Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.

Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.

I have read in Plato and Cicero sayings that are wise and very beautiful; but I have never read in read more

I have read in Plato and Cicero sayings that are wise and very beautiful; but I have never read in either of them: Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden.

Ye Gods! but she is wondrous fair!
For me her constant flame appears;
The garland she hath read more

Ye Gods! but she is wondrous fair!
For me her constant flame appears;
The garland she hath culled, I wear
On brows bald since my thirty years.
Ye veils that deck my loved one rare,
Fall, for the crowning triumph's nigh.
Ye Gods! but she is wondrous fair!
And I, so plain a man am I!

Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow
Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth;
Her eyebrow's read more

Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow
Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth;
Her eyebrow's shape was like the aerial bow,
Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth,
Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow,
As if her veins ran lightning.

Beauty is the lover's gift.

Beauty is the lover's gift.

Her gentle limbs did she undress,
And lay down in her loveliness.

Her gentle limbs did she undress,
And lay down in her loveliness.

Rare is the union of beauty and purity.

Rare is the union of beauty and purity.

You can take no credit for beauty at sixteen. But if you are beautiful at sixty, it will be your read more

You can take no credit for beauty at sixteen. But if you are beautiful at sixty, it will be your soul's own doing. •Marie Carmichael Stopes Do you love me because I'm beautiful, or am I beautiful because you love me?

The ladies of St. James's!
They're painted to the eyes;
Their white is stays for ever,
read more

The ladies of St. James's!
They're painted to the eyes;
Their white is stays for ever,
Their red it never dies;
But Phyllida, my Phillida!
Her colour comes and goes;
It trembles to a lily,--
It wavers to a rose.