
Source: The Happiness Project: Or Why I Spent a Year Trying to Sing in the Morning, Clean My Closets, Fight Right, Read Aristotle, and Generally Have More Fun
Source: https://www.google.com/books/edition/Business_In_Simple_Language/aiXfDwAAQBAJ
Source: The Happiness Project: Or Why I Spent a Year Trying to Sing in the Morning, Clean My Closets, Fight Right, Read Aristotle, and Generally Have More Fun
“Nothing makes a woman more beautiful than the belief that she is beautiful.”
As quoted in The Subtlety of Emotions (2001) by Aaron Ben-Ze'ev, p. 204.
“There is nothing more beautiful than a beautiful woman.”
Agnelli: The Rules of the Game, Vanity Fair (1991)
“The voice of one who goes before, to make
The paths of June more beautiful, is thine
Sweet May!”
May.
“Life is beautiful, and this work is even more beautiful than life.”
Source: Modern Dutch painting: an introduction, Netherlands Information Service, (1960), p. 26
2010s, Why Penn Jillette is Terrified of a President Trump (2016)
Context: Someone who is paying attention can do the same thing that Trump is doing with hate, and do it with love, and become president … That’s kind of beautiful. There’s nothing more optimistic than that. … Donald Trump does, when it comes right down to it, fuck up everything … He fucks up his casinos. He fucks up his buildings.... Maybe he’ll fuck up his campaign before he fucks up the country.
“Beauty is nothing other than the promise of happiness.”
La beauté n'est que la promesse du bonheur.
Source: De L'Amour (On Love) (1822), Ch. 17, footnote
“Nothing can happen more beautiful than death.”
Starting from Paumanok. 12
Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919)
Source: The Story of My Life (1903), Ch. 6
Context: I remember the morning that I first asked the meaning of the word, "love." This was before I knew many words. I had found a few early violets in the garden and brought them to my teacher. She tried to kiss me: but at that time I did not like to have any one kiss me except my mother. Miss Sullivan put her arm gently round me and spelled into my hand, "I love Helen."
"What is love?" I asked.
She drew me closer to her and said, "It is here," pointing to my heart, whose beats I was conscious of for the first time. Her words puzzled me very much because I did not then understand anything unless I touched it.
I smelt the violets in her hand and asked, half in words, half in signs, a question which meant, "Is love the sweetness of flowers?"
"No," said my teacher.
Again I thought. The warm sun was shining on us.
"Is this not love?" I asked, pointing in the direction from which the heat came. "Is this not love?"
It seemed to me that there could be nothing more beautiful than the sun, whose warmth makes all things grow. But Miss Sullivan shook her head, and I was greatly puzzled and disappointed. I thought it strange that my teacher could not show me love.