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All kinds of beauty do not inspire love: there is a kind of it which pleases only the sight, but does not captivate the affections.
Beauty in a modest woman is like fire at a distance, or like a sharp sword: neither doth the one burn nor the other wound him that comes not too near them.
No fathers and mothers think their own children ugly, and this self-deceit is yet stronger with respect to the offspring of the mind.
Poesy is a beauteous damsel, chaste, honourable, discreet, witty, retired, and who keeps herself within the limits of propriety. She is a friend of solitude; fountains entertain her, meadows console her, woods free her from ennui, flowers delight her; in short, she gives pleasure and instruction to all with whom she communicates.
The beauty of some women has days and seasons, depending upon accidents which diminish or increase it; nay, the very passions of the mind naturally improve or impair it, and very often utterly destroy it.