Beautiful

No; we have been as usual asking the wrong question. It does not matter a hoot what the mockingbird on the chimney is singing. The real and proper question is: Why is it beautiful?

(Annie Dillard)

Looking back to my first excited, rainbow encounter with humming birds amid the vineyards of the Napa Valley in California, I wonder this. Does their absolute beauty lie in the fact that you can never fully see them? Just this amazing, darting, flashing spectrum of purest colour...All of that would be gone when the birds are dead.

I met a lady in the meads
Full beautiful, a faery's child
Her hair was long, her foot was light
And her eyes were wild.

(John Keats, from La Belle Dame Sans Merci)

Piccadilly was drunk, and philosophical.

»Beauty is no one's fault,« he said.

Frank didn't know what he meant.

»Am I beautiful?«

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Sometimes, the ugliest person on the outside is the most beautiful within.

I believe that everyone has at least one person in the world who thinks he/she is beautiful.

What is beautiful to me is more than what is beheld with the eye. The smell of rain is beautiful, the feeling of someone's arms around you, the taste of chocolate. The sun setting, the moon rising, the lilt of a song; are are very beautiful. Some are so to the sight, some are so to the nose, to the mouth and ear; but some are so to the heart. A beautiful heart is the greatest beauty there is.

Beauty is so easy. There are corporations that exist only to make sure that everything we see is beautiful, at least until after they have our credit card numbers. Fuck beauty... at least among the ugly, you still have a chance.

For me, beauty is the last dance as the walls are crumbling around you.