Even in days of loss and sorry, beauty remains, and I am ever grateful.

Beauty is a cheap word, but beauty remains priceless.

The pain passes but the beauty remains.

The beauty that emerges from woundedness is a beauty infused with feeling, a beauty different from the beauty of landscape and the cold perfect form. This is a beauty that has suffered its way through the ache of desolation until the words or music emerged to equal the hunger and desperation at its heart.

It must also be said that not all woundedness succeeds in finding its way through to beauty of form. Most woundedness remains hidden, lost inside forgotten silence. Indeed, in every life there is some wound that continues to weep secretly, even after years of attempted healing. Where woundedness can be refined into beauty a wonderful transfiguration takes place.

There's more beauty in truth, even if it is dreadful beauty.

Whether thus adorned she would have been beautiful or not, and what she must have been in her prosperity, may be imagined from the beauty remaining to her after so many hardships; for, as everyone knows, the beauty of some women has its times and its seasons, and is increased or diminished by chance causes; and naturally the emotions of the mind will heighten or impair it, though indeed more frequently they totally destroy it.

There's beauty, heartbreaking beauty, everywhere.

It is important to appreciate beauty, even when it is evil.

But the landscape of devastation is still a landscape. There is beauty in ruins.

Beauty is always the result of an accident. Of a violent lapse between acquired habits and those yet to be acquired. It baffles and disgusts. It may even horrify. Once the new habit has been acquired, the accident ceases to be an accident. It becomes classical and loses its shock value.

The beauty of things was born before eyes and sufficient to itself; the heartbreaking beauty

Will remain when there is no heart to break for it.

Beauty perishes in life, but is immortal in art.

I don't think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains.

And yet even in reaching for the beautiful there is beauty, and also in suffering whatever it is that one suffers en route.