The beautiful is always bizarre.

...as with most redheaded women what beauty she possessed was protean and odd.

The Beautiful is always strange.

She was a triumph over ugliness, so often more beguiling than real beauty, if only because it contains paradox.

She was a triumph over ugliness, so often more beguiling than real beauty, if only because it contains paradox. In this case, as opposed to the scrupulous method of good taste and scientific grooming, the trick had been worked by exaggerating defects; she'd made them ornamental by admitting them boldly.

There was something strange and extraordinary about her – something that was frightening and at the same time most exciting.

True beauty is always oddly surprising.

She was beautiful - but especially she was without mercy.

Those who had before known her, and had expected to behold her dimmed and obscured by a disastrous cloud, were astonished, and even startled, to perceive how her beauty shone out, and made a halo of the misfortune and ignominy in which she was enveloped. It may be true that, to a sensitive observer, there was some thing exquisitely painful in it.

It has always been a mystery to me ... how beauty and anguish can share the same moment

Beauty in distress is much the most affecting beauty. Blushing has little less power; and modesty in general, which is a tacit allowance of imperfection, is itself considered as an amiable quality, and certainly heightens every other that is so.

She had a brainy girls discomfort about her own beauty and its effects on folks.

She was dazzling — alight; it was agony to comprehend her beauty in a glance.

It was, therefore, the sort of loveliness which is not perfect, but draws its charm from a measure of imbalance, which can accommodate flaws and make little of them, for a while at least.