| Amount of texts to »beautiful« | 72, and there are 62 texts (86.11%) with a rating above the adjusted level (-3) |
| Average lenght of texts | 143 Characters |
| Average Rating | 3.972 points, 8 Not rated texts |
| First text | on Jun 22nd 2000, 21:19:38 wrote anagnoresis about beautiful |
| Latest text | on Dec 9th 2015, 13:29:24 wrote AMW about beautiful |
| Some texts that have not been rated at all
(overall: 8) |
on Oct 28th 2015, 16:33:07 wrote
on Jun 29th 2008, 09:44:47 wrote
on Mar 25th 2011, 15:07:45 wrote |
Looking back to my first excited, rainbow encounter with humming birds amid the vineyards of the Napa Valley in California, I wonder this. Does their absolute beauty lie in the fact that you can never fully see them? Just this amazing, darting, flashing spectrum of purest colour...All of that would be gone when the birds are dead.
No; we have been as usual asking the wrong question. It does not matter a hoot what the mockingbird on the chimney is singing. The real and proper question is: Why is it beautiful?
(Annie Dillard)
Piccadilly was drunk, and philosophical.
»Beauty is no one's fault,« he said.
Frank didn't know what he meant.
»Am I beautiful?«
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Sometimes, the ugliest person on the outside is the most beautiful within.
What is beautiful to me is more than what is beheld with the eye. The smell of rain is beautiful, the feeling of someone's arms around you, the taste of chocolate. The sun setting, the moon rising, the lilt of a song; are are very beautiful. Some are so to the sight, some are so to the nose, to the mouth and ear; but some are so to the heart. A beautiful heart is the greatest beauty there is.
I believe that everyone has at least one person in the world who thinks he/she is beautiful.
why take picture of a dead bird?
because its beautiful, it is pure it is still and without pain. it feels nothing. there is eloquence in peace
I met a lady in the meads
Full beautiful, a faery's child
Her hair was long, her foot was light
And her eyes were wild.
(John Keats, from La Belle Dame Sans Merci)
For me, beauty is the last dance as the walls are crumbling around you.
| Some random keywords |
diet
Yeah
exposure
of
blare
|
| Some random keywords in the german Blaster |
Pensionsschock
Sack
anti-mobbing-konzept-in-schulen
Lautlosigkeit
Selbstangebautes
FINGERINDERMILCH
Spermainmeinheißeslochreinspritzer
|