the Creator's greatest and most beautiful miracles.

Write about the beauties of life to create a beautiful society.

We stood, separated by space, certainly, in identical conditions of pleasant uncertainty and anticipation, and we both held our heart in our hands, all pink and palpitating and ready for pleasure and pain, and we were about to throw these hearts in each other's faces like snowballs, or cricket balls (How's that?) or, more accurately, like great bleeding wounds: "Take my wound". Because the last thing one ever thinks at such moments is that he (or she) will say: Take my wound, please remove the spear from my side. No, not at all; one simply expects to get rid of one's one.

It's not my responsibility to be beautiful. I'm not alive for that purpose. My existence is not about how desirable you find me.

Gina was beautiful like a sunset. You see it and you think of how beautiful it is, and then it__ over and you move on. But Trista was beautiful like a song. The kind of song you play over and over and never get sick of hearing. The kind of song he wanted to write for her, but he knew he would never be able to string together the right combination of notes to show her how he really felt.

Fate was a reality, but it wasn__ a beautiful or angelic thing. It was a heart-wrenching nightmare. And we__ fallen blindly into it. We had no escape. It was happening, and it was up to me to guarantee our survival of it. (Eric)

Sometimes I still feel that there are two of me: one clean, flawless picture, the other imperfect and cracked; one boy, one girl; one voice that speaks aloud and one that whispers in my ear; one publicly known to have been troubled but be on the mend, the other who has privately lost something to do with innocence and gained something to do with knowledge and adulthood that can never be undone. I feel sometimes there are things that tear me in two directions, that there are two sets of thoughts that grow side by side. But then I realize that I am whole, whatever that means and does not mean; I am complete without the need for additions or alteration.

A bad thing happened to you kids, Dad said. But it could have been worse.So much worse, Mom said.But because of you kids, Dad said, it wasn't.You did so good, Mom said.Did beautiful, Dad said.

Children need to know that the things that make them vastly different from one another are the very things that make them beautifully special.

Mum bought me _ite for my sixth birthday. It was beautiful. Snowy white with long tail of ribbons. Sheheld the string, and I ran and ran as fast as I _ould, but it kept dropping to clumsy heap on the ground. When I gottired Mum took over, holding it high above her head and running and running until, all at once, _udden wonderful gust of wind took the kite soaring high, high into the sky, so I had to squint to see it.__old on, Rosie!_ Mum had called. __old tight!_ And _ did, gripping the string with all my might as the kite danced high up above, gleaming bright whiteagainst the blue sky, its ribbons sparkling in the sunlight as it flew, soaring and dipping like _ird, forever pulling at the string in my hand __igher, higher _ tugging to getfree. Then I let go.The string snapped from my grip and was gone. Mum raced after it,but it was too fast,soaring up,up and away, higher than the trees. She scooped me up in _ug and told me it was all right, she'd buy me another one. But I didn't want another one. That was my kite,andit was free. I__ let it go.It__ wanted so much to be free that I just couldn't hold on, couldn__ hold it down. I smiled as I watched it whirl away _ above the trees, above the birds, above the clouds, sparkling into the heavens, dancing free. It was the most beautiful thing I _ave ever seen.

Children with autism are colourful - they are often very beautiful and, like the rainbow, they stand out.

You're bigger than I remember," she said stupidly."You too," he said. "I also remember that you were beautiful.""Memory does play tricks on us.""No. Your face is the same, but I don't remember what beautiful means anymore. Come on. Let's go out into the lake.

As adults we get so entrapped in illusions and trivia, that we forget the true essence of life; and so often we need to connect with children, to understand that it is the little, priceless joys that make life beautiful and worthy.

Oh, he did look like a deity _ the perfect balance of danger and charm, he was at the same time fascinating and inaccessible, distant because of his demonstrated flawlessness, and possessing such strength of character that he was dismaying and at the same time utterly attractive in an enticing and forbidden way.

From time to time I try to imagine this world of which he spoke--a culture in whose mythology words might be that precious, in which words were conceived as vessels for communications from the heart; a society in which words are holy, and the challenge of life is based upon the quest for gentle words, holy words, gentle truths, holy truths. I try to imagine for myself a world in which the words one gives one's children are the shell into which they shall grow, so one chooses one's words carefully, like precious gifts, like magnificent gifts, like magnificent inheritances, for they convey an excess of what we have imagined, they bear gifts beyond imagination, they reveal and revisit the wealth of history. How carefully, how slowly, and how lovingly we might step into our expectations of each other in such a world.

In modern times, beauty is more trusted than goodness.

The primary feature of women is not a 'beauty', it's a 'mystery'.

We too can repair our cracks with goldAnd glow again.Crazed by life,More beautiful than ever before.