It was just so beautiful.

It was a full moon and, shining on all the snow, it made everything almost as bright as day — only the shadows were rather confusing.

The world was beautiful when looked at in this way — without any seeking, so simple, so childlike.

Snow is so beautiful, it doesn't have to be useful.

The very fact of snow is such an amazement.

Hang on, little guy,” she said gently. Once more, Elsa waved her hands. A swirl of cold air shot out of her fingertips and wrapped itself around Olaf, instantly refreezing him. Then, just to be safe, she created a small cloud from which a soft snow fell constantly. “Hey!” Olaf shouted happily, wobbling this way and that and laughing as the cloud followed him. “My own personal flurry!

It's so beautiful.

Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue; I see them all so excellently fair, I see, not feel, how beautiful they are!

A poem round and perfect as a star.

It was just perfect, just right all at once.

Earth’s noblest thing, — a woman perfected.

Her sculptured face was as perfect as a painting.

As pure as a pearl,
And as perfect: a noble and innocent girl.

The world was so beautiful when regarded like this, without searching, so simply, in such a childlike way. Moons and stas were beautiful, beautiful were bank and stream, forest and rocks, goat and gold-bug, flower and butterfly. So lovely, so delightful to go through the world this way, so like a child, awake, open to what is near, without distrust.