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Not always the fanciest cake that's there Is the best to eat!

One evening I sat Beauty on my knees -- And I found her bitter -- And I reviled her.

Beauty is power. A smile is its sword.

Call for the grandest of all earthly spectacles. What is that? It is the sun going to his rest.

It is beautiful to do nothing and then rest afterwards.

Every eye forms its own fancy.

Beauty is the stillbirth of suffering; every woman knows that.

The real sin against life is to abuse and destroy beauty, even one's own -- even more, one's own, for that has been put in our care and we are responsible for its well-being.

Like plowing, housework makes the ground ready for the germination of family life. The kids will not invite a teacher home if beer cans litter the living room. The family isn't likely to have breakfast together if somebody didn't remember to buy eggs, milk, or muffins. Housework maintains an orderly setting in which family life can flourish.

Beauty is our weapon against nature. By it we make objects, giving them limit, symmetry, proportion. Beauty halts and freezes the melting flux of nature.

In the beautiful, man sets himself up as the standard of perfection; in select cases he worships himself in it. Man believes that the world itself is filled with beauty --he forgets that it is he who has created it. He alone has bestowed beauty upon the world -- alas! Only a very human, an all too human, beauty.