What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well.
Sydney: How do I look?
Dixon: For the record, that’s a question you never have to ask anyone.
Beautiful young people are accidents of nature. But beautiful old people are works of art.
The longer I live the more beautiful life becomes.
Ally: So how has it come to this? We’re smart women, we’re fairly attractive.
Renee: I’m even hot.
She looked nice, smoking. She inhaled and all, but she didn’t wolf the smoke down, the way most women around her age do. She had a lot of charm. She had quite a lot of sex appeal, too, if you really want to know.
To me, fair Friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyed
You look like Helen of Troy after a good facial.
I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house,
Wherein at ease for aye to dwell.
I said, “O Soul, make merry and carouse,
Dear soul, for all is well.”
Half light, half shade,
She stood, a sight to make an old man young.
If you get simple beauty and naught else,
You get about the best thing God invents.
The Lord prefers common-looking people. That is why he makes so many of them.
At some point in life the world’s beauty becomes enough. You don’t need to photograph, paint or even remember it. It is enough. No record of it needs to be kept and you don’t need someone to share it with or tell it to. When that happens — that letting go — you let go because you can.
Isaac: I know my analyst warned me, but you were so beautiful that I got another analyst.
Rhoda Morgenstern: It’s a magnifying mirror! Mary, why didn’t you warn me? I thought it was a relief map of the moon. When they sell those magnifying mirrors they should include a printed suicide note.
Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us, or we find it not.
Rebecca: I love your face. It always brings me peace.