Book Quote Aesthetic Novels & Stories

I stepped toward her and set my hand on her waist before murmuring, “We make ourselves rich by making our wants few.” Her lips parted as if that was the most profound thing she’d ever heard. And it might’ve been, since it had originally come from the lips of Henry David Thoreau. Which was why I couldn’t continue to take credit for it. I pointed past her toward the wall with my free hand. “At least that’s what Thoreau says.” She glanced back to find the quote printed and framed above the desk. “Oh.” Scowling, she whirled back to poke me in the gut. “You cheated. That’s a cheater’s answer.”

In her photo shoot, I was never invited. Grandma's comment, "I've never heard of that," caused my smile to disappear. Attorney continued, "Oh, I like your twin sister," but grandma stopped signing the document and turned to face him. Grandma said, "What is the feeling of beauty without the good character, isn't it, attorney? Attitude counts. The attorney complimented me with his alluring smile, "You are right, duchess. I like either Princess Nicole Ashanti who I believe has superb taste in adorning herself with confidence. You look stunning, Princess Nicole."

I said, leaving out her question about the titties. “Quasi,” she called loudly as if I was far away from her. I knew what that meant – she demanded my full attention. “Every girl and every woman is beautiful, but the most beautiful one of all is not the one with the most attractive physical features,” she continued, as she looked at me without blinking an eye. “The most beautiful girl or woman is one whose heart is hidden from predators; one whose yes always mean yes; one who loves you not because you love her; one whose tongue doesn’t pronounce words that are hard to understand, and whose lips doesn’t feign a smile. “And, if it happens that a handsome man, a man of dignity meets this most

These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen." ~Elisabeth Kübler-Ross "Why are you up?" The sleepy voice of Alex calls out from across the room and I turn away from looking at the stars to see her scrunched up but beautiful face. "Come back to bed!" She calls out to me, raising her hand but it drops immediately from weakness and she lay back down in bed.

"Perhaps you will tire sooner than he will. It is a sad thing to think of, but there is no doubt that genius lasts longer than beauty. That accounts for the fact that we all take such pains to over-educate ourselves. In the wild struggle for existence, we want to have something that endures, and so we fill our minds with rubbish and facts, in the silly hope of keeping our place. The thoroughly well-informed man—that is the modern ideal. And the mind of the thoroughly well-informed man is a dreadful thing. It is like a bric-a-brac shop, all monsters and dust, with everything priced above its proper value. I think you will tire first, all the same. Some day you will look at your friend, and he

I whispered under my breath, eyes darting over sleek furniture and intimidating art pieces that screamed old money and dangerous taste. “No, I just break into strangers’ penthouses for fun,” Dante muttered dryly as he passed me, loosening the buttons of his dress shirt with one hand. “Of course I live here.” I barely noticed his sarcasm—too busy spinning around like an idiot trying to catch everything at once. The space was beautiful, in that cold, ruthless way Dante was. There was a kind of calculated perfection to it, like nothing was ever out of place, like mess was a foreign concept here.

The particular arrangement of a building that communicated wealth without ostentation in the specific way of old New York money. She was quiet for a moment. Then she got out of the car. I stood beside her on the pavement. “This is where you grew up,” she said. “Yes,” I said. She looked at it for another moment. Not with hostility. With the honest assessment of someone who was placing what they were seeing in the correct relationship to what they knew. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “In the way that things built to impress are beautiful. Which is not a complete kind of beautiful but it is a kind.”

It had not particularly moved him. It was late afternoon on the twenty-eighth of the month when his car turned through the estate's iron gate and began the approach. The October light was thin and gold and the elms had turned, and the whole property had that quality of certain English autumns that was either melancholy or beautiful depending entirely on the internal state of the observer. Ernest's internal state was, he would have said, neutral. He noted the beauty without feeling it. He noted the long drive and the turning leaves and the way the stone house caught the last of the afternoon light with the particular acknowledgment he gave to things that had aesthetic value without requiring

She said nothing. I picked up the small remote and turned on the screen. A photo of an Italian estate appeared on the panel: limestone villa, olive trees, a long table beneath hanging lights, an evening sky the color of champagne. “Classic Italian garden,” I said professionally. “Romantic, heritage-driven, safe for old families who still believe linen can demonstrate moral character. Perfect if you want to look like a woman finally accepted by history.” Alessandra lifted her eyes. I clicked to the next slide. “Modern minimalist. Clean, expensive, slightly cold. Ideal for a bride who wants everyone focused on her face because the decor is too polite to compete.”

That’s not a compliment. “That’s the aesthetic we discussed,” Weston reminds her, his tone patient in a way that suggests they’ve had this conversation before. “Farm chic. Rustic elegance. Remember?” “Of course.” Her smile is bright and brittle. “It’s exactly what we talked about.” It’s absolutely not what she wants and we all know it. I make a mental note that Eloise’s moods seem to shift like weather patterns—warm and engaged during the dress fitting, cool and dismissive now.