Best Her Beauty Quotes

For every beauty there is an eye somewhere to see it. For every truth there is an ear somewhere to hear it. For every love there is a heart somewhere to receive it.

It’s beauty that captures your attention. Personality which captures your heart.

For every love there is a heart somewhere to receive it.

True beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul.

What the public expects to encounter in an actress passed 70 is the sum of her experience, not her beauty.

Never once does Snow White herself look in the mirror so she isn’t aware of her beauty or what apparently that does to people. It’s really just the queen and the prince that talk about it.

A real feminist doesn’t apologize for her beauty. You can be a sexy, beautiful woman and be the smartest person in the room.

You don’t really know how beautiful a girl is, until you meet her, all her beauty is in her personality.

When I was a seminarian, I was dazzled by a girl I met at an uncle’s wedding. I was surprised by her beauty, her intellectual brilliance… and, well, I was bowled over for quite a while.

Our poor eyes were so enriched as to behold, and our low hearts so exalted as to love, a maid who is such, that as the greatest thing the world can show is her beauty, so the least thing that may be praised in her is her beauty.

But what happens when her beauty is torn from her like a cover from a book? Will he care to read her then, although her pages speak of nothing but love for him?

If a pretty woman only knew how anger improved her beauty! Her complexion needs no other paint than indignation.

In her beauty rests (both) my death and my life.

Wisdom requires no form; her beauty must vary, as varies the beauty of flame. She is no motionless goddess, for ever couched on her throne.

Only her tight, tight eyes were left. They were always left…They were everything. Everything was there, in them…Thrown, in this way, into the binding conviction that only a miracle could relieve her, she would never know her beauty. She would see only what there was to see: the eyes of other people.

The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,The humble sheep a threat’ning horn:While the Lily white shall in love delight,Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.

Show me a mistress that is passing fair, what doth her beauty serve but as a note where I may read who pass’d that passing fair?

I love her beauty, but I fear her mind.

It has always been preferable to attribute a woman’s success to her beauty rather than to her brains, to reduce her to the sum of her sex life.

Her lips are roses over-washed with dew, Or like the purple of Narcissus’ flower; No frost their fair, no wind doth waste their power, But by her breath her beauties to renew.

Her beauty might fascinate men, but it was difficult to charm them when she stood mute. . . .

Her beauty cannot be measured with standards of a colonized mind

And yet he had loved her. A Bookish girl heedless of her beauty, unconscious of her effect. She’d been prepared to live her life alone but from the moment he’d known her he’d needed her.

My mother was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. There are moments when I remember her beauty, unadorned, unposed, not in some artificial place like a set or a photo call but rather captured outdoors in nature, where she took my breath away. When those moments surface, I miss her the most.

Like most good looking women, she was never sure of her beauty, and had to keep checking on it, to make sure it was still there.

She ‘s adorned Amply that in her husband’s eye looks lovely,- The truest mirror that an honest wife Can see her beauty in.

By the care she lavishes on her toilet, by the concern she has for her beauty set off by her adornment, a woman regards herself as an object always trying to attract men’s attention.

Duende I can’t remember her name. It’s not as though I’ve been in bed with that many women. The truth is I can’t even remember her face. I kind of know how strong her thighs were, and her beauty. But what I won’t forget is the way she tore open the barbecued chicken with her hands, and wiped the grease on her breasts.

Most men, it seems to me, do not care for Nature and would sell their share in all her beauty, as long as they may live, for a stated sum – many for a glass of rum. Thank God, men cannot as yet fly, and lay waste the sky as well as the earth!

The elms of New England! They are as much a part of her beauty as the columns of the Parthenon were the glory of its architecture.

What better comfort have we, or what other Profit in living Than to feed, sobered by the truth of Nature, Awhile upon her beauty, And hand her torch of gladness to the ages Following after?

Nothing’s beautiful from every point of view.

Children, dear and loving children, can alone console a woman for the loss of her beauty.

A woman beautiful facially can negate all her beauty by no longer being feminine.

Let no man value at a little price A virtuous woman’s counsel; her winged spirit Is feathered often times with heavenly words, And, like her beauty, ravishing and pure.