Physical Beauty Quotes

“Along with the idea of romantic love, she was introduced to another--physical beauty. Probably the most destructive ideas in the history of human thought. Both originated in envy, thrived in insecurity, and ended in disillusion.”
― Toni Morrison

“Well as rare as beautiful bodies are, the mind in the same condition is even more rare. Let us strive, in our decrepit, cancerous and fetid world, for what is concrete and what we can try to attain. Those who forget the body to pursue a “perfect mind” or “perfect soul” have no idea where to even start. Only physical beauty is the foundation for a true higher culture of the mind and spirit as well. Only sun and steel will show you the path.”
― Bronze Age Pervert, Bronze Age Mindset

“Generally, writers descend from a lesser tribe, and whatever claim to beauty we have shows up on the printed page far more often than it does in our mirrors. Even as I writer these words I think of dozens off writers, both male and female, who make a mockery of this generalization. But comeliness among writers is rare enough to be noteworthy.”
― Pat Conroy, A Lowcountry Heart: Reflections on a Writing Life

“You are beautiful, Layla."
Layla gave a tiny shake of her head. "I didn't feel beautiful when I saw the women Jonas had brought to our bed. Don't get me wrong. I have no desire to be that thin. I like my curves. But it was like he was saying there was something wrong with me, and it made me even angrier because he was right." She attacked the burger like it was a Scooby Snack. Did she really not see her own beauty? Evan had been falling all over himself to get her into bed, and the dudes with the mason jars weren't the only ones who'd been checking her out in the bar.”
― Sara Desai, The Marriage Game

“In matters of good-lookingness, we writers are the ugliest of the bunch, and normally our appearance is akin to that of someone investigating a crime scene; though the women in American writing keep producing world-class beauty in droves, and there are many breathtaking writers among them.”
― Pat Conroy

“Patience's mental imprecations reached new heights. Mrs. Chadwick had not lied- Vane Cynster was the very epitome of an elegant gentleman. His hair, burnished chestnut several shades darker than her own, glowed softly in the candlelight, wave upon elegant wave sitting perfectly about his head. Even across the room, the strength of his features registered; clear-cut, hard-edged, forehead, nose, jaw, and cheeks appeared sculpted out of rock. Only his lips, long and thin with just a hint of humor to relieve their austerity, and the innate intelligence and, yes, wickedness, that lit his grey eyes, gave any hint of mere mortal personality- all else, including, Patience grudgingly acknowledged, his long, lean body, belonged to a god.”
― Stephanie Laurens, A Rake's Vow

“No, he was not as handsome as poor Wrotham, whose dark, stormy beauty troubled her dreams a little. Wrotham was a romantic figure, particularly when his black locks were disheveled through his clutching them in despair.”
― Georgette Heyer, Friday's Child

“It would be easy to attribute Layla's effect on the opposite sex (and the occasional Sapphically inclined female) to her youth or sweet, natural perfume, but the real reason behind her attraction was far more complex. Of course, there was no denying her beauty, the consistency of her angled, porcelain features, that tilt in her almond eyes, which shined like half-moons across her celestial face. Unlike her two older sisters, who sported wayward brown ringlets, Layla had hair that was long and jet black. Tied up or let down, moussed or gelled, nothing could excite her stubbornly straight locks. They were a definite throwback to some latent Oriental chromosomes roaming deep inside of her.”
― Marsha Mehran, Pomegranate Soup

“Martin was more than happy to let Spencer take over the conversation, for it finally granted him an opportunity to observe Mrs. Wheaton- who had just achieved the impossible. She had made him laugh. Truly, she was one of a kind. She always had been, he supposed, recalling again that day at the train station.
While the polite conversation continued all around him, he allowed his gaze to meander downward and was pleased to admire the alluring feminine curves "Miss Foster" had developed over the past decade, including a lush, generous bosom, which would fare quite nicely in a lighter gown with a lower neckline, he thought. Dressed as she was at present, she reminded him of a pleasure yacht with her sails trimmed too tight, rendering her incapable of moving freely at the speed she was built for.
He wondered suddenly how this aloof young widow would respond to a little wind in her sails and a skillful skipper like himself at her helm. Would he be able to bring the best out of her, like he did with the Orpheus?
Yes, he thought with absolute confidence while he admired the grace of her gloved hand as she touched one finger to the corner of her mouth to dab at an errant drop of tea. He certainly could bring the best out of her, and also bring out that spark she kept hidden from the world. A marvelous, masculine satisfaction flowed through him at the thought of it.”
― Julianne MacLean, Surrender to a Scoundrel

“No healthy young man could fail to be stirred and set off-kilter by Aline, who, at the age of seventeen, had become the loveliest girl on God's green earth.
At the moment Aline was already dressed for bed, wearing a nightgown made of intricately tucked and ruffled white cotton. As she moved across the room, the lamplight silhouetted the generous curves of her breasts and hips through the thin fabric, and slid over the shining sable locks of her hair. Aline's looks were the kind that caused the heart to stop and the breath to catch. Her coloring alone would have given even a homely woman the appearance of great beauty. But her features were fine and perfect, and perpetually lit with the radiance of unchecked emotion. And as if all that hadn't been quite enough, nature had added one last flourish, a tiny black mark that flirted with the corner of her mouth. McKenna had fantasized endlessly about kissing that tantalizing spot, and following it to the lush curves of her lips. Kissing and kissing her, until she was weak and shivering in his arms.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Again the Magic

“Nina stood there, in all her former beauty queen pageant glory, tall and slim and panther-like. Nina's dark hair always seemed to capture whatever available light there was, and her skin, much to Ellie's annoyance, was flawless. Today she was wearing a black wraparound dress that accentuated every curve and parted in just the right place to show off the best part of her legs.”
― Amy S. Foster, When Autumn Leaves

“He'd taken off his coat; in form-fitting waistcoat and soft white shirt, he looked, if anything, even larger, more physically powerful, than before.”
― Stephanie Laurens, A Rake's Vow

“With a curt nod, Vane strode in. And stopped dead.
Patience was in the hall, waiting- the sight literally stole his breath. As his gaze, helplessly, slid over her, over the soft green merino pelisse, severely cut and snugly fitted, its upstanding collar framing her face, over the tan gloves and half boots, over the pale green skirts peeking beneath the pelisse's hem, Vane felt something inside him tighten, click, and lock.
Breathing was suddenly more difficult than if someone had buried a fist in his gut.
Her hair, glinting in the light streaming in through the door, was coiffed differently, to more artfully draw attention to her wide golden eyes, to the creaminess of her forehead and cheeks, and the delicate yet determined line of her jaw. And the soft vulnerability of her lips.”
― Stephanie Laurens, A Rake's Vow

“He wasn't at all what she had imagined.
Tall, yes- but not plain, not dependable, not kind. Not by any stretch of fancy.
The gray eyes that regarded her were as deep and subtle and light-tricked as smoke from a wildfire. The face belonged to an archangel from the shadows: a cool, sulky mouth and an aquiline profile, and Satan's own intelligence in the assessing look he gave her. The candles behind him lit a smoldering halo of reddish gold around his black hair and turned each faint, frosted breath to a brief glow.
He was not homely. He was utterly and appallingly beautiful, in the way the gleaming steel blossoms of murder and mayhem adorning the walls of the great hall were beautiful.”
― Laura Kinsale, Seize the Fire

“He gazed into her eyes. There were little flecks of gold ringing her pupils.
Now that she wasn’t running from him or terrified by him, he realized Elspeth Stewart was really quite a beauty. Her lips were full and lush. By some trick of musculature under her smooth skin, the corners of them turned up naturally in a beguiling half smile, as if she were hugging a delicious secret to herself. There were soft hollows beneath her rosy cheeks, a sign of the bone-deep loveliness that only ripens with age.
“Lachlan Drummond is a lucky bastard,” Rob said with conviction.”
― Connie Mason, Sins of the Highlander

“Serena gazed at his features. He hadn't shaved since they'd been on the trail, and dark whiskers covered the lower half of his face. His dark hair was blue-black, shiny as a raven's wing. Long black eyelashes lay against lean cheekbones. She wanted to see his eyes and on an impulse kissed one eyelid. His lips, almost too red for a man, curved into a smile, but he didn't open his eyes. Serena tried again, this time touching the outer eyelid with the tip of her tongue. His response thrilled her.
With sudden strength he pulled her down on the bed. "What are you up to, madam minx?" She always forgot just how strong he was until he handled her. Arms like manacles wrapped around her, caging her against him.
"I want to play." She squirmed out of his grasp. His eyes finally opened and Serena caught her breath. There was such a look of happy love coming from them. She sat up and, movements slow, sought to mesmerize him. She uncoiled her hair from its knot, letting the strands wrap around her shoulders the way he liked. He watched in worshipful silence, then reached for her, the dance begun.”
― Jamie Carie, The Duchess and the Dragon

“Even behind the so-called protection of the changing screen, Dominic could see every line of Katherine's body in the firelight. He supposed he should feel guilty, but that was the furthest thing from his mind as he watched her shadow stoop to pick up her nightgown.
By God, she was perfect. From the soft curve of her breasts as the shift slipped over them, to the long lines of her arms and legs, it seemed her body had been plucked from his most detailed, sinful fantasy.”
― Jenna Petersen, Scandalous

“In a few swift motions, he shrugged out of his remaining clothes. In the dwindling fire and candlelight, nothing was left to Katherine's imagination. And now she knew just what all the fuss was about.
The man was like a god. From the broad shoulders to the tapered waist, the strong arms and legs, to the hard thrust of an erection that jutted proudly between his legs, he was what a higher power had imagined when He created Man.”
― Jenna Petersen, Scandalous

“And she knew that although she wasn't a great beauty, she had her own charms. More than one man had commented favorably on her dark brown hair and blue eyes.
These moderate attractions, however, were nothing compared to Christopher Phelan's golden splendor. He was as fair as Lancelot. Gabriel. Perhaps Lucifer, if one believed that he had once been the most beautiful angel in heaven. Phelan was tall and silver eyed, his hair the color of dark winter wheat touched by the sun. His form was strong and soldierly, the shoulders straight and strong, the hips slim. Even as he moved with indolent grace, there was something undeniably potent about him, something selfishly predatory.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“I have the sense of love in the concept of feelings. I do and see in that way, regardless of physical beauty.”
― Ehsan Sehgal

“I have the sense of love in the concept of feelings. I do and see that way regardless of physical beauty.”
― Ehsan Sehgal

“I have always liked fat men. They have given up all unnecessary effort, for they have had the sense to realize that women do not, as men do, fall in love with physical beauty. It's easier to feel at home with a fat man.”
― Graham Greene, Travels with My Aunt

“From her father she had inherited a beautiful olive complexion and defined angular features; from her Irish mother she got a mass of fiery copper curls that hung down to the middle of her back. The combination was almost outrageously unusual, and Sylvie was sure that half the male population of Avening was in love with her. Molly's looks were so loud that she herself spoke only when she needed to. But Sylvie and Molly had known each other for so long that often times they didn't say anything.”
― Amy S. Foster, When Autumn Leaves

“She had a lovely singing voice. Most well-bred young ladies could play, but few could sing, and Miss Cross could.
Eliza, he reminded himself. Perhaps his future wife, the mother of his children, the woman would share his bed and his house. She loved her dog, she sang beautifully, and she liked the theater. Other than that, he knew nothing about her.Could he do this?
She wasn't a typical beauty. Her face was round and her hair was an ordinary shade of light brown. A string of pearls circled her neck, and Hugh was sure her pale green silk gown had cost as much as Edith's court gown, but it suited her. Some women had no sense of style and bought the latest fashion whether it made them ugly or exquisite. With two sisters and a mother in his house, Hugh knew enough of ladies' clothing to see that this lady chose well. When she reached to turn the page, he got up and went to stand beside her to turn the next one. Her voice wobbled a bit as he did so, but she played on.
Her skin was lovely. He spied a few freckles on her nose, but her shoulders and bosom were as pale as cream. Her bosom... Hugh reached for the next page and stole a quick glance downward. Plump and tempting, now that he looked at it. Her hands were graceful on the keys, and his mind wandered involuntarily into thoughts of what they would feel like on him. What it would be like to kiss her. What she would be like in bed. Would she be shy? Frightened? He found himself hoping not, even though he hadn't even decided to court her yet.”
― Caroline Linden, An Earl Like You

“The twins were so dazzling in their long-limbed grace, with the sunlight dancing over their disheveled hair, that it seemed entirely reasonable to have named them for Greek goddesses. Their was something lawless and cheerfully feral in their rosy-cheeked disarray.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Cold-Hearted Rake

“Along with the idea of romantic love, she was introduced to another---physical beauty. Probably the most destructive ideas in the history of human thought. Both originated in envy, thrived in insecurity, and ended in disillusion. In equating physical beauty with virtue, she stripped her mind, bound it, and collected self-contempt by the heap.”
― Toni Morrison, The Bluest Eye

“We should keep in mind that a woman is not a narcissist juts because she regularly practices self-care in order to stay physically attractive. The problem is when a woman is putting too much emphasis on her physical appearance, neglecting other dimensions of her being and using her image to mask all the complexes and insecurities she may be dealing with inside.”
― Tyara Wolf

“We should keep in mind that a woman is not a narcissist just because she regularly practices self-care in order to stay physically attractive. The problem is when a woman is putting too much emphasis on her physical appearance, neglecting other dimensions of her being and using her image to mask all the complexes and insecurities she may be dealing with inside.”
― Tyara Wolf

“An orphan who was kept as a prisoner in a tower with plague signs to keep away?" Gina gently teased. "Seems like a lot of work. Nahh, I bet you're a princess of some sort."
Rapunzel stared at her. Then she began guffawing: big, hearty barks of laughter.
"She doesn't sound like one," Flynn observed.
"She wears a pretty dress like one," Gina pointed out.
"Your skin is creamy and perfect," Flynn said. "I mean, um, I guess."
"You have a crown," Gina said.
"It's not my crown," Rapunzel shouted, still laughing. "I grew up in two rooms... not a giant castle. I don't have any servants, or ladies-in-waiting..."
"... or crowns you didn't steal," Flynn added.
"... or a white horse, or velvet capes, or a scepter..."
"You do have that magnificent hair, though," Flynn pointed out. "I mean, just look at it. It looks fancy and expensive and royal. A normal person, even a lord or lady, couldn't manage locks half that long. Even if it ever came in silver, which seems reeealllly unlikely."
He leaned forward to get a better look, and at first Rapunzel did nothing, suddenly aware of his closeness. Whatever he said about her skin, Flynn's was also clear, healthy, and peachy. He had a little bit of hair on his chin (not a full beard like she had seen in pictures), a tiny feathery thing that she kind of wanted to touch.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“To Andrei, he could see all that was unpleasant about her face—her large nose and bony frame. But inside her, there was so much peace and contentment that somehow, she lit up everywhere. She was beautiful to him. It was the kind of attraction between people who were really people—and who could see the other person’s aura and makings. He saw what made her flesh move, and not her flesh. The intricate mechanics of her person, and not her shell. Andrei looked at O’Hare and saw something genderless—a kind of organism that was born and that over time has been affected and affects—that was ultimately kind and brave. It was the highest rank of physical desire one could experience. When the beautiful made standard love to each other, there always lay at least one angle of ugly—maybe in the dark, from the side, with a sound they made, or everything once one was finished. In what O’Hare and Andrei shared, beauty could take its time and no second could stop it. It was the type of wholesome love that made a couple stare for minutes at the other, not because they adored their lover’s eye color, but because in those minutes they were speaking to the person within the person, finding them, seeing them see, and playing together in that invisible planet created by two intuitive inventors.”
― Karl Kristian Flores, A Happy Ghost