Feminine Beauty Quotes

“Never did the world make a queen of a girl who hides in houses and dreams without traveling.”
― Roman Payne, The Wanderess

“No one knows what you have been through or what your pretty little eyes have seen, but I can reassure you ~ whatever you have conquered, it shines through your mind.”
― Nikki Rowe

“...The fact that it's black transforms it. Has the same effect on women that black stockings have on men.”
― Daphne du Maurier

“The menopause of Sarah became her menostart; this is feminine beauty! The death plot against Mordecai became his life spring; this is masculine beauty! A kind of life lived in God's word is a life of miraculous beauty!”
― Israelmore Ayivor

“Frozen in time, captured in memories, filled in passion, she melted in love before his eyes.”
― Luffina Lourduraj

“When a woman has truly embodied her sensuality, no labor is burdensome to her man. He finds great delight in making her happy no matter what.”
― Lebo Grand

“Amid all the harsh words of a cruel world, let my voice speak out in tenderness. There is an inner light which must be nourished and cannot be replaced with a blind eye. Soft spirits are so much more than the simple result of hopeless romanticism. Each one is the soul of beauty and love combined.”
― Erin Forbes

“His attention was riveted by the shapely figure in front of him, the intricately pinned-up swirls of her hair, the voice dressed in silk and pearls. How good she smelled, like the kind of expensive soap that came wrapped in fancy paper. Keir and everyone he knew used common yellow rosin soap for everything: floors, dishes, hands, and body. But there was no sharpness to this scent. With every movement, hints of perfume seemed to rise from the rustling of her skirts and sleeves, as if she were a flower bouquet being gently shaken.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Disguise

“Tate couldn't stop staring. She must be thirteen or fourteen, he thought. But even at that age, she had the most striking face he'd ever seen. Here large eyes nearly black, her nose slender over shapely lips, painted her in an exotic light. She was tall, thin, giving her a fragile, lithesome look as though molded wild by the wind. Yet young, strapping muscles showed through with quiet power.”
― Delia Owens, Where the Crawdads Sing

“Holy Christ, how Win devastated him. He had starved for her for so long, dreamed of her so many nights, and woken to many bitter mornings without her at first he hadn't believed she was real.
He thought of Win's lovely face, and the softness of her mouth against his, and the way she had arched beneath his hands. She had felt different, her body supple and strong. But her spirit was the same, radiant with the endearing sweetness and honesty that had always pierced straight to his heart. It had taken all his strength not to go on his knees before her.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Seduce Me at Sunrise

“But Cassandra was even more breathtaking than he remembered. Her golden sunstruck beauty illuminated the sterile environment of the clinic. She was wonderfully dressed in a green velvet walking dress and a matching hooded cloak trimmed with white fur. Her hair, so shiny it looked molten, had been pinned up in a complex mass of coils and topped with a flirtatious little excuse for a hat. He felt her presence like a shock, every nerve tingling.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“His wife looked vulnerable and lovely, like a nymph sleeping in a wood. The fantastical profusion of her hair was like something from a mythological painting, curling golden locks spreading everywhere in lavish disarray.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“Miranda was curled up against the wall, her pink calico skirts bunched carelessly above her knees in uncharacteristic abandon. A green measuring worm inched himself unchecked across the smooth bodice of her dress. The May breeze, fragrant with apple-blossoms and clover from the adjacent pasture, blew her loosened hair into her eyes. She pushed the strand back impatiently with one hand while the other clutched her book, as Miranda devoured the fascinating pages of The Beautiful Adulteress.
So compelling were the beautiful adulteress's adventures, that even when Miranda's sunbonnet slipped off and hot sunshine fell through the elm trees onto her skin, she did not pause to replace the bonnet. And yet the transparent whiteness of that skin was the envy of her friends and part product of many a tedious treatment with buttermilk and cucumber poultices.”
― Anya Seton, Dragonwyck

“It was hard to keep scowling when he saw how pretty she was in a bright blue dress with white frills trimming the bodice and sleeves. And the way she smiled... he could literally feel the warmth of it, as if he were stepping from a shadow into sunlight. As she came to the bedside, her light fragrance brushed over his senses as softly as a veil made of tiny flower petals. Her skin looked so smooth, with a bit of a gleam, like textureless gauze. He wondered if it was like that all over, and felt an unruly stirring in his groin.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Disguise

“I have never ceased to be fascinated by feminine beauty. In a man, beauty, if it exists, is usually simple; a complete harmony of physical qualities and behaviour all acting together as a whole. The slightest flaw causes it to disappear. In women, beauty is more complex. Often, in my experience, the impression of beauty is created by a single aspect of a woman and from that aspect beauty appears to spread outward through every part of them, rendering them beautiful in their entirety. Sometimes such beauty comes from a smile. Sometimes from a lovely pair of eyes. Sometimes from an attitude, or a form of movement, or a sentiment of goodness or happiness which reveals itself in a single expression. Sometimes it is the curve of a body from which beauty spreads, sometimes a tone of skin, or a river of glossy hair that catches the light and seems to shine like silk. Yet were that aspect removed and not replaced by something else, so too would the beauty it had brought to light disappear. Less often, beauty comes from several sources in the same person, all working together to increase the impression of overall beauty. If one of these aspects were to disappear, unlike a man, the woman would remain beautiful, though changed.”
― Yasmine Millett, The Erotic Notebooks

“Her face was soft now, damp from the steam of my bath and the heat of her news. Her eyebrows were as white as cornsilk, her eyelashes clear. My sister had a certain pale, bright beauty, while I was an almost blonde, a shadowy hybrid. Ginnie was willowy and golden, I was shorter and freckled. I imagined our in utero tug-of-war. How she had seized all those pale, paternal Scandinavian genes, pulled at those chromosomes until they stretched like taffy.”
― Mindy Friddle, The Garden Angel

“How their first kisses were kinetic, it’s archaic wave of potentiality laminates every fiber of your being until implosion, implosion of sensuality and reason for they no longer distract or obfuscate. Cascades of flashes culminate into desire, clutching into the unseen forces that permeate us all. For this cyclical, synergistic formula propels and creates. It’s never restless at it’s core, central to everything human. The most simplistic of natural equations, the female eyes scatter awareness depicted from expressions of DNA so extreme in beauty, they cause microscopic changes, a physiological array of magnetism drawn forth, peacock like in movement and grace into the mirror of the self, Frank conveyed to Sam.”
― Corey Laliberte, Quantum Dawn - 'A Journey of Human Evolutionary Paths'

“Divine I am inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or I'm touched from...
I am a sacred lion tamer ”
― Marina G. Roussou

“Matthew?" Pure, sweet and with a joyous inflection that rang with disbelief and hope all at once, it floated above all other sounds.
His eyes slid from the men waiting to hear his news to search for the lips bearing his name.
In all his imaginings, he hadn't pictured her like this. A lush, pearly-haired goddess with rosy cheeks, vibrant, flashing eyes and laughing mouth made her way toward him, acknowledging those who would detain her, including some young rakes who reached out in yearning. She smiled them aside and with a mere touch of her slender fingers parted shoulders the way God did oceans. Her forest-green dress made her look like a sylvan goddess comes to play among the mortals.”
― Karen Brooks, The Chocolate Maker's Wife

“Emeline...?"
Her mother's voice was no longer a rasp, but a soft, quivering thing.
Emeline spun to find the Vile behind her, glimmering like a mirage. The air shone, delicate as a cobweb, then changed.
Like a butterfly abandoning its chrysalis, the Vile before her fell away, until a monster stood before Emeline no longer. In the monster's place was a middle-aged woman, beautiful as the moon. Her raven-dark hair fell in waves around her shoulders, her eyes were the bright blue of robins' eggs, and down her body spilled a silk dress the color of storm clouds.
Emeline let out a shaky breath.
"Mama?"
Rose Lark dropped the knife and the sharpening stone. They hit the soft earth with a thud. The roots of the cavern immediately grew over them, pulling both blade and stone deep into the earth where they couldn't be retrieved.
Staring at her daughter, Rose took a hesitant step before lifting shaky fingers to Emeline's face.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered as tears trembled down her pale cheeks.
Emeline shook her head furiously, reaching for her. "It wasn't your fault." She wrapped her arms around her mother's frail shoulders, pulling her close. Her hair smelled sweet, like rosewater. Her thin body shook like a sapling in a gale.
Weeping, Rose held her daughter tightly, as if, this time, she didn't intend to let go.”
― Kristen Ciccarelli, Edgewood

“Is it not their vulnerability that makes women charming to men and sans a semblance of timidity, won’t femininity suffer?”
― B.S. Murthy, Benign Flame: Saga of Love

“Mom's face healed soon enough, but her nose retained a slight bump from the break. I never got used to that bump; I felt uneasy when I caught it in profile. At the time, I didn't understand why this tiny disfigurement bothered me, but now it's clear. It was Mom's beauty that Teresa hated, that convinced her that Mom could disrupt her relationship with Tom. It was her beauty that she'd attacked so viciously, that she'd tried to stamp out. That bump on Mom's pretty face was a reminder that beauty wasn't only power. It was also danger.”
― Sarah Perry, After the Eclipse: A Mother's Murder, a Daughter's Search

“The lass was bonnie enough, he acknowledged as his gaze slid over the waves of strawberry blond hair that framed her heart-shaped face.”
― Lynsay Sands, Highland Wolf

“But I knew my hair was healthy and a pretty color, dark brown shot with red in certain lights. I'd always liked my eyes, which were large and framed by naturally long lashes, and if I used to wish they were violet instead of brown, I was mostly over it now. That had been a side effect of reading too many romance novels, I knew, where the heroine's eyes were always sparkling emerald or velvety indigo.”
― Alicia Thompson, Love in the Time of Serial Killers

“Nina's lids glittered with a creamy, blush-colored powder, her cheekbones were sharpened with highlighter and her lips were coated in a strawberry-pink glaze. She was as tempting as an éclair--- soft and delicious.”
― Erin La Rosa, For Butter or Worse

“She took a deep breath and turned her face to the sky, where large white flakes drifted down, landing in her auburn hair, winter blooms on a field of red. She closed her eyes and let the flakes kiss her cheeks, eyelids, lips.
Never before in his life had he been jealous of snowflakes.”
― Amy E. Reichert, Once Upon a December

“Her throat interested him greatly, the lovely arc beneath her dainty earlobe, the milky skin, the silken cascade of her perfumed hair...
His mind drifted, the wine warming his senses. It had now been three days since he'd had a woman, and he had not forgotten the way she had felt beneath him last night. He still wanted her in spite of himself.
Her lips' dewy roses beguiled him, along with the teasing sparkle in those emerald green eyes beneath her black velvet lashes. The candlelight brought out a golden luster in the depths of her light brown hair and danced along the delicate lines of her bare shoulders.
Was it wrong to want to lick the caramel sauce out of her splendid cleavage instead of drizzling it politely on the cheesecake? He did his best to keep a tight rein on his dangerous hunger for her, even as his hands tingled with yearning to caress all her creamy, glowing skin.
As he took another large swallow of port, he contemplated the fact that there was one sure way to find out if she was really as innocent as she would have him believe.
If she was a part of her forebears' sinister conspiracy, it was unlikely that she was a virgin. He was keenly tempted to verify her status for himself by luring her into his bed and finishing what they had started last night.”
― Gaelen Foley, My Dangerous Duke

“When he reached the music room, he leaned in the open doorway for a moment and smiled as he studied the alluring arrangement of his darling mistress reclining on the light green settee.
Dressed in a pink gown with striped satin skirts, Kate was idly thumbing through her mother's book, open on her lap. She had loosed her soft brown hair; it flowed over her shoulders in crimped waves from her earlier chignon.
"There you are," he greeted her with a glow of appreciation in his eyes. "And don't you look pretty as a picture.”
― Gaelen Foley, My Dangerous Duke

“He suspected Susannah Makepeace might even become truly interesting... given a little encouragement.
She was pretty. Not in the usual way, the way the Carstairs sisters were pretty, the sort of beauty that would become distinct with age. But... well, Miss Makepeace's eyes seemed filled with colors, and with a spy's impulse toward investigation, he had an urge to get a look at them in the full light so he could see how many and which ones. And her mouth... it was plush, her mouth. Pink as the inside of a seashell.
The softest, softest shade of pink imaginable.”
― Julie Anne Long, Beauty and the Spy

“We live under ghe impression that we are freethinkers; the irony is that thinkers are generally not free when they think just like everyone else.”
― Carrie Gress, The Anti-Mary Exposed: Rescuing the Culture from Toxic Femininity